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Vivi sent her text message and then gathered her painting to follow the other two. As Leia reached out to open the restaurant’s door, a man beat her and held it open.
“Thank you,” Leia said, smiling.
The older man, however, just glared at her. “Fucking whore,” he muttered and marched away.
“He said what now?” Chase asked.
“Well, he had some big balls,” Vivi muttered. “Just dragging them along behind him, collecting bramble and shit. Probably uses them as a beanbag chair.”
“Not a visual I want,” Leia said. “There’s Tim. Come on.”
Vivi glanced behind her and saw the rude man glaring at them and she shot him the finger.
Asshat.
Chapter Fifteen
With her duffle bag slung across her back, she expected to ride the five-hour drive holding onto Lincoln. He stood next to the truck she had ridden in yesterday with Leia.
“No bike?”
“You’re not used to riding,” he explained. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Aw, thanks,” she said with a grateful smile. “I’ve got a little bit of a headache.”
“Yeah, that’s how hangovers work.”
“You’re mean,” she said and stuck her tongue out at him. She rubbed her temples, knowing it was going to be a long day.
The drive took about a thousand years, and she vowed never to drink again. They stopped often for bathroom breaks where she’d load up on candy to get her to the next stop. When they finally blew into the city limits, she whipped her gaze back and forth to take everything in. She’d never been to Chicago, had only seen it through the lens of Hollywood, so it made for an interesting tour.
Lincoln drove them to an ally of the Death Riders, another motorcycle club called the Nightmare Kings. Sounded like a bad heavy metal band. Or a cult. Possibly the name of a Starfleet ship. Again, she found the naming scheme of clubs and its members hard to grasp. In any case, the Nightmare Kings (NK? Motorcycle Monarchs? No, that one sounded like a sports team. The Kings? Yep. That’ll do.) would be the home base for the meeting set up later that evening between the Godfather and Lincoln. Vivi had no idea how long they were going to be residents of the Kings, or how long the mafia Don would need Lincoln’s service.
Gradually, the nice homes and neighborhoods faded away. Lincoln maneuvered through the obvious poorer section of Chicago. Decay clung to everything. From the apartment buildings, which looked like they’d been built in the seventies and never updated, to the tiny houses. Even with the rundown businesses desperately grasping at oxygen to save themselves. Bars on windows were a staple. People walked quickly up and down the sidewalk, neither lingering nor shopping, but all looking beyond tired. Trash clogged the area between the street and the curb. The further they went, the shabbier the area became. Finally, they reached what looked like a junkyard, but the mural on the cinderblocks around the perimeter designated it as the clubhouse of the Nightmare Kings. Lincoln pulled up to the closed gate and waited for permission to enter.
Almost immediately the gate began to roll back, and Vivi saw inside the compound. This place was completely different than the Death Riders property. Cinderblock walls, at least ten feet tall, surrounded the perimeter. Coiled barbed wire rested on top of the walls. The front held nothing but what looked to be scrap metal. Cars and motorcycle parts littered the ground. A stack of old tires rested against the fence. The smell of old motor oil soured the air. A half-dead tree drooped off to the side, with several bleached-out picnic tables and chairs perched under it. Men walked around, watching them intently. Vivi got the impression they were primed to attack if needed, and it put her on edge.
Mentally, she kept reminding herself not to talk. To keep her thoughts inside and avoid a word-vomit session, but she had to be honest with herself. It would be a Herculean task since she tended to talk when nervous.
Lincoln parked and shut off the engine, just as a big, mean-looking tattooed bear of a man came outside. The word “Prez” was stitched on his denim cut. Two men followed him, flanking each side. As she got out of the cab, it quickly became evident that her right leg had fallen asleep. She tried to be as graceful as possible and stomped her foot in order to eliminate the pins and needles. Of course, trying to be cool and collected only led to an embarrassing situation as her weak leg didn’t cooperate. It buckled and she stumbled, causing the big biker to catch her. Vivi looked up and smiled.
“Thanks!” she said brightly. “I’m such a klutz. I can trip over a strand of hair. When I was a little girl, my sister suggested I walk around with a helmet because if there was a way for me to trip and fall, I’d find it. I thought it would be cooler to wear bubble wrap but apparently plastic around the head isn’t advisable for children.”
“I get it,” the MC president said with an understanding nod. “Suffocation is a bitch.”
“I know. Right?”
He grinned. “Let me guess. Two-left-feet syndrome? I was born with the same affliction.”
She glanced at his feet. Nowhecould be Bigfoot. “Is there a cure?”
“If there is, I’m clueless. My name is Draco.” He held out his hand. Vivi slipped her own into his.
She blinked once, twice, and then laughed with delight. “Malfoy!”
“Actually, I had the name first, but sure, we’ll go with Harry Potter.”
“What would your Hogwarts House be? Oh, duh. Slytherin. YouareDraco. I think I’d be Hufflepuff. I’m Vivi, by the way.”
