LOGAN (BAD BOY BIKER ROMANCE)
Read LOGAN (BAD BOY BIKER ROMANCE) Online
Authors: Kyle Jacobs
Logan
by
Kyle Jacobs
Copyright © 2016 Kyle Jacobs
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
dialogue, and everything else are products of the author's
imagination. Any resemblance to people or events, living
or dead, is purely coincidental.
Oliver
"Holy crap. With a smoking body like that you aren't going to have any problems getting extra tips."
Oliver turned from paying his taxi driver to see who was speaking to him. The speaker was a tall, stunningly handsome guy with short blond hair.
"I'll take all the tips and compliments where I can get 'em," Oliver said, and he meant it. Paying the taxi to come all the way out here took almost the last of his cash. And after covering the cost for a few days in a crummy motel room, he'd need a big cash infusion and fast.
"Just calling it like I see it, honey," the blond said as he clopped over in expensive boats. He offered his hand to Oliver. "I'm Edward. But you can call me Eddie since I think we're going to be working together."
Oliver took his hand and shook. The grip was firm and his palm felt unusually dry. Like leathery burlap left too long in the desert sun.
"You're here for the audition, too?" Oliver said, nodding toward the low level building they stood outside of. A huge neon sign read 'Hot Rocks', along with an outline of a shirtless cowboy. Both sign and cowboy appeared to be off for the morning, as the club didn't open until later that day.
Eddie cackled. "No, not at all. At least, not any more. I just sort of, uh, help around the club."
"Cool," Oliver said for lack of anything else. This blond worked here and was friendly toward him. Maybe this was just the angle he needed to secure a job.
Eddie took this as a sign of genuine interest and became more animated. "Yeah, I stripped here for, oh, I dunno, maybe three years before the Club decided I was more important to them doing other things."
"The Club? You mean the manager?"
Eddie laughed. "No! The Club. You know, the real owners of this joint," he said with a thick tone of conspiracy.
Oliver looked perplexed. Just then, two other smoking hot guys walked past them and into Hot Rocks through the huge glass front door.
Eddie glanced at them, then took a step closer to speak to Oliver in almost a whisper. "The Macabre Jesters MC."
Oliver felt suddenly mortified. Oh, no, he thought.
His reaction must have looked like confusion because Eddie added, "You know, MC? Motorcycle Club? They're one of the more respected ones here in the valley." He looked at Oliver's expression with concern. "You've heard of them, right?"
Oliver knew damn well who they were. He knew of all the Biker Clubs in this part of the country. And he certainly wanted nothing more to do with them.
Damnit, Oliver thought. He didn't realize this was an MC business. Although most strip joints would be controlled by a MC Club or gang, he had hoped to find one which was free of that kind of influence. He really needed to do his homework before applying to these kind of places. But his skill set limited his options.
Without realizing it, Oliver looked over his shoulder back toward the highway, which ran parallel to the bar's wide parking lot. He half expected to see a dark blue mustang there, crouching in wait. And Gavin glaring at him from behind the wheel.
Maybe he should just leave now. But where else could he possibly go? He choices were almost none existent.
"Are you all right, sweetie?" Eddie asked.
"Yeah," Oliver said, composing himself. "I've heard of them. Just not sure if this really is the place for me, that's all."
Eddie laughed. "I think you'll fit in just great." He hooked an arm through Oliver's, snuggling up against him like they were old high school buddies. He steered him toward the door. "I think the boys are gonna love you."
The hot air from outside was immediately replaced by the cool air-conditioned environment of the club. Down a short hallway, and past an empty cloak room, they emerged into a vast open bar area. Dozens of tables lined several tiers. Oliver guessed that this place could easily seat several hundred patrons. All of the tables were angled around a wide stage that ran along one side. It was larger than others Oliver used before, with four different steel poles, strategically placed, for dancers to use.
A long bar took up the entire wall on the opposite end of the room, furthest from the entrance. If a customer decided to leave, they would have to walk the length of the club and past the stage. The long walk was designed to give tipsy customers time to change their minds.
All the interior work was of a very high quality. Nothing cheap here. Oliver took this as a good sign, but he wasn't fooled.
"Must get really wild in here, with such a big crowd," Oliver said as he paused to look around.
"Yeah, it can," said Eddie. "But you never have to worry. Customers can't touch the dancers, and if some drunk gets the wrong idea, the situation gets resolved real quick." Edward grinned and indicated a place at the far back. "The boys run a really tight ship."
Oliver looked.
Sitting around a large table against near the back end of the bar, sat a group of men. But not just any men. Each were of an intimidating size, and radiated an almost immutable confidence. The kind of confidence that one doesn't even have to think of, it just was. As a group they were both terrifying and awe inspiring for an outsider to behold. Like benevolent gods who had come down to earth to claim their kingdom, whether anyone liked it or not.
The Macabre Jesters Motorcycle Club.
Oliver swallowed, and felt a tingle of apprehension in his chest. Yup, those were bikers.
"They're good guys," Eddie said, then shrugged. "For the most part. Just don't cross them." When one of the bikers appeared to glance in their direction, Eddie gave an excited little wave.
But he, nor any of the other bikers seemed to care. They were immersed in their talk.
"They look pretty serious," Oliver said.
"They're probably talking Club business," Eddie said. "Almost always makes them grumpy." He tugged at Oliver's arm. "Come on, we'll get you in to see the manager."
As Oliver let himself be pulled along, he looked back across the vast gulf that was the bar, toward the seated figures.
One biker happened to be sitting in more light than the others, as if the room itself felt he warranted more attention. He was large, stocky in build, with short cropped brown hair. Oliver got just a glance of him, and was struck with how drop dead gorgeous he was.
Then he caught his breath. He was looking back, locking eyes with him.
Then Eddie yanked him further down the bar toward a series of couches outside what looked to be an office. Oliver was disappointed he couldn't ogle the handsome biker for a few moments more. But not as disappointed at seeing all the other stripper talent sitting here. Tight jeans, bulging crotches and skin tight shirts assailed his vision.
It seemed each guy was more incredibly handsome than the next.
Eddie sat the two of them at a small table. "I'll get you ahead of the line, don't worry."
"Cool," Oliver said. He didn't think it would make any difference when he got in to see the manager. There were so many stunning guys here, how could he even hope to compete?
"Diseased twinks, the lot of them," Eddie whispered, then cackled. Oliver was suddenly hit with a feeling about this man. As if there was a tinge of sick desperation to his actions.
God, I'm one to judge, he thought.
Glancing at the closed door of the office Oliver asked, "What's his name? The manager."
"Henry," Eddie said, and frowned a little. "A real scum bucket. But then aren't all strip club managers scum buckets?"
"Oh, yeah?" Oliver said, trying not to sound to leery.
"Don't worry. I'll get you in there and you just do your thing."
"Thing? I dance for him in his office? Not on the stage?"
Again, that annoying cackle. Eddie said, "No, stupid. You don't dance today. That's on audition night. This is the audition for the audition."
Oliver was as confused as he was concerned. "What am I expected to do now?"
Just then, the office door swung open.
Eddie shrugged and said, "Whatever that pervert wants."
Suddenly, a tall gorgeous guy scampered out of the office, his skin tight shirt was torn. He was crying hysterically. As he ran past a bewildered Oliver, a voice boomed from within the office. "Thanks, but no thanks, bitch!"
Oliver, wide eyed watched the poor guy run to the front door and out into the heat. He turned to look at Eddie, wide eyed.
"Guess he doesn't get an audition," Eddie said without a hint of humor. Then, he stood up and yelled, "Henry, I got a real looker here for you!"
"Then send him in!" snarled the voice from the office.
Eddie sat back down and grinned maniacally at Oliver. "You're up."
Oliver was dumbfounded. What was he to do? With a setup like that all he wanted now was to follow that other guy out of here. But he couldn't. He needed this job. Desperately.
Composing himself, Oliver stood up, smoothing unseen wrinkles on his tight jeans.
Eddie leaned over and whispered too loudly, "Don't worry. Henry is one of those thirty seconds kind of guys. You'll be out of there in no time." Again, that cackle.
"That's great," Oliver said. Horrified, yet totally caught up in the moment. He headed toward the door, past the open death stares emanating from the other dancers.
"Slut." Someone hissed. Others giggled.
Oliver ignored them, but as he got to the doorway Henry bellowed from within, "And close the God damned door while you're at it." His stride faltered.
Keep it together, he thought. His heart was hammering in his chest.
Then he entered the office, and closed the door.