with their vacant expressions and slow movements—only instead of brains, they wanted breasts.
Ash didn’t reply. These dicks were practically begging her for a smack-down. Ash placed her hands on her hips. So much for not making a scene.
“Thank you for the help. Go inside now. I’ve gotta have a word with these here gentlemen.”
Ginger didn’t walk away. “Um, I don’t wanna leave you here by yourself. This doesn’t look safe.”
“I’ll be fine. Go on.”
The stripper hesitated but darted past the drunks and scooted in the door.
“No. Don’t leave us, Pink Ranger.”
They all cackled at Pissy’s joke.
“Alone at last,” Ash said as they circled her. She cracked her knuckles. Damn, she could use a little tension release. Nothing like a good old-fashioned, knock-down, drag-out bar fight. “Now then, maybe I can help you boys with the last number on your checklist.”
“You’re gonna spank us?” Pukey asked.
“In a manner of speakin’.” Ash sidled up to him.
“Oh, I’m scared.” His voice was high and girlish.
“You should be.” Ash kicked him square in the balls.
Chapter Seven
Steele and Justice followed Beauregard into an unmarked door on the left side of the bar. The room was an office, and like the rest of the club, it had a country and western theme. Steele took a gander at the signs on the wall. One read: $5.00 fine for whining . Another read: Sinners and Saints Welcome Here.
The walls and the floor were wooden, and the ceiling held several long, braided ropes. Strung through them were Mason jars with pail-like lids that had been wired with bright white lights. Two suede chairs faced a converted barrel. It’d been tipped on its side, sawed in half, and nailed to two wooden slats, which held it in place. With the flat wooden top, it formed an unusual desk.
Beauregard sat in the leather chair, while Steele and Justice took the chairs on the opposite side of the desk.
The door burst open, and a woman with long blond hair walked in. She had a rough-and-tumble look with her faded jeans and flannel shirt. Lines surrounded her mouth and eyes, and Steele would be willing to bet her blond hair had come from a bottle.
“This is my aunt, Bonnie Beauregard. She’s…rustic.”
Bonnie strolled over and placed her hands on her shapely hips. “And what he means by rustic is, I don’t put on airs, unlike some people I know. Now, what are y’all doin’ in my office?”
“I’m havin’ a meetin’ with these nice gentlemen. It’ll save me a trip.”
“I told you I don’t want none of your no-account mafia dickheads runnin’ around this place. I paid for it with my own money, and I don’t owe you boys jack shit.”
Beauregard leaned back in her chair and placed his feet on her desk.
“We’re bikers,” Steele informed her. “And for the record, we hate those mafia assholes as much as you do.” While he spoke to Bonnie, he looked Byron in the eyes.
She laughed.
“If you don’t mind?” Beauregard said pointedly.
“I do mind, but I doubt it’ll stop you.” And then she shoved his feet off her desk and sauntered to the door. She tipped her hat. “Nice to meet ya, boys.”
Steel and Justice waved at her as she walked out.
“Let’s get down to business, I have other things to do tonight. How goes the Raptor situation? You boys found ‘em?” Beauregard withdrew a black box from the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cigarette. He sucked on the end and lit up the smoke.
Steele bristled. Justice had the same reaction, judging by how tense his shoulders got.
Steele would give Axel an explanation anytime he wanted because he respected the chain of command—always had. But he didn’t owe Beauregard shit.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope.”
Beauregard flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “I’d expect you and yours would be runnin’ all over Hell and half acre tryin’ to find ‘em. Especially since the Raptors
Ash didn’t reply. These dicks were practically begging her for a smack-down. Ash placed her hands on her hips. So much for not making a scene.
“Thank you for the help. Go inside now. I’ve gotta have a word with these here gentlemen.”
Ginger didn’t walk away. “Um, I don’t wanna leave you here by yourself. This doesn’t look safe.”
“I’ll be fine. Go on.”
The stripper hesitated but darted past the drunks and scooted in the door.
“No. Don’t leave us, Pink Ranger.”
They all cackled at Pissy’s joke.
“Alone at last,” Ash said as they circled her. She cracked her knuckles. Damn, she could use a little tension release. Nothing like a good old-fashioned, knock-down, drag-out bar fight. “Now then, maybe I can help you boys with the last number on your checklist.”
“You’re gonna spank us?” Pukey asked.
“In a manner of speakin’.” Ash sidled up to him.
“Oh, I’m scared.” His voice was high and girlish.
“You should be.” Ash kicked him square in the balls.
Chapter Seven
Steele and Justice followed Beauregard into an unmarked door on the left side of the bar. The room was an office, and like the rest of the club, it had a country and western theme. Steele took a gander at the signs on the wall. One read: $5.00 fine for whining . Another read: Sinners and Saints Welcome Here.
The walls and the floor were wooden, and the ceiling held several long, braided ropes. Strung through them were Mason jars with pail-like lids that had been wired with bright white lights. Two suede chairs faced a converted barrel. It’d been tipped on its side, sawed in half, and nailed to two wooden slats, which held it in place. With the flat wooden top, it formed an unusual desk.
Beauregard sat in the leather chair, while Steele and Justice took the chairs on the opposite side of the desk.
The door burst open, and a woman with long blond hair walked in. She had a rough-and-tumble look with her faded jeans and flannel shirt. Lines surrounded her mouth and eyes, and Steele would be willing to bet her blond hair had come from a bottle.
“This is my aunt, Bonnie Beauregard. She’s…rustic.”
Bonnie strolled over and placed her hands on her shapely hips. “And what he means by rustic is, I don’t put on airs, unlike some people I know. Now, what are y’all doin’ in my office?”
“I’m havin’ a meetin’ with these nice gentlemen. It’ll save me a trip.”
“I told you I don’t want none of your no-account mafia dickheads runnin’ around this place. I paid for it with my own money, and I don’t owe you boys jack shit.”
Beauregard leaned back in her chair and placed his feet on her desk.
“We’re bikers,” Steele informed her. “And for the record, we hate those mafia assholes as much as you do.” While he spoke to Bonnie, he looked Byron in the eyes.
She laughed.
“If you don’t mind?” Beauregard said pointedly.
“I do mind, but I doubt it’ll stop you.” And then she shoved his feet off her desk and sauntered to the door. She tipped her hat. “Nice to meet ya, boys.”
Steel and Justice waved at her as she walked out.
“Let’s get down to business, I have other things to do tonight. How goes the Raptor situation? You boys found ‘em?” Beauregard withdrew a black box from the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cigarette. He sucked on the end and lit up the smoke.
Steele bristled. Justice had the same reaction, judging by how tense his shoulders got.
Steele would give Axel an explanation anytime he wanted because he respected the chain of command—always had. But he didn’t owe Beauregard shit.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope.”
Beauregard flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “I’d expect you and yours would be runnin’ all over Hell and half acre tryin’ to find ‘em. Especially since the Raptors
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