Sentinel - Devil Riders MC Book 1 (MC Romance Novel with FREE Bonus Novel!) (6 page)

It was only then that Trigger burst into laughter again, guffawing with genuine amusement.

"You know what?" he roared, "I think she believed me!"

Once again Chrissy felt her cheeks grow hot, feeling stupid and like a fish out of water. Surprisingly it was Trish who came to her rescue. The pint-sized woman got off the stool and approached Trigger, shoving him away with her hands.

"Go find someone else to bother, moron," she said.

Still laughing, he backed off and returned to the group, who were all looking amused at his antics. Trish, obviously deciding she had done her duty, returned to her spot behind the bar. Chrissy wasn’t sure what to make of the woman, but she clearly did feel the need to take crap from the customers, even if they were bikers.

* * * *

After that, more guys came in and a few of them had girls with them. The girls seemed to be uniformly skinny and wore tight shorts and halter tops that showed various tattoos. More than one had the club logo tattooed on her shoulder blade.

Chrissy spent the rest of her shift attending to the bikers. More came and left—some she vaguely recognized from the previous night, most she didn't. All were interested in the new girl, some far more directly than others.

Later in the evening a trickle of women started to come in. These were of a different breed than the ones with the bikers. Some wore short skirts and heels, some dresses. They would enter the clubhouse and greet the men with coy smiles and bedroom eyes. The men seemed to know them, calling some by names. After a time, Chrissy noticed one biker take a woman by the hand and lead her off through a door into back rooms. That started the flow and she was then disappearing and then returning, sometimes two bikers with one girl, sometimes one biker and two girls. Trish didn’t even try to conceal her contempt for these women as they came and left, and at one point Chrissy built up the courage to ask her about them.

"Who are these women?"

Trish's scowl never left her face as she answered.

“The ones who come in alone are just whores. I don’t mean they are all pros, but I suppose some are. Most of them are just women who are turned on by banging bikers. Some are regulars, some come in once, maybe twice. They hang around, teasing the guys, looking for a hot biker to fuck.”

“Who are they?”

Trish shrugged. “I don’t inquire, but I imagine some are unsatisfied wives on the prowl. Maybe they’re just rich bitches or society girls slumming, hoping for a little rough trade. Some of them come in once and either get more than they bargained for or something and you never see them again. Some come in irregular, probably when their old man is away, and some come in steady for time.”

“And the rooms?”

“This place has several rooms out in the back. Rave stuck beds in them so the guys have a place to take the girls and fuck their brains out—the few that have any brains.” Her eyes glittered with enmity. “Rafe figures the guys are going to take the women up on their oh so obvious offers and thinks it’s better they don’t go off to other places… drunk driving and all that. Besides, some of the boys don’t have any place to take them.”

“But why would these women…”

“Be so fucking turned on by this crowd? Who knows? The guys call them sweet butts or coffin cats, and don't ask me why because I have no freakin' clue. And it isn’t like they treat them like princesses. The girls who come in regular wind up getting passed around until the guys get bored with them, or they get tired of it and stop coming in. No matter what, there always seem to be new ones coming in here. It ain’t worth the time to learn their names—you can’t keep track. Fuck knows where they all come from."

As if on cue, Trigger stood up, tugging at the hand of a short blond in a tight skirt, pulling her to her feet. She had on a tight, stretchy top and it was clear the girl had her nipples pieced. She giggled as Trigger walked her through the door into the back, and she glanced at Trish and Chrissy, giving them a pleased grin before the two of them disappeared inside.

“She thinks we should be jealous,” Trish said.

“Should we be?”

Trish snapped a look at her and Chrissy laughed.

“Teasing. I was wondering it that was part of the job too, being jealous.”

Trish gave her a half smile. “It just shows what a pea brain she has. She seems to think convincing Trigger to take her in a back room for a quick screw proves something, says she’s
hot.”

The comment made Chrissy wonder if Trish
was
jealous. But her tone of voice sounded more disdainful than anything else.

“Does that matter?”

Trish shrugged. “Trigger is a good guy. Not all that bright in some ways, but has a good heart. I’d like him to find someone better, someone long term.” She reached for a beer. “Not that he’ll find one here, and he doesn’t go anywhere else, so unless he meets one at work, I guess the girls here will do to keep him from climbing the walls.”

It had never occurred to Chrissy to think about bikers having jobs. It was almost as if ‘biker’ was a profession in her mind. “What does he do?”

“He manages a gym. It isn’t far from here. A long time ago, in a land far away, I’m told, he was a physical therapist. Now he’s a trainer.”

That explained his physique. Of course none of it was Chrissy’s business—not Trish or Trigger, or their love lives. None of it was anything to do with her work. It all seemed a little bit seedy to her, and if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that there was no way she was gonna end up as a coffin cat, no matter what. She’d make sure the guys saw her differently, learned to give her some respect. And she still had no idea if there was any possibility with Rafe. She had no idea if he had a girl, and she certainly wouldn’t ask Trish.

"So don't these guys have wives or long-term girlfriends or anything?"

Trish shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

"Some do.” She nodded to a back table. “You see a guy bring a girl in with him, she’s usually his old lady. He sure wouldn’t bring in a girl he was trying to impress, and they’ve already got enough sluts here. So when you see a girl come in with one of the guys, she’s probably his old lady, or if nothing else, she’s a biker bitch that belongs to a couple of them.”

“They share women?”

Trish laughed. “Seems like some girls dig that too. It wouldn’t work for me, I tell you. Either way, whether she’s some guy’s old lady or just a biker bitch, most of the ones who belong to a guy stick close to them. You don’t usually see them going in back.” Trish looked at Chrissy. “You seem awfully interested in the women. Are you into girls?”

“Not so you’d notice.” Trish shot her a look and she wondered if she’d confused her. “That means, no, Trish. No way am I into girls. I’m just trying to sort out how this little subculture works so I don’t step on any toes, at least not by accident.”

The exchange seemed to remind Trish that she was supposed to dislike Chrissy. “Subculture… is that what you call it, the way people behave, or don’t? Well, you’ll figure it out soon enough.” She shook her head as if to clear it. “Assuming you stick around. Not that I see that happening." Then she walked away, leaving Chrissy hurt. Did she look that fragile? Well she damn well wasn’t. She couldn’t be. Life was hard and you had to be tough.

We'll see about that, Trish.

Certainly she knew the biker world was different, and the reality wasn’t exactly what she’d expected—nothing like she’d expected. Still, when Chrissy thought about it for a little bit, these bikers and the girls who hung with them didn't seem all that different from what she’d seen in school, especially with the cliques, and bikers were definitely a clique. At school there were always the girls who hung around the jocks, the loose girls who would brag about fucking the captain of the football team.

She remembered being shocked when one girl, a cheerleader, boasted about giving blow jobs to the first string of the basketball team after they won the championship. As if her idea of rewarding them that way made her special. At the time Chrissy had thought she was just talking, but later she found out it was true and she flat didn’t understand her any more than she’d ever make sense of the women who came in this bar with the intention of having sex with a biker, or more than one. Nor could she figure out women who wanted one guy enough that they didn’t mind if he shared her with his buddies. But then the only difference between that cheerleader and these women was that these were a little older, more worn and rougher around the edges. She saw one other difference too—the looks in the eyes of the women sitting with bikers said they were hungry for something different, something that made them feel alive.

Chrissy spent the rest of the shift serving drinks and mostly sitting and listening to the banter among the bikers. Slowly she went from being intimidated by them, a little concerned by their rough manners and vulgar language, to seeing them as basically nice guys who felt they needed to act tough. She could understand that, relate to putting up a bluff exterior. After all, talking back to them was her way of doing the same thing—keeping anyone from seeing she felt vulnerable. As the evening wore on she got used to their antics and noticed that most of the jostling, the baiting of the others, was done in good humor. The guys all seemed to know each other extremely well, and their bond had something endearing about it.

Serving beer, wiping up the spilled messes, watching the crowd, she saw them as a whole. She’d never understand the motives of the sweet butts and coffin cats, but if it made the girls happy, who was she to criticize? No one dragged them in there, and they could spend a few hours being admired, flattered, and even getting laid. No one was forcing anyone to do a damn thing—they all seemed within their comfort zones.

It struck her that maybe part of the reason this biker bar seemed relatively mellow was because the girls were there. Then, when Trigger emerged from a back room with the blonde, both of them with broad shit-eating grins plastered across their faces, she knew she was right. Trigger came back to his table with a swagger, jovially back slapping guys that looked for all the world like poster children for death row. He certainly was calmer than he’d been.

Shortly after, another guy sat at the table with them and starting talking to the girl. Chrissy braced herself for an explosion that never came. “You’re almost as sweet as Trigger,” the girl cooed to the new man, who had his hands all over her. Trigger smiled and sat back, finishing his beer and waving for Chrissy to bring another. As she came over to the table, the girl and the new guy were getting up and heading for the back room. They guy had his hand up her skirt.

Trigger laughed when he saw Chrissy staring. “She isn’t wearing panties,” he said.

Chrissy blushed. “Probably saves time.” She tried to sound unruffled, but Trigger’s grin told her she’d failed. She walked back to the bar thinking that these people gave the term “casual sex” new meaning.

****

Around 11pm that night Chrissy began to wonder what time things closed up and when she’d be able to go home. The first night on a job was exhausting, between trying to learn what to do and then actually getting on with it. Trish just let her do it, disappearing into the office for long periods of time.

Chrissy hadn't ever asked what the hours were and Trish hadn’t volunteered any information about the job at all. She cursed herself for letting Trish intimidate her. The truth was, Trish worried her more than the bikers, but in a different way. It seemed she worked for the woman, but she didn’t even know if that was true. She’d put off asking, expecting Rafe to turn up and hoping he’d explain what was going on.

Meanwhile, the night grew long. The bikers didn't seem in a hurry to get anywhere, and they were still drinking, getting progressively more loud and rowdy the more beer they drank.

She noticed that Trigger drank steadily. He grew red-faced and raucous as he gulped down beer after beer. He stood up and approached the bar, swaying on his feet slightly.

"One more." He grinned at Chrissy, and she raised an eyebrow.

“You sure?”

His smile turned to a frown.

"Whaddaya mean? You tr-trying to say somethin'?"

Chrissy held up her hands in supplication.

"No, no, of course not. I was just asking.” She popped the top of another bottle of Bud and handed it to him. “Here.”

He took it and drank deeply, some of the amber liquid spilling down his shirt. He set the bottle down heavily and wiped his mouth.

"You know, you're pretty hot Chrissy."

"Thanks, I guess," she responded warily. The last thing she needed was Trigger hitting on her. Not only was she unsure how to handle a guy like this, it would likely make Trish hate her more than she did already. She prayed that he'd get the message and back off. Unfortunately, he was too far gone to pick up on the signals she was sending. He leaned over the bar and circled an arm around her waist.

"C'mere," he slurred.

Chrissy felt a familiar heat rise inside her, that same anger that she always felt when a man touched her without an invitation, that same heat she had first felt when Benny had first hit her.

"Why don't you go back over there with your buddies, Trigger," she said. “You already got laid tonight.”