I blink at him. When he smiles, he looks friendly. If things were different, we’d probably be friends. If he weren’t an armed criminal assigned to keep an eye on me by my captor, and I wasn’t a prisoner, that is.
Feeling out of my element, I take a seat on a stool at the bar. Pip shuffles over to the blond girl, muttering something to her and pointing to me.
The girl shoots me an annoyed look. “I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a spork.”
“Just do it, Sassy,” Pip says tiredly.
“Yeah, yeah.” She pushes herself off her chair and disappears into a kitchen beside the long bar.
I can guess what that’s about. Pip just told her to get me breakfast, and she’d rather stab herself in the eye than serve a thief.
I glance around me and notice that another girl I didn’t see before, one with half her head shaved and the other half covered in dark curls, is giving me the same scathing glare as she heads toward the men playing pool with a couple of beers in her hands.
Those glares are exactly like the looks Monica gave me when she saw me after I stole those tips. It’s the look of betrayal.
My shoulders sag and I rub away a sudden chill from my arms. At least Monica isn’t here. Lord, I couldn’t face her right now.
She had to have some idea what went on in that party room at The Devil’s Den, and by the gleeful way she’d said goodbye to me before Spider drove off with me on his motorcycle, she had some idea of what was in store for me when we got here. Not only did she allow both to happen, but she glorified in it. A surge of anger wells up at the memory, and I let it burn away my guilt. Guilt over something I did because it was the only way to avoid being dragged back to the Colony, and straight into Seth’s creepy arms.
“You’d better get used to the stink eye you’re getting, girlie.”
I look up. The bartender stands in front of me, hands on the polished wood bar. For a minute, I can only stare.
Tall and lean, with a cascade of rich dark curls down her back and olive skin, she’s dressed in a red sleeveless camisole and pair of skintight black jeans. She looks like she belongs on one of those shampoo ads I’ve seen on billboards, where the women always look like their hair his blowing in a non-existent wind.
One of her arms is covered in tattoos, from the shoulder to her wrist. There’s one above her breast. I recognize the symbol. It’s the symbol I’ve seen on ambulances, a staff with wings and two serpents wrapped around it. A caduceus, I think they call it.
I sigh. “I don’t suppose it will make a difference if I said I was sorry,” I ask.
“Probably not.” She picks up a dirty glass to wash it, but stops, cocking her head at me. “It’s really true what Monica told us isn’t it?”
Her voice is sweet, but there’s mocking laughter in her eyes that puts me on my guard.
“What’s true?”
“That you didn’t know an MC owned The Devil’s Den when you tried to run off with those tips.”
“No. I don’t even know what that means.”
“MC?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
The blond girl Pip called Sassy walks out of the kitchen and thumps a plate down in front of me, then walks away without a word. Pip is over playing pool with the men, one eye on me. She goes over to him and rubs his tattooed arm, whispering in his ear.
My mouth waters at the smell of eggs and bacon that wafts up from the plate. The two eggs are a little overdone, the handful of bacon strips a little too crispy, but they still look better than most of the bland, healthy food I had to eat while I was in the Colony.
“MC stands for motorcycle club,” the bartender says, catching my attention.
“Oh.”
She processes that the information is new to me, watching me closely for a second. “You don’t have a clue what we’re about, do you?” She grins as she washes the glass. “You must not, otherwise you wouldn’t have done something to get on the club’s bad side.”
I slip a strip of bacon into my mouth, sensing that to answer would be to play into her hand.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
She means Las Vegas, or maybe Nevada as a whole. I’m starting to get the feeling everyone in these parts knows what a motorcycle club is. And, that it’s a colossal mistake to cross them.
I say nothing, digging into my eggs. I’m starved, so I gobble them up, unable to bring myself to take small, proper bites. My mother would have given me one of her lectures about gluttony and how a proper lady eats if she saw me now.
“You’re lucky you’re not dead.” The bartender leans on the bar, close to me. “Let me give you some free advice.”
She pauses until she sees I’m waiting.
“Keep your head down and do what Spider tells you. Keep to yourself. You went against the club, so no one here is your friend, or ever will be. The fact that you’re alive doesn’t mean that Spider likes you. It means he likes your body. You’re a piece of ass and that’s all. Keep him happy, give him what he wants, and you’ll keep breathing.”
The blood drains out of my face. She means it.
Unfortunately, I’m not sure that keeping him happy will be enough. He still hasn’t told me whether or not he plans to kill me. I might be dead no matter what I do.
I catch myself looking over at Pip for a second as he knocks a ball into a corner pocket, then at the door to the bar. A door that seems at once so close, yet a million miles away.
“Tequila?” a familiar voice calls from the office I passed earlier.
“Yeah, Dee.” The bartender puts down another glass.
My stomach drops. Oh, Lord, Dee.
I turn to see Dee Masterson making her way to the bar. “Snake’s looking for the list of—” She cuts short and her eyes turn to ice when they settle on me. “You.”
Putting my head back, I sigh, about to apologize. Dee doesn’t give me the chance. She storms over to me and throws her fist at my face.
Thrown from the stool, I go flying. Pain blazes through my jaw and I slam into the floor. My head rebounds with a crack, sending a spear of pain through my skull.
I grunt, the wind knocked out of me.
I’ve never been punched before in my life. The church leaders don’t hit with closed fists like that, and even if they did, they’ve never struck me thanks to my dad’s skills at keeping the peace. Women in the Colony never, ever hit; that’s man’s work. Never in my life would I imagine a woman could punch that hard. Dee doesn’t look like much, but she hits like a hammer.
“Shit,” Pip snaps near me. “Dee, what the fuck, man?”
“Dee.” Tequila reaches for her. “Spider’s not going to be—”
“Go find a dick that needs sucking, Tequila.” Dee’s voice seems to be filtering through cotton. She doesn’t seem to hear Pip at all.
Tequila leaves without a glance at me. I struggle to my feet while Dee puts her hands on her hips and watches me as if I’m a bug crawling on the floor.
Buying time, I glance around me. Sassy is over by the one man sitting at the bar, talking to him, both of them pretending nothing happened. There’s another girl standing at the entrance to the hall watching us. I recognize her pretty face and short black curls.