Devil's Girl: Dust Bowl Devils MC (8 page)

“I’m serious,” Nella said once they were gone. “This rivalry has to stop.” She poured another quick splash on me.

I relaxed my head back in the tub and breathed through the pain - it was much more manageable now. “Girl doesn’t know her place.”

“You think there were no young girls coming in and taking over the room when I was your age?” Nella shook her head. “It’s the natural progression of things. She’ll move on eventually and you’ll have run of the place. But it’ll happen again, with another girl, and then another.” She poured one more cooling splash of white liquid on me, then handed me a towel. I used it to wipe the sweat from my forehead. “You ought to start thinking about making yourself useful in other ways, like me. I did a little schooling, and now I run some of the books and do some hiring at the bar…”

“I don’t want to be here forever,” I said, my voice small.

“Then start making other plans. Nothing’s sadder than a girl who talks about leaving and then never does. I should know. I was one of them.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, then, “It still hurts.”

“Well, it’s going to be a couple hours. Keep the room for the night. I’ll leave this here.” She set the jug down on the sink. “Lie down on the bed when you can stand it and just keep reapplying for a while.” She scowled. “Foolish girls. Just plain foolish.”

“Thank you, Nella.”

“Well. Just remember.” She tapped the jug.

I laughed. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Goddamn.”

I never got the chance to escalate or to take my turn in the little war of ours. Dawn was good - I could give her that much. The girl knew how to push my buttons.

Word of my incident spread. Between that apparently hilarious episode and Dawn’s night on the leash, things were getting very entertaining in the clubhouse bar for the guys, and the bikers suddenly frequented the place in bigger numbers.

Gunner especially was a sore spot for me. I liked to think I was the only girl who could handle what he dished out, who could give him what he needed. It wasn’t affection or a crush or anything like that - it was simply territory. Simply pride in taking on the fierce biker; in sating the beast. It was my job, my place, not hers.

But it looked like Dawn could handle him perfectly well. He chose her over me time and again, so she was doing everything I could do. And then some - then she gave him the one thing I couldn’t make myself give him.

It was just around sunset that Friday. Many of the bikers were slipping out of their legit day jobs early to have a few beers and check up on what the crazy bitches were going to get into next. I was contemplating my next move. Irish had a few awful suggestions involving drugs and/or laxatives.

“I know you helped her with the pepper,” I said dryly. At least he had the decency to turn red. “If you play both sides, one day both of us will realize that neither of us can trust you.”

“I don’t need your trust, I just need your love,” he said, and made an exaggerated kissy face at me.

“Ugh, shoot me now.” I watched out the corner of my eye as Dawn sidled up to Gunner. He was sitting in a chair at one of the small tables, drinking bourbon and shooting the shit with Anchor and the older man’s new lady friend.

“Hey baby,” she purred, sliding onto his lap, “Anything I can do for you?” She made an obscene little show of wiggling on his lap. Anchor and the woman exchanged a knowing smirk. Dawn eyed me as she said, “Unless you’d like Ivy’s company better.”

Gunner’s eyes were locked on her chest. “You’re all right.” He lowered his head and nuzzled between them with a growl. Dawn laughed.

“I’m the best, right?” she said. He grunted an affirmation.She tilted his head up and kissed him, their tongues dancing and tangling for everyone to see. I scoffed and turned back to the bar. Irish was intently watching their little show.

“Really?” I asked him. Dawn still wouldn’t give him the time of day. It only made him try harder to get her attention.
At least I’ve been getting more free beer out of it.

He snorted. “She’s gonna fuck him right here.”

My heart sank. There were few things that Gunner - or any of the bikers, really - couldn’t talk me into doing. But I couldn’t fuck them in the bar. Everyone’s got a line they can’t cross, and that was mine, despite knowing that plenty other biker bitches did it, and plenty of college girls passing through would do it, and so on and so on. The room was no stranger to public sex acts, though it hadn’t seen it very much while I was the only bitch there. Maybe it was how I convinced myself that sleeping around the club wasn’t so bad - in my head, if it took place behind closed doors, it wasn’t anyone else’s business. Out in the open air? It was everybody’s business. It was out there for everyone to watch. And what did that make me?

So “no losing your pants at the bar” was my policy and it let me live in just a little denial. Gunner was the only one who really had any complaints about it.

“So trashy,” I said, shaking my head, as if I wasn’t wearing a microscopic miniskirt and tight camisole that barely covered my chest. As if I’d never fucked men ten, twenty years older than me, fucked more than one guy in one night, fucked drunk and high and violent bikers, fucked for cash and favors…
At least I’ve stayed off drugs. Mostly.
I had a good and healthy fear of
that
downward spiral.

Sure enough, when I glanced over my shoulder again, Dawn was pulling Gunner’s cock free from his pants and murmuring in his ear. He slid a hand up her skirt to cup her ass and grinned broadly.
No undies. Classy.
I wanted to get out of there, but I didn’t want to give her - either of them - the satisfaction of making me flee. I didn’t want them to know they were getting to me.

She shot me a triumphant glance as she lowered himself onto his thick member, straddling his lap and facing him. He groaned and gripped the table behind her.

“Feels good, baby,” she said, bouncing slowly. He sank his teeth into one of her breasts, making her gasp. He held her hips and dictated their rhythm. Several of the bikers shouted jeers and curses, cheering them on. I felt my own body responding as I watched. A flush crept into my cheeks, and I squirmed in my seat.
Damn them.

“Who else does this for you, baby?” Dawn asked him, running her hands through his hair.

He grunted. “You.”

Their chair creaked ominously. “No one else? Not Ivy?”

“Not Ivy.” He thrust up into her, hard, making her breasts bounce in front of his face. He was completely focused on her and her tits, but she kept shooting me smug little smiles as he fucked her.

I guess the public aspect really did it for him - he was grunting and sweating, and making the telltale groans that meant he was getting close to the end, fast. “Tell me I’m your favorite,” she purred into his ear, “Tell me I’m the baddest bitch here.”

He loosed a long, low groan and held her in place, his cock deep inside, as he shuddered his release. Looking up at her with an incredulous expression, he said, “You’re the baddest fucking bitch ever. Fuck.”

She shot me that smug look again as she dismounted. I wanted to wring her neck.

I could feel eyes burning into me, bikers and patrons alike. “That was a pretty blatant insult,” Irish said, leaning across the bar. “You gonna let that stand?”

Fuck no.
I pointed at Dawn. “I declare Midnight Thunder.” The bar erupted in hoots and cheers. Dawn herself looked around in confusion as she straightened her skirt.

“What’s Thunder?”

The bar rang with an explosion of sound - people banged their fists on their tables twice and shouted, “Thunder!”

It was my turn for a triumphant grin.

◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙

Midnight Thunder was a Dust Bowl Devils tradition dating back to the forming of the club. It was nothing more than an old fashioned drinking endurance test game. The challenged picked the booze. “Thunder” was because you were supposed to slam each shot glass down twice without breaking or dropping it (though it didn’t disqualify you if you did). “Midnight” because, we assumed, the game needed a restriction. You couldn’t have bikers playing Thunder at noon and then driving around town or trying to do a job. It was mainly reserved for settling differences and answering insults.

Calls went out. Even Bill showed up, his sort-of girlfriend Veronica in tow. Irish gave Dawn a crash course on the game and the strategy (swallow booze fast, sit very still, don’t think about your stomach). She chose whiskey - an easy and obvious choice.
I’m gonna wipe the floor with her.

By quarter to midnight, the bar was packed. Even Theo showed his face, though I avoided him. Now was not the time to lose my cool. “I didn’t expect this to turn into such an event,” I said to Irish, observing the crowd. The men were moving some of the tables out of the way, making space around the one Dawn and I would share so everyone could pack in and watch. Irish prepared a tray full of shots.

“After your bathtub event, no one wants a miss a minute of you and Dawn getting into trouble,” he said, flashing a grin. “Besides, how often do a couple of ladies do Thunder?”

Rarely. It wasn’t unprecedented but it was almost never.

We took our seats as the clock approached midnight. Irish lined up a set of shots in front of us - five each, "Just to get started," he said.

Bill pulled up a third chair to preside over the game. "Whoa, didn't think this was that serious," I said. The president of the club, watching over our silly antics? It seemed insane.

"The guys voted to postpone a run for this nonsense," he grumbled. "This is the end. I don't want any more pranks or any other forms of bullshit from you two after this, understand?"

"Yes, Bill," Dawn said, hanging her head. She could still barely face him after the leash incident.

"Sorry," I mumbled, though I was secretly pretty amused that the big tough biker gang would rearrange their schedule to watch a couple bitches have a drink-off. It was almost heartwarming. Even Bill, gruff as he sounded, had a glint in his eye.
Well what good is a club if you can't have fun once in a while?

Irish counted down to midnight and the bikers pounded on the tables as Dawn and I lifted the first shots to our lips.

"Good luck, bitch!" she said with a sickly sweet smile.

"Fuck you, too!" I said lifting my shotglass in a salute. We threw back the amber liquid in unison. It burned a delicious path of fire down my throat, making my eyes water. Together, we slammed the glasses twice and left them upside-down on the table.

"Again!" Bill shouted, bringing his fist down on the table. Whiskey sloshed over the sides of our overfilled little glasses.
This is gonna get messy.

He refereed us through the five shots. Even the kitchen staff came out to watch and to help Irish serve all the spectators. Number two went down about the same. I had to wipe my eyes clear - Dawn didn't seem to be having any such trouble.
Means nothing
, I assured myself.

The third shot went down smoother. I knew my body well. I could handle four shots comfortably. Five would put me squarely in drunk-land. More than seven would put me in the wasted zone.
All I have to do is outlast Dawn
. Minus the boobs there was no way she weighed more than me, and the boobs were fake, so they didn't even count.
I've got this.

Bill directed us through the last two in rapid succession. I felt the familiar buzz in my head and in my veins, but I knew I wouldn't truly be hit by the effect unless I stood up.
So don't stand up.
"Next round!" I shouted as we double-slammed the fifth shot glass to the table.

Dawn's grin was crooked. "What wrong?" I asked her with mock concern, "A little drunk? Huh? Does your tummy hurt?"

"I'm just getting started," she said.

I caught Theo looking at me as the next tray was delivered and Bill lined up the shots. He shook his head, a smile twitching just at the corners of his lips. I raised my sixth shot to him. He raised his own glass right back. I tore my eyes away - now was not the time to distract myself wondering what it could mean.

The crowd around us was getting rowdy. Bets were being placed and money changed hands as we made our way down the row. I locked eyes with Dawn as we slammed back number eight. It was getting serious.