Honey Whiskey (A Bastards MC Novel) (17 page)

I scowled. It wasn’t ok. I wanted answers, but
I knew he had to go. “Fine. I’m going to the gym with Cris today
and need to get ready anyway. Call me later?”

“Absolutely. I love you like
crazy, even if you are a giant pain in the ass.”

I smiled, all my irritation gone.
“Love you, too.”

Chapter 16

Jo

“
Am I dressed well
enough?”

Cris grabbed her gym bag from the back and
slammed the door of her Jeep Wrangler before coming around to my
side and sweeping her eyes over my light grey yoga pants, unzipped
Nike Sweatshirt, and black exercise tank that proclaimed “Sweat is
Fat Crying,” in bold letters over my boobs. With a sassy smile that
mirrored one I’d seen from her brother at least a thousand times,
she nodded. “It’s a gym, Joey. How else should you be
dressed?”

I rolled my eyes as we turned towards the
building. “Well, considering the vehicles I see in the parking lot,
I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t underdressed.” There were two
Jags, a Mercedes S Class, and a Porsche mixed in with another
wrangler and Volvo.

Cris snorted as she swiped a card in front of
the door. Looking down at her very tiny sports bra and boxing
shorts, she smirked. “If anyone’s underdressed, it’s me.” She held
open the door for me, dropping her voice. “They’re a bunch a nerds
that made their millions and now they need to come here to keep
their trophy wives happy. Trust me. You’re fine.”

The Beginner’s class was exactly
how it sounded. A group of eight men, all dressed in baggy tee
shirts and shorts, concentrating on learning stances and footwork.
Muay Thai, we were told, is the art of eight limbs. It has an
eight-point fighting system and uses every part of your body.
Unlike traditional kickboxing, you can use fists, feet, knees, and
elbows to hit your opponent. First, though, you had to learn how to
control your body and work on core strength.

Cris was teaching the class
standing with her back to a wall of mirrors that reminded me of a
dance studio, so that we could see ourselves and watch her at the
same time. The school’s co-owner, Nick, walked around while Cris
yelled, helping us move our bodies into a new pose and offering
suggestions. My fat was most definitely crying today—I was sweating
buckets.

The class ended with us watching a
sparring match between Cris and the other instructor. She was tiny
compared to him. Even with her headgear and boxing gloves, he was a
few inches taller, maybe 6’1, and had a good fifty pounds of pure
muscle on her. They were obviously not trying to hurt each other,
explaining each move as they went, laughing and taunting each
other. Someone could do serious damage with this method of
fighting. I was impressed.

After she climbed out of the ring
and pulled off her gear, she dragged Nick over to meet me. His dark
brown eyes sparkled at me. “When Cris told me she was bringing her
friend Jo today, I assumed he’d fit right in with the rest of the
class.” He shot her a dirty look. “Jesus, Cris, thanks for warning
me! I’da shaved.” He ran his hands over the dark hair on his
chin.

I gave him a
small smile, not sure what to say. He winked in reply, a beaming
smile splitting his cheeks. He was every woman’s fantasy, dressed
only in red boxing shorts, his tanned, toned body was glistening
from the workout, and it only emphasized his bulging muscles. He
wasn't as tattooed as Matty, but he had plenty of ink running along
his arms and a giant minotaur, dressed as a boxer ready to pounce,
took up his entire back. You could tell by the way he held himself
that he was proud of his body.

“
So, whatdidya think?” He tipped
his head over towards the studio part of the building, where class
had been held. “You comin’ back?”

I nodded. “I had so much fun! I may never get
to the sparring level, but I’d like to know more.”

Nick nodded. “Good.” He leaned his upper body
towards me, eyebrows waggling friskily. “If not, I’d have to beg ya
not to leave until you’d given me your number.”

Cris groaned, playfully annoyed.
“Jesus, you're an idiot! This is Joey,” she said, pointing at me.
Nick didn’t take his eyes off me. “As in Joes.” Her tone turned
snappy. Nick raised his eyebrows, still not understanding. “As in
Mateo’s girl.”

Nicks eyes widened and he jerked
back. “Oh!” He met my eyes, shrugging. “Sorry. Didn’t realize.” It
was like flipping a switch. He went from flirtatious to polite and
accommodating before my eyes.

I turned to Cris, raising an
eyebrow, sure I was missing something. She just smirked and nodded
her head at him. "Jo, meet Neo. Matty's brothah." I scowled,
confused for a split second. Matty didn't have a brother, unless
you considered the club. Then it all made sense—Nick was a
Bastard.

After chatting a few more minutes,
I explained what I really wanted to learn. Nick took me back to the
studio to show me a few easy moves to use to ward off would-be
attackers while Cris went up to her office to deal with paperwork.
He promised that the next few classes of Muay Thai would help, but
spent the good part of an hour teaching me how to punch.

“
No.” He laughed when I showed him
how I would make a fist. Opening my hand, he pulled out my thumb
and then closed my fingers. “If you keep your thumb on the inside,
you’ll break it.” It took a few tries, but I was finally able line
my knuckles up the way he wanted and put my thumb in the safest
place.

Next, we worked on wrist alignment
and where I should aim. “You’re a little thing,” he said, laughing
when I gave him a glowering look. “It’s not a bad thing,” he
corrected. “It just means that you’re going to have less targets
than most. Aim for the throat. The nose, if the guy is short or
sitting. But the throat any other time.”

He was in the middle of showing me
how important follow through was (“It’s the most important thing
when you’re punching someone,” he’d said) when Cris came in,
freshly showered and looking fantastic in tight jeans and a
tank.

“I’m sorry to
cut your session short, but we have to go, Jo.”

I dropped my arms, turning to her.
“Everything ok?” She only shook her head no before hauling Nick up
to the office.

Five minutes later, we were in her
Jeep. “Do you have time to drop me off at the house
first?”

She zoomed through a yellow light
as she shook her head. “No. Unfortunately we’ve both been summoned
to Bury.”

“
Summoned? By who?”

She gave me a sideways glace. “Who do you
think?”

I scowled. Rocker. I wondered what was so
important that he needed us in the middle of the day. I watched out
the window, trying to keep my bearings as I wondered if we were
going to his office. Cris headed towards South Boston, but then
turned again towards Roxbury.

I tensed a little when I realized
we were headed into the part of the city Will and our college
friends had called Glocksbury. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d
been here. It was supposed to be scary as hell. The apartment
buildings were nice, though, not at all what I expected. But as we
drove they started to disappear, replaced by businesses and
warehouses that got further and further apart. The property on my
left was huge, but I couldn’t see much more than a building or two
through the privacy fence that surrounded it. Cris slowed suddenly
and put on her blinker. “Where are we?”

She turned into a paved driveway and stopped
at a camera that sat outside the fence. Opening her window and
reaching out, she finally replied, “The clubhouse.” There was a
loud beep and then the gate swung inward. I glanced around, trying
to take it all in. It was a large parking lot, with one huge
building and two smaller ones. Between the smaller buildings was a
giant playground and a picnic/grill area with deep green grass that
seemed out of place amidst all the asphalt.

She parked in a space near the
large red building and sighed. “I forgot you haven’t been here.”
She glanced around the lot and then nodded. “You’ll be fine. There
aren’t that many people here.”

“I can’t go in!”
I exclaimed, shocked. I stared at the sign that took up most of the
outside wall in front of me. It matched the back of the Bastards’
jackets. A silver Itus, wearing an ancient Roman helmet, in front
of two jagged swords, each dripping red blood, ready to viciously
slay anyone that threatened those he protected. ‘Bastards MC’
arched above him in bold red print, and ‘Boston’ curled below him
in the same red letters. It was intimidating as hell. “I’m all
sweaty and gross.”

She opened her door and then
pointed at me. “Out. Now. If I have to face him, you do too.” I
glared at her, but got out. “This used to be an elementary school,”
she explained as we walked toward the door. “The city sold it when
they upgraded. Perfect place for the club, tons of space for
everything they want or need, and easy to get to.”

It was dark once the door closed
behind us, and my eyes needed a minute to adjust. If I didn’t know
better, I’d swear we were in a bar. The room was decent sized, but
full. There were at least twenty-five high tables, each surrounded
by three or four black padded bar stools. In the corner to my left,
there were four black leather couches and a couple of chairs set up
in a large square. In the corner to my right, there were four pool
tables. At the end of the room, a long wooden counter came off the
wall in a U. Behind it there were hundreds of bottles of liquor and
a stainless steel refrigerator. Above them, stretching the length
of the bar, was a sign that proclaimed to the world, “GOD FORGIVES.
BASTARDS DON’T.”

The bottom of the walls were wood,
the top painted a light silver. Everywhere I looked, the Bastards
insignia seemed to be present. The walls held framed newspaper
clippings, pictures, and framed leather jackets. Every inch of the
space was colored in black, red, silver, or polished
wood.

“
Wow.”

Cris gave me a disgusted look and
rolled her eyes. “I need a fuckin’ drink.” She strode across the
room and behind the bar, grabbing a glass. “You want?”

“
It’s two in the
afternoon!”

“
Exactly!”

I shook my head in exasperation,
promising myself I wouldn’t say anything else, and took a seat,
leaning onto the counter. “Water?”

She turned and grabbed me a bottle from the
fridge, then downed her shot. Bracing her arms on the counter, she
leaned forward and gave me a wry smile. “I better go back. Stay
here. I won’t be long.”

I nodded. She walked back around
the bar and down a hallway that I hadn’t noticed earlier. I
wondered what was down it, half-tempted to go exploring. I turned
in my chair, awed by not only the size, but how nice this room was.
There were two closed doors—one right behind the bar and one over
by the pool tables. She’d told me to stay here, but I wasn’t really
leaving if I just peeked in them, right?

I slid off my stool just as a man
walked out of the hallway. He had a glass tumbler in one hand and
held a phone up to his ear with the other as he talked loudly. He
slowed and gave me a curious look. I smiled and offered a pathetic
wave. He smiled back and then walked towards the couches. I turned
back to the bar feeling like an idiot. I stood, tapping my foot and
sipping my water as I replayed everything I’d learned earlier,
trying not to listen to his conversation.

“Babe? I said I need a refill.” I
jumped when a hand touched my arm, the other hand flying to my
chest. His eyes followed the movement and lingered on my breasts as
he smiled sarcastically and held up the empty glass. “My glass is
empty.”

“Oh!” I laughed
at my jumpiness and tried to ignore his scrutiny. “I’m sure they
won’t mind if you get yourself another drink.” I gestured at the
bar and turned back to my water.

He chuckled, a low deep sound, and stepped
closer. “First time heah?”

I nodded, turning slightly to make
eye contact. He practically oozed ‘Bad Boy Biker,’ from the way he
leaned his large beefy frame confidently against the counter to the
intense and dangerous look I could see in his hazel eyes. “Yeah.
I’m waiting for Rocker.”

He pulled out a pack of Marlboro
Reds and held it out to me. I declined, and he shook one out,
lighting up. I took the opportunity to scan him. Next to Tiny, this
mystery man was the biggest Bastard—if he was a member of the
club—I’d met. His arms were veiny, as if he’d spent every second he
could working out. His plain black tee shirt was tight, showing a
wide and muscular torso, but it was tucked into a pair of baggy
blue jeans that looked like they hadn’t fit him right in years—the
thick belt he wore was barely keeping them up. I stared at his
buckle a second too long, trying to figure out what was on the
large bronze circle. It was Itus. He wasn’t wearing a vest or
jacket, but I doubted he’d be able to wear the symbol if he wasn’t
a member.

When my eyes moved back to his
face, I realized that he was giving me the same kind of once over
I’d just given him. I shifted, uncomfortable. “I thank God every
damn day for the man that invented yoga pants.” He’d mumbled it to
himself more than to me.