them. I realized that the Hell's Horsemen were having what my boys in New York called a “pussy party” which was undoubtedly the only reason Kami and I had been allowed inside. I scanned the room looking for Deuce
The inside of the warehouse looked nothing like the outside. The entire place had been gutted, renovated and remodeled. Running the length of the warehouse front was one giant man cave with fifteen, sixteen, foot ceilings and modern sunroofs that gave it a cathedral like appearance.
A fully stocked bar lined the entire right side of the room surrounded by several bar topped tables and stools, and beyond, five large pool tables took up a good portion of the room. The opposite side gave the impression of a high-class men’s club complete with dark leather furniture as far as the eye could see, flat screen televisions, and a state of the art stereo system. There were two hallway entrances on either side of the back wall and smack dab in the center were a set of doors surrounded by photographs of the members. Above the door s was plank of wood nailed to the wall that read, “Prez’s Office”. My heart started pounding and my hands went clammy.
I willed my feet to move and headed towards his office. Taking a deep breath, I curled my hand into a fist and rapped on the door.
“WHAT?”
Oh god, that voice. That hard, rough, beautiful voice.
I swallowed hard and turned the knob.
I saw a woman first. Tall, blonde, very tan and curvy as hell. Beautiful. She was wearing a tight jeans skirt, frayed at the bottom and a hot pink tank top that showed off her copious amount of cleavage. I had large breasts but I almost never put them on display unless I was going out. I just didn't see the point.
I glanced down at my Led Zeppelin cropped tee, way too baggy jeans that hung low and my chucks. The tee had once belonged to my mother and I'd altered it to make it more my style and to show off my belly ring and the circle of black and pink stars I'd had tattooed around my belly button. The jeans I'd had forever, I wasn't even sure where I'd gotten them, Frankie, maybe? That had been a running theme during my teenage years, stealing his clothing. They were comfy and so deliciously worn in they felt like silk against my skin. Most importantly, they dragged when I walked. That was a thing for me. I liked to be able to hide my feet inside my pants at all costs. Weird, I know, but I was an only child, and a girl no less, who grew up with a single MC President, his crew and Crazy Frankie. I could have turned out a whole lot weirder.
But I felt like a homeless person next to this woman. This, super model sort of beautiful woman who was more than likely his wife.
Deuce was turned away from me, sitting behind his desk, cursing into a cell phone. Blue file folders were stacked on the corner of his desk beside a black laptop. Miscellaneous papers were strewn all over his desk and the floor beside him.
Whoever had decorated the office was either secretly gay or of the female variety. Although the dark oak desk, hutch and meeting table were distinctly male, no man, correction – no biker, would have ever picked out these particular pieces to coordinate with each other. They were too perfect, each piece different yet worked fashionably together. A woman, I surmised, probably this woman, had a h and in decorating. Knowing this made me feel incredibly uncomfortable.
The blonde glanced over at me, gave me a once over and her pink painted lips curled into a sneer. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I…um…was looking for Deuce.”
“Well you…um…fuckin’ found him.”
Sheesh. Attitude.
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Deuce growled into his phone. “You tell Street he gets his ass to the docks and picks up the shipment or I will fuckin’ bury your chapter! You feel me? I will scatter your boys and take you to ground! You don’t fuckin’ mess
The inside of the warehouse looked nothing like the outside. The entire place had been gutted, renovated and remodeled. Running the length of the warehouse front was one giant man cave with fifteen, sixteen, foot ceilings and modern sunroofs that gave it a cathedral like appearance.
A fully stocked bar lined the entire right side of the room surrounded by several bar topped tables and stools, and beyond, five large pool tables took up a good portion of the room. The opposite side gave the impression of a high-class men’s club complete with dark leather furniture as far as the eye could see, flat screen televisions, and a state of the art stereo system. There were two hallway entrances on either side of the back wall and smack dab in the center were a set of doors surrounded by photographs of the members. Above the door s was plank of wood nailed to the wall that read, “Prez’s Office”. My heart started pounding and my hands went clammy.
I willed my feet to move and headed towards his office. Taking a deep breath, I curled my hand into a fist and rapped on the door.
“WHAT?”
Oh god, that voice. That hard, rough, beautiful voice.
I swallowed hard and turned the knob.
I saw a woman first. Tall, blonde, very tan and curvy as hell. Beautiful. She was wearing a tight jeans skirt, frayed at the bottom and a hot pink tank top that showed off her copious amount of cleavage. I had large breasts but I almost never put them on display unless I was going out. I just didn't see the point.
I glanced down at my Led Zeppelin cropped tee, way too baggy jeans that hung low and my chucks. The tee had once belonged to my mother and I'd altered it to make it more my style and to show off my belly ring and the circle of black and pink stars I'd had tattooed around my belly button. The jeans I'd had forever, I wasn't even sure where I'd gotten them, Frankie, maybe? That had been a running theme during my teenage years, stealing his clothing. They were comfy and so deliciously worn in they felt like silk against my skin. Most importantly, they dragged when I walked. That was a thing for me. I liked to be able to hide my feet inside my pants at all costs. Weird, I know, but I was an only child, and a girl no less, who grew up with a single MC President, his crew and Crazy Frankie. I could have turned out a whole lot weirder.
But I felt like a homeless person next to this woman. This, super model sort of beautiful woman who was more than likely his wife.
Deuce was turned away from me, sitting behind his desk, cursing into a cell phone. Blue file folders were stacked on the corner of his desk beside a black laptop. Miscellaneous papers were strewn all over his desk and the floor beside him.
Whoever had decorated the office was either secretly gay or of the female variety. Although the dark oak desk, hutch and meeting table were distinctly male, no man, correction – no biker, would have ever picked out these particular pieces to coordinate with each other. They were too perfect, each piece different yet worked fashionably together. A woman, I surmised, probably this woman, had a h and in decorating. Knowing this made me feel incredibly uncomfortable.
The blonde glanced over at me, gave me a once over and her pink painted lips curled into a sneer. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I…um…was looking for Deuce.”
“Well you…um…fuckin’ found him.”
Sheesh. Attitude.
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Deuce growled into his phone. “You tell Street he gets his ass to the docks and picks up the shipment or I will fuckin’ bury your chapter! You feel me? I will scatter your boys and take you to ground! You don’t fuckin’ mess
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