Steel Justice (A Romantic Suspense) (2 page)

“Five hundred? Are you crazy? I can’t make that much money as a beer bucket babe. Not even during a bike rally. You know all of our money comes from tips. Bikers can be tight-fisted.”

He taps his cigarette on the white plastic ashtray sitting on the bedside table. Stray ash floats to the floor and melt tiny holes in the carpet. He doesn’t even notice.

“That’s because you’re lazy,” he replies. “I’ve heard some of those girls make five thousand bucks a week at the bike rallies.”

I shake my head and sit down on the foot of the bed. 

“Maybe at Sturgis, South Dakota, or Daytona Beach. The Panama City Bike Rally doesn’t draw half the crowd of those rallies. I’ll be lucky to bring in two hundred a night at the most.” I glance around the room. “Have you seen my black boots? They were on the bed.”

“Yeah, I threw them on the floor. They were in my way.”

I look down under the dingy bedspread and reach for the knee-high leather boots. I tug one on and then the other. My feet are aching before I even pull up the zippers.

The boots, with their three-inch spiked heels, are incredibly painful to stand in all night. If I had it my way, I would be working in a pair of worn-out tennis shoes. Too bad old shoes aren’t considered sexy.

When I start to stand up, Ty suddenly reaches over and grabs my upper arm. He squeezes until I yelp.

“Stop it!”

I tug at his hand. It doesn’t budge.

“Let me go, Ty.”

I turn my head away from the stale smell of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. By tomorrow, a big purple bruise will appear and I’ll have to cover it up with makeup. Bruises aren’t a turn on and will make me look cheap.

“I said five hundred,” he warns. “And I don’t want to hear any excuses from you. Frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck what you have to do to make it either. If you can’t bring in the money opening beer bottles, then find another way. Show them your tits if you have to. You like to put on airs and act all high and mighty, but you ain’t too good for that. Don’t forget where you came from. A two-bit meth whore, that’s where.”

I know arguing with my brother won’t do any good. The only reason he dragged me along with him on this trip to Panama City is because he thought we would have an opportunity to make some extra bucks.

For
me
to make some extra bucks, it turns out. Not him.

Easy money, he had said. Piece of cake.

Yeah right.

Easy for him to say that, too.

He isn’t the one standing on his feet for fourteen hours straight a night. My official title at the Silver Shark Saloon is a "beer tub babe." A cute name for girls in sexy outfits who spend the night popping the caps on beer bottles as fast as they can while flirting and teasing with the customers for tips.

My hourly wage, if it can be called that, is a measly two dollars and thirteen cents. The real money comes from working the customers for dollar bills. A five if I’m really lucky.

I hate the job.

It disgusts me to have to put up with drunken bikers eyeballing my body like I am less than nothing, talking about my tits and whispering filthy comments in my ear.

Telling me what they want to do to me and asking what my nightly rate runs. Or, if they are really cheap, my charge to go behind the building for fifteen minutes.

I’m not a hooker. As far as I know, none of the girls are.

Not that this makes a difference. The men seem to think we’re all for sale. As if everything in the world is right there for their taking, to be bought and sold during the bike rally.

Whatever they want or need.

The more I know about bikers, the less I like them. 

“I told you already, Ty. I can’t make that much money tonight.”

Sure, I know we are running short on funds. What else is new? We are always low on money. God forbid Ty would go out and do something worthwhile for a change to make some cash. Why was it all up to me?

Ty gives my arm one last tight squeeze then slams his fist against the headboard. I can’t help but flinch. His moods are so unpredictable and keep me on edge.

“Shut up!” he yells. “I’ve already told you a hundred times. We need the damn money so you’re going to put your sweet ass to work and make it. Remember how I took you in when you had nowhere to go? And look at how you repay me, by giving me a hard time when I ask you to do one little thing.”

“I’m working, aren’t I? I just can’t make that much.”

“Yes, you can. It’s time you start earning your way around here. I’m sick of hearing your complaining. You’re beginning to sound just like that worthless piece-of-shit mother of ours. Always whining. Why she couldn’t do this, or couldn’t do that, while she let her kids almost starve to damn death. It’s time to grow up, Trish. Face the real world.”

His words sting more than I let him see.

“I’m not like her.”

My voice sounds much softer than I mean for it to. I hate myself for sounding weak. Never in a million years will I turn out like my mother, an addict and a sorry excuse for a parent.

“Really?” he answers sarcastically. “Then start acting like it. Everybody needs to pull their weight around here, and that means you. Me and the boys are doing everything we can to put the Liberators back together, so I don’t need your shit right now. Got it? If you’re not willing to contribute, then you can just get the fuck out. I don’t have time for this.”

“Where will I go?”

The words slip out before I can stop them. His threat scares me. With no money, family, or friends, I don’t have many options.

“Well, that’s your damn problem, isn’t it? When you get it figured out, you let me know. In the meantime, don’t come back here until you have a wad of fucking cash in your hand. You understand? I’m not running a damn charity. Get out of my sight.”

“Gladly.”

Grabbing my purse, I hurry out of the hotel room. Once outside the building, I head down the street in the direction of the Silver Shark Saloon. Luckily the bar is close enough for me to walk to so I don’t have to bum a ride from Ty or one of the other motorcycle club members.

As I walk down the crowded Panama City beach strip, past the numerous tattoo parlors, candy shops, and t-shirt tourist traps, his threat is still on my mind.

Where will I go if he throws me out?

This is a good question, one that I don’t have an answer to.

Ty never lets me keep more than a few dollars of the money I make with the odd jobs I pick up here and there. Usually it goes to booze or spare parts for the motorcycle. Never for anything I want or need. The last two months has been absolute hell living with him and the rest of the Liberators.

To make things worse, we’re always slipping around trying to keep a low profile since the FBI is still looking for Big Roy, the President of the MC.

In a way, I hope the Feds find him soon. The man gives me the creeps. I see the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. If he ever corners me or catches me by myself, I am in deep trouble. There’s no doubt in my mind.

I’m not even sure Ty would stand up and protect me if it came to that. I don’t kid myself where my older brother is concerned. I know he doesn’t care about me.

Not really.

The only reason he took me in was because the few Liberators that are not in jail needed someone to help cook and clean up after them. Most of their old ladies split after the Feds raided the club and arrested most of the crew. The ones that are still hanging around can’t even make decent coffee, much less an edible sandwich.

On the other hand, Ty
did
take me in when I had nowhere else to go, and my brother is the only real family I have left. In my way of thinking, this must count for something. 

Our mother isn’t technically deceased, though she might as well be. Between the drinking and the meth, she is more dead than alive. For years, I tried my best to take care of her. When the abuse, drugs, and constant stream of men coming in and out of the house became more than I could handle, I split and never looked back. 

I ran from one living hell straight into another.

Occasionally at night when I’m all alone, I dream of a normal life.

A life with a man who cares about me. A little house with a yard, and maybe someday a couple of kids. A dog would be nice too, a yellow Lab that likes to chase tennis balls.

For now, it is all just a distant dream.

Someday, somehow, I will find a way out.

Too bad for me, it won’t be today.

––––––––

I
step inside the packed bar and take off my sunglasses. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark building after coming in from the blinding sunlight of the beach.

Looking around, I check out the enormous two-story club. Bikers from all across the southeast are lined up at the two bars running the length of both sides of the room. A few of their faces I recognize, some of them friendly, and others definitely not.

I blow out a long breath. How the hell am I going to find my brothers and the rest of the Steel Infidels in this mess? I manage to squeeze my way through the crowd to an empty spot at the closest bar and order a whiskey, straight up without ice.

As I size up the various motorcycle clubs scattered around the tables, I’m hoping there won’t be trouble this week during the bike rally. At the bare minimum, there will probably be a few fights breaking out between rival clubs. If that happens, I won’t be surprised if the Steel Infidels are caught right smack dab in the middle of it. 

My crew can’t seem to stay out of bar brawls, and I suspect they secretly enjoy beating the shit out of people. As long as there aren’t any fatal shootings or stabbings and nobody gets admitted to the hospital, I’ll consider the week to be a raging success.

“Jesse Mason!” a loud booming voice calls out from behind me before a heavy hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Where have you been hiding? I thought you would show up yesterday, son.”

I turn around and grasp the man’s hand to shake.

“Roger! Good to see you. There were a few last-minute things to take care of before I could leave town, so I’m running late. I’m here now and ready to party. How have you been?” I wave a hand at the noisy room. “Business must be great. This place is so crowded that you couldn’t squeeze ten more people in here.”

Roger is the owner of the Silver Shark Saloon, a bar catering to the party crowd in Panama City, Florida. The centrally located bar on the beach strip is
the
happening place to be during the bike rally and known by everyone as party central.

“Business is going gang-busters,” he replies with a chuckle. “I love it when the bike rally is here. You guys sure know how to party. Thank God bikers aren’t like those cheap-ass spring breakers coming to town with nothing but fifty bucks in their pocket and a hard-on.”

He grabs a toothpick from the bar and sticks it in his mouth. “Money is money, but sometimes I wish those spring breakers would go somewhere else for a change. They’re beginning to get on my last nerve.”

I laugh and down the rest of my whiskey in one swallow. “I bet they are. So have you seen my brothers and the rest of the MC? We’re all supposed to meet up tonight. I’m sure they’re here somewhere and have most likely started the party without me.”

Roger tilts his white golf cap back on his bald head and points across the room to where three scantily clad girls are dancing on a long wooden bar. “Last time I saw them, they were hanging around in that general direction.”

I watch as one of the girls leans over to give a bearded biker a full view of her braless breasts straight down the front of her tight white t-shirt.

“Well, that’s not a surprise,” I say. “The Steel Infidels never miss a chance to ogle the ladies. You didn’t happen to mention anything about the bachelor party to Flint, did you?”

“Hell no,” he replies, clearly insulted. “You told me it was a surprise bachelor party, so mum’s the word. The private room, booze, and strippers are already arranged. All you guys need to do is show up the night of the party ready to see some pussy.”

“Strippers too? Wow, you are a man with connections. I thought I would have to round those up myself.”

“Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve got you covered. Every year I bring in a group of traveling strippers for the rally. You’ll be glad to know I checked them all out personally from head to toe. Or should I say tits to pussy. I think the Steel Infidels will be pleased with my choices.”

He leans closer.

“And if you need anything else, let me know. I have to warn you though. The cops are hanging tight this week. The word on the street is that there’s going to be trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” I motion for the bartender to bring me another whiskey. “I was hoping for a quiet, no-drama week for a change. I have a gut feeling Flint is only going to get married once, so I want his bachelor party to go smoothly. For us, that means no arrests, no drunk driving, and no trips to the emergency room.”

“I wouldn’t worry much about it,” Roger says. “The rumors are flying that there might be a couple of the one-percenter clubs showing up. Trying to settle some scores left over from that mess in Waco.”

He shakes his head in disbelief.

“What a fiasco that turned out to be. Most of those bikers are still sitting in the county jail out in Texas. The authorities don’t know what to do with them. If you ask me, they should throw them all in a cell together and the problem would be solved in a hurry. Think of all the taxpayer money they'll save.”

I shrug it off. “The MC doesn’t have any beef with the one-percenters. As long as they stay out of our way, we’ll stay out of theirs. Now if any of those fucking Liberators show up here, that will be an entirely different story.”

“Did something go down with them?” he asks. “I haven’t seen them around yet this week and hope I don’t. That Big Roy is one nasty son-of-a-bitch. I don’t need his kind of business.”

I hesitate before answering. Roger is a friend, but not a confidant. The decades-old feud between the Steel Infidels and the Liberators is a known fact. What isn’t widely known are the brutal events that have gone down over the past few months.