Part 6 (1/2)

CHAPTER FIVE:.

If I had needed anymore proof that the h.e.l.l's Hors.e.m.e.n were into some seriously illegal s.h.i.+t, other than their alliance with my father, all I had to do was take one look at their clubhouse.

Smack dab in the middle of the Montana hills, down a barely there dirt road, fenced in with an electric fence topped with razor wire, sat their whitewashed warehouse, ma.s.sive at around 30,000 square feet, with their insignia painted huge on the front of the building. A line of Harley's were parked outside, some pickup trucks and a s.h.i.+ny red sports car.

I pulled our rent-a-car up to the gate and peered into the camera. The intercom underneath crackled.

”Help you with somethin' darlin'?”

I cleared my throat. I was so nervous.

”I...um...wanted to...um...”

”Smooth Evie,” Kami whispered. ”Really smooth.”

I glared at her.

”You here to party?” The intercom crackled.

”Uh,” I said and glanced at Kami. She bugged out her eyes. ”Say yes you idiot!”

”Uh, yes.”

The gate clicked and slowly swung open and Kami started jumping around excitedly.

I had just parked when two guys came running outside. Kami grinned.

”H-O-T,” She spelled out. ”Me wanna lick.”

I gave a shaky laugh. My stomach was in knots. I hadn't seen Deuce in four years. Not since the night I'd given him my virginity. I wasn't sure how he was going to react to me just showing up.

A well-built, good-looking Latino guy with a shaved head, lots of body piercings and tattoos as far as the eye could see, grinned at us.

”Name's c.o.x,” He said, looking me up and down. ”This is Ripper.” He jerked his thumb at the man standing next to him. A drop dead gorgeous man. He looked like a surfer straight out of Cali. Long wavy blonde hair and dark blue eyes. There was man candy to be had all around.

”Hey,” Ripper greeted, his eyes on Kami. ”You two been here before?”

I shook my head. ”I'm looking for Deuce.”

”I'm not,” Kami said, ”I'm looking for you.”

I covered my mouth, stifling my laughter.

”Or you,” She said to c.o.x, shrugging. ”Doesn't matter.”

c.o.x and Ripper looked at each other.

”Don't wanna fight you brother,” Ripper said. ”But I f.u.c.kin' will.”

”You'll lose,” c.o.x growled.

”Boys?” Kami swept her long blonde hair over her shoulder and c.o.c.ked her hip. ”This is my last summer of freedom. My dad is a rich a.s.shole who is making me marry another rich a.s.shole. I have three months left before I become a proper little Jackie O and have to start f.u.c.king my staff just so I can get off. That being said, if you guys don't mind sharing, I've got a whole lot to give.”

”I don't,” c.o.x said quickly.

”Nope, me either,” Ripper said.

”Awesome, now do you have any liquor in this big scary building of yours?”

Ripper grabbed her elbow, c.o.x slung his arm over her shoulder and they steered her towards the clubhouse.

Sheesh. It was like I was invisible.

Rolling my eyes, I followed them inside.

All around me were bikers ranging from age eighteen to eighty and the s.l.u.ts who loved them. I realized that the h.e.l.l's Hors.e.m.e.n were having what my boys in New York called a ”p.u.s.s.y party” which was undoubtedly the only reason Kami and I had been allowed inside. I scanned the room looking for Deuce The inside of the warehouse looked nothing like the outside. The entire place had been gutted, renovated and remodeled. Running the length of the warehouse front was one giant man cave with fifteen, sixteen, foot ceilings and modern sunroofs that gave it a cathedral like appearance.

A fully stocked bar lined the entire right side of the room surrounded by several bar topped tables and stools, and beyond, five large pool tables took up a good portion of the room. The opposite side gave the impression of a high-cla.s.s men's club complete with dark leather furniture as far as the eye could see, flat screen televisions, and a state of the art stereo system. There were two hallway entrances on either side of the back wall and smack dab in the center were a set of doors surrounded by photographs of the members. Above the doors was plank of wood nailed to the wall that read, ”Prez's Office”. My heart started pounding and my hands went clammy.

I willed my feet to move and headed towards his office. Taking a deep breath, I curled my hand into a fist and rapped on the door.

”WHAT?”

Oh G.o.d, that voice. That hard, rough, beautiful voice.

I swallowed hard and turned the k.n.o.b.

I saw a woman first. Tall, blonde, very tan and curvy as h.e.l.l. Beautiful. She was wearing a tight jeans skirt, frayed at the bottom and a hot pink tank top that showed off her copious amount of cleavage. I had large b.r.e.a.s.t.s but I almost never put them on display unless I was going out. I just didn't see the point.

I glanced down at my Led Zeppelin cropped tee, way too baggy jeans that hung low and my chucks. The tee had once belonged to my mother and I'd altered it to make it more my style and to show off my belly ring and the circle of black and pink stars I'd had tattooed around my belly b.u.t.ton. The jeans I'd had forever, I wasn't even sure where I'd gotten them, Frankie, maybe? That had been a running theme during my teenage years, stealing his clothing. They were comfy and so deliciously worn in they felt like silk against my skin. Most importantly, they dragged when I walked. That was a thing for me. I liked to be able to hide my feet inside my pants at all costs. Weird, I know, but I was an only child, and a girl no less, who grew up with a single MC President, his crew and Crazy Frankie. I could have turned out a whole lot weirder.

But I felt like a homeless person next to this woman. This, super model sort of beautiful woman who was more than likely his wife.

Deuce was turned away from me, sitting behind his desk, cursing into a cell phone. Blue file folders were stacked on the corner of his desk beside a black laptop. Miscellaneous papers were strewn all over his desk and the floor beside him.

Whoever had decorated the office was either secretly gay or of the female variety. Although the dark oak desk, hutch and meeting table were distinctly male, no man, correction no biker, would have ever picked out these particular pieces to coordinate with each other. They were too perfect, each piece different yet worked fas.h.i.+onably together. A woman, I surmised, probably this woman, had a hand in decorating. Knowing this made me feel incredibly uncomfortable.

The blonde glanced over at me, gave me a once over and her pink painted lips curled into a sneer. ”Who the f.u.c.k are you?”

”I...um...was looking for Deuce.”

”Well you...um...f.u.c.kin' found him.”

Sheesh. Att.i.tude.

”Are you f.u.c.kin' kiddin' me?” Deuce growled into his phone. ”You tell Street he gets his a.s.s to the docks and picks up the s.h.i.+pment or I will f.u.c.kin' bury your chapter! You feel me? I will scatter your boys and take you to ground! You don't f.u.c.kin' mess with the Buonarroti family! I made f.u.c.kin' promises and I'm aim to keep them. A man's f.u.c.kin' word is a man's f.u.c.kin' word. You think this is a game? No? Good. Now get your f.u.c.kin' a.s.s in gear!”

He swiveled around, his narrowed eyes swept over the blonde, across the room, and then finally to me. And stared.