Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Fletch watched him go and noticed the man’s attention remaining on Nova as he worked his way through the bar. Thankfully in the opposite direction from her.
He’d have to keep an eye on the guy. Sometimes when men were told no, that spurred them to go after what they couldn’t have even more. And worse, some men would do anything to get it. Including using force.
Another hour passed with still no fucking sign of a Demon. Fletch needed to piss but he didn’t want to leave Nova alone while he did so. Maybe it was time to go. They could stop on their way back to the apartment to grab late-night grub and for him to relieve his screaming bladder.
He ground out his cigar directly onto the table and tucked it back inside his cut, but before he could rise and retrieve Nova, he noticed from the corner of his eye another biker approaching him.
While conversation with random bikers was helpful, it distracted him from keeping an eye on Nova and the men crowding her despite her wearing a “property of” cut. He figured bikers would have some silent code between them in regards to fucking another biker’s woman, but then maybe that only counted within their own brotherhood.
He’d have to ask Zak or Dawg, the gun shop manager, since it would be good information to have. There had to be some kind of known, or even unspoken, rule.
Of course, the biker stopping in front of his table was once again white. The obvious lack of diversity in this bar shouldn’t be surprising. For the most part, it seemed as if bikers stuck with their own.
In fact, some of the patches he saw tonight on cuts were clearly white supremacist symbols, including swastikas, SS bolts and imperial eagles.
He was actually surprised to find a man with Native American blood, as well as an openly bisexual member amongst the Dirty Angels. Fletch wondered if that club had always been accepting or if that changed once Zak Jamison earned the gavel.
When his newest visitor extended his hand, Fletch clasped it and gave the man a chin lift the same as he had with Wire.
“Boz. Tainted Souls.”
“Ghost. Dirty Angels.”
While he hadn’t planned on chatting up anyone tonight, these random approaches were turning out to be even better. Maybe that was the key. Let them come to him. He just wasn’t sure if he’d have the patience to do that every night when they came to Hawg Wild.
Because they would be back. Every Friday and Saturday if possible, unless he got word the Demons rolled in on a different night. If that happened, they’d pivot.
“Whatchya doin’ down here? This ain’t your territory.” Boz pulled out a chair, swung it around and straddled it backwards.
“Same as you. This ain’t your territory, either, is it?”
“Nope. But the Angels usually stick close to home.”
“Not all of us. Nothin’ wrong with checkin’ out new landscape.”
“Heard the Demons are lookin’ to claim this area. Figured that’s why you’re here. Know your territory starts just a cunt hair north of here. If the Demons end up takin’ this bar, the rest of us might not be welcome to hang here any longer.”
Well, someone didn’t like the fact that the Demons were on the move. That could work to Fletch’s advantage.
“True that. But we ain’t worried about the Demons encroachin’ on our territory. They know better. Ask the Warriors. They learned their lesson for fuckin’ with us.” He took another sip of beer, pretending it wasn’t flat and warm. “Was on a ride with my ol’ lady. Figured this would be a friendly place to take a break. Likin’ the atmosphere and so’s my ol’ lady, so we might be back since we’re also lookin’ to make some new… friends.”
Boz’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. “What kinda friends?”
“Ones with a hookup.”
“What kinda hookup you talkin’ about?”
“My ol’ lady likes a little pick-me-up now an’ again.”
The biker studied him, his expression closing down tight. “Can’t help you there.”
That was a fucking lie. “Know anyone who can? Our club don’t deal, so we always gotta look elsewhere. My ol’ lady would be really fuckin’ grateful if she could score tonight. Really grateful, if you know what I mean.” Fletch was reeling out the line hoping to hook a big fish.
Boz twisted his neck to check out Nova. He stared for longer than Fletch liked.
“Yeah, she looks like a keeper. ‘Specially if she’s wild as fuck in bed. She give good head?”
“The fuckin’ best. Can suck the ball off a trailer hitch. And when she’s flyin’ high, she lets me do all kinda shit to her. If I keep her happy, she keeps me happy.”
“Damn. Lucky bastard. Last bitch I face-fucked kept gaggin’ to the point she puked. Can’t help I’m hung like a horse.” He grinned, showing off a mouthful of what might be six teeth at the max. Fletch wasn’t going to waste the time counting. But once again he was glad he was very familiar with a toothbrush and toothpaste.