Read Devil's Girl: Dust Bowl Devils MC Online
Authors: Britten Thorne
Devil's Girl: Dust Bowl Devils MC
I toyed idly with my dark brown hair and tried not to think about what a hot day it was as the motorcycle roared into the parking lot, spitting gravel as it slid to a halt. I sat on the bench outside the MC clubhouse bar. It was my smoke break, and even though I'd quit smoking, I still took the break.
"Call it a sun break, then," I'd shouted when Irish the bartender had tried to inform me that smoke breaks didn't work that way. He wasn’t going to argue much. I was barely an employee, and besides, I knew just how he liked his dick sucked. I had the skinny dude wrapped around my finger.
"Ivy! Got a new girl for you!"
"I ain't in charge, she ain't my girl." I stood as the biker, Mort, dismounted and helped his ladyfriend down from the seat behind him. Yet another blond, with big eyes, bigger tits, and long legs wobbled after him in her super short shorts.
So many blonds.
Her tight white t-shirt was rumpled - no doubt thanks to Mort himself. The girl wore no bra and her nipples were dark shadows beneath the thin material.
Mort scratched his short beard as he approached. “You look nice today.”
I scoffed. “Who’s your friend?”
“
I picked her up at a gas station back on the highway.” That wasn’t what I’d asked. Mort had forgotten the girl’s name.
Unsurprising.
“
You’ll be here tonight?”
“
Probably. Something going down?”
He winked. “Hopefully one of you. Or both of you!” He laughed at his own joke.
I smiled back. Mort was nice enough, as bikers went.
Too nice for me.
He had a short, neatly trimmed red beard and while he wasn’t very tall, he was broad. Stocky. Some girl would be lucky to be his old lady. Maybe it would be this new blond. The way he was ignoring her though said that it wasn’t likely. “Really, Mort, is there a meeting or something?”
“
Yeah. So be here.” He turned and as he passed the girl, he slapped her on the ass. The
crack
echoed through the parking lot. She jumped with a little yelp, then giggled. “Later, sugar.”
We both stood and watched as he mounted his bike and, with a roar, drove back to the road.
“
What’s your name?” I asked.
She looked me up and down with an appraising eye; she popped her gum, tossed her long hair, and finally answered, “Dawn. You?”
“
I’m Ivy.” I was only twenty-three, but these girls the bikers brought back made me feel downright old. Fresh-faced eighteen and nineteen year olds, finally free of parents and high schools, running wild. Sometimes we got a college girl passing through just looking for a taste of adventure and danger. More often, these girls were broke, drug addicted, fleeing abusive homes or boyfriends, or any other number of unhappy stories.
This Dawn looked like the usual. A young woman thinking she’d found a good place to settle for a while; Mort had probably promised her money for “helping out.” Once she realized what it really entailed, she’d talk herself into doing it because she needed the cash. But she wouldn’t last very long. The guys would turn out to be rougher than she expected. Much rougher. Whatever boyfriend she’d fled would look like a puppy next to them. One slap, one insult, one degrading sex act too many, and she’d be hitchhiking out before anyone could learn her name.
I led her inside by the hand. “We’ll be best friends in no time,” I said, smiling over the lie.
“
I’ll bet,” she said. Our heels clicked in unison as we entered the front room bar. It wasn’t much to look at - there was the bar itself, a row of tables, and a row of booths when you stepped inside. Along the front wall was a space with two pool tables and a few more stools. And that was it.
“
The bar’s open to the public. Everyone from town comes in here.” I pointed at the bartender. “That’s Irish.” He tipped his baseball cap at her, then turned his attention back to the baseball game playing on the old tube television mounted above the bar. “This place could use an update,” I said.
Dawn shrugged.
Okay, I see how it is.
She was going for the tough girl thing. That would crack later, when the guys came in. The only way for me to deal with it, though, was to be overly polite.
“
The club’s meeting room is in the back,” I said, pointing at the door at the end of the room. “I can’t take you in there, but one of the guys can. Sometimes we’ll run drinks in but only if they say so and only if they let you specifically. So no wandering. There’s some offices and spare rooms back there, too.” I pointed out the bathrooms and the kitchen doors (where we weren’t allowed either, unless the waitresses were swamped), then ordered us burgers and fries.
“
Usually I’m pretty bored when the guys ain’t around,” I told her, sliding into a booth. She took the seat across from me and continued to eye the bar. Her big white purse hit the table with a thud.
“
Thanks for being nice to me,” she said. “Mort said there’s work?”
“
Sort of.” I shrugged. “They don’t need any waitresses right now, so we just do odd jobs. Whatever the guys need.”
“
The bikers? Like Mort?”
“
Yup. The club.”
She finally met my eyes. Her own glinted with excitement. “Whatever they want?”
“
You’re catching on, girly. You’re on protection, right?”
“Duh.” Popping her gum, she dug into her purse. “Well, if we’re not officially on any clock then, we ought to pass the time somehow. Want to play cards?”
I perked up. “Sure!” I wondered if maybe I’d judged this one too quickly; maybe she’d stick around, and we’d be friends after all.
We must have played gin rummy for almost an hour before Nella arrived. She was the general manager of the bar and clubhouse, and an old biker bitch like me. When Dawn had been dropped off, she became one of Nella’s girls, not mine. I explained this to her as she popped her gum and shuffled the cards.
“
I hear there’s a meeting tonight?” I asked Nella as she collected a stack of cash from the safe beneath the register.
“
Yeah,” she said, “I talked to Mort. So get yourself prettied up. New girl, too. They’ll all be here.”
The whole club. We’d undoubtedly be needed to run food and drinks and special favors. It would be a good night for tips. I grinned at Dawn. “You’ll make a little money tonight, babe. I’m gonna run home and get changed. You hang out here and do whatever Nella tells you.”
I returned before sundown, wearing a bright pink tube top and a dark denim miniskirt. It was just on the wrong side of trashy, but hell, it made me feel sexy. I parked my beat up old pickup truck behind the building. Only a couple motorcycles were parked out front, so I hadn't missed much while I was busy putting on makeup and watching talk shows.
I sat next to Dawn on a stool as Nella tended the bar. Irish - just a young Prospect himself - has been invited to attend the meeting, so she would take over until he returned.
We watched the club members walk in, their black leather cuts immaculate and well-fitted as always. They all had the club colors: the horned devil skull in the middle of a dust cloud, death’s scythe in the background, set below the club name - Dust Bowl Devils. I pointed out the members to Dawn as they arrived, and introduced her to any that showed interest. There was Bill, the new president. His son, the serious and quiet young man ironically nicknamed Jester. Mort appeared, winking at both of us as he passed through to the back room, followed by the intimidatingly good-looking Gunner.
"He's hot," Dawn commented as he passed, his thick shoulder muscles drawing our eyes like magnets.
"Yeah. He's trouble. But he is hot." I'd been with Gunner enough times to know that he was not for beginners. Many a new girl had fled after a little alone time with him.
Then the vice president Bars arrived with a stranger in tow. The new guy was big - really big. Like, wrestler or boxer or lumberjack big. I didn't get a good look at his face beneath his sunglasses, but I was way too distracted by his sheer size, anyway.
