Read Online In Bed With The Outlaw by Adriana Jones - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Adriana Jones
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line of bikes, I could finally hear music and chatter.
How many were inside? I didn’t feel like I was in the best position to make an appearance. My hair was naturally wild and long, but I liked to keep it somewhat manageable. Not even time for a spot check. Red would pay for this.
The prospects walked over to Red, gave him a nod and said, “Welcome back,” and then they watched quietly over his bike.
Red snatched my hand. I was swept toward him and onward to the saloon doors whether I liked it or not. This was it. Whatever waited for me behind those doors, I didn’t expect it was good. I expected a moment when we walked through the doors, it all went silent, and they all stared at me, gawking at me like some kind of extinct species.
Once inside, it took me a long time to get accustomed to my surroundings. It looked much bigger than it did from the outside. There was a huge amount of space, most of it reserved for a dance floor in the right corner, situated on higher ground than the rest of the bar.
Not as trashy as I expected. Some of the people, however, were a different story. There was a long bar, stretching the whole length of the building to the left. Swarming over it was what looked like strippers, a bunch of girls dressed in skimpy outfits, mostly bikinis but some wearing t-shirts with no bras and some frayed, extra short jean shorts.
Red led me toward the bar. I dug my heels in, but he yanked, and I followed.
Anywhere but the bar , I thought. Put me in the corner and let me observe. I don’t want to be swarmed with those skanks. Drunker than the bikers, they buzzed about the room.
You couldn’t say The Bastards didn’t help the local unemployment problem.
We went to the edge of the bar. A whole line of shouts came our way. I looked along the wall, seeing all of the framed pictures. They looked like memorable photos of the club’s accomplishments, most of them old, faded photographs of times gone by.
The rest of the place was furnished with leather and motorcycle parts. They even had a bike mounted near the ceiling with a bull’s skull placed on it, like a cult sacrifice.
“Where’s my brother?” Red asked.
A barrel-chested, staunch-looking man approached. He looked like he was still rocking Ozzy’s look with his long, black hair. I recognized him from earlier when they picked me up on the side of the road and from my research. Boots. He got his name because he always kept his boots clean. The only time he got them dirty was from, you guessed, a fight. He only let blood touch that fine leather.
“The boys?” Boots asked. “I think they’re in the back.”
A petite, slender girl with huge, fake breasts that looked like they were going to take her down grabbed Boot’s arm. She took a sip of her wine cooler and tried to stand on her toes to kiss him.
“Bootsy,” she started.
He dodged her kiss. With a snarl, he said, “I told you not to call me that.”
“But Bootsy—” she said.
Boots rolled his eyes at her. He turned his back to us. I didn’t want to know what he said to her after that.
Less than five minutes into our stay at The Bastard’s Backyard and Lee spotted us. He squeezed through the crowd to come up beside me. I think he stayed back for a moment so he could see me from behind. My skin crawled. Red was there to block him if he tried anything.
Lee clinked his beer bottle against Red’s. “Finally brought her around. What’s the rush?”
“Calm down, Lee,” Red replied.
“All I’m saying is it’s nice to see her.” Lee patted his Bastard brother on the shoulder. Red stiffened but relented, giving him a friendly slap on the back in return.
“You staying the night?”
“Lee, come on, man. She just got here.”
“Relax,” he said, leering back with that ratty smile. He parted his greased black hair. Out of everyone, he looked the roughest, like he spent his entire life in the gutter.
“I’m not trying to start nothing. All I’m saying is that if
How many were inside? I didn’t feel like I was in the best position to make an appearance. My hair was naturally wild and long, but I liked to keep it somewhat manageable. Not even time for a spot check. Red would pay for this.
The prospects walked over to Red, gave him a nod and said, “Welcome back,” and then they watched quietly over his bike.
Red snatched my hand. I was swept toward him and onward to the saloon doors whether I liked it or not. This was it. Whatever waited for me behind those doors, I didn’t expect it was good. I expected a moment when we walked through the doors, it all went silent, and they all stared at me, gawking at me like some kind of extinct species.
Once inside, it took me a long time to get accustomed to my surroundings. It looked much bigger than it did from the outside. There was a huge amount of space, most of it reserved for a dance floor in the right corner, situated on higher ground than the rest of the bar.
Not as trashy as I expected. Some of the people, however, were a different story. There was a long bar, stretching the whole length of the building to the left. Swarming over it was what looked like strippers, a bunch of girls dressed in skimpy outfits, mostly bikinis but some wearing t-shirts with no bras and some frayed, extra short jean shorts.
Red led me toward the bar. I dug my heels in, but he yanked, and I followed.
Anywhere but the bar , I thought. Put me in the corner and let me observe. I don’t want to be swarmed with those skanks. Drunker than the bikers, they buzzed about the room.
You couldn’t say The Bastards didn’t help the local unemployment problem.
We went to the edge of the bar. A whole line of shouts came our way. I looked along the wall, seeing all of the framed pictures. They looked like memorable photos of the club’s accomplishments, most of them old, faded photographs of times gone by.
The rest of the place was furnished with leather and motorcycle parts. They even had a bike mounted near the ceiling with a bull’s skull placed on it, like a cult sacrifice.
“Where’s my brother?” Red asked.
A barrel-chested, staunch-looking man approached. He looked like he was still rocking Ozzy’s look with his long, black hair. I recognized him from earlier when they picked me up on the side of the road and from my research. Boots. He got his name because he always kept his boots clean. The only time he got them dirty was from, you guessed, a fight. He only let blood touch that fine leather.
“The boys?” Boots asked. “I think they’re in the back.”
A petite, slender girl with huge, fake breasts that looked like they were going to take her down grabbed Boot’s arm. She took a sip of her wine cooler and tried to stand on her toes to kiss him.
“Bootsy,” she started.
He dodged her kiss. With a snarl, he said, “I told you not to call me that.”
“But Bootsy—” she said.
Boots rolled his eyes at her. He turned his back to us. I didn’t want to know what he said to her after that.
Less than five minutes into our stay at The Bastard’s Backyard and Lee spotted us. He squeezed through the crowd to come up beside me. I think he stayed back for a moment so he could see me from behind. My skin crawled. Red was there to block him if he tried anything.
Lee clinked his beer bottle against Red’s. “Finally brought her around. What’s the rush?”
“Calm down, Lee,” Red replied.
“All I’m saying is it’s nice to see her.” Lee patted his Bastard brother on the shoulder. Red stiffened but relented, giving him a friendly slap on the back in return.
“You staying the night?”
“Lee, come on, man. She just got here.”
“Relax,” he said, leering back with that ratty smile. He parted his greased black hair. Out of everyone, he looked the roughest, like he spent his entire life in the gutter.
“I’m not trying to start nothing. All I’m saying is that if
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