The bar is so crowded we can barely squeeze ourselves up to the counter. It’s not a true bar, because the club doesn’t take any money for the alcohol they dole out. Apparently it’s served up for favors—sexual if you’re a woman, and otherwise if you’re not—no exceptions. Aunt Ruby says they don’t keep tabs on who owes them what. They just kind of expect whoever shows up here to be available to them when they need or want it.
“Two beers,” Tracie says with a smile at the chick behind the bar who looks around for the fridge. She must be new. My eyes slide down to the other end where I see Chel serving up a drink to Squat. He leans over the bar, and she grabs ahold of the back of his head before shoving her tongue down his throat. I back off from the bar and cover myself from her view by the dude from the Oakland charter who has his back to me. The woman behind the bar nods and sets two beers down in front of us.
We each grab one of the cold bottles and turn around. I take a single step and slam into a hard chest. My nose presses into the dirty black leather vest that I know means I’m in trouble. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the Fort Bragg patch. Any other charter, any other club, and I’d be fine. But not this charter. Not one of my dad’s brothers. Please, no. I thought maybe I could get a solid half hour before getting busted.
As my eyes travel up the leather cut and up the man’s neck to his chin, I let out a heavy sigh. Ian.
“Unless I’m drunker than I think, you’re not legal.” His cool voice is soft as his brown eyes take in my attire.
“You gonna rat me out?” I ask, batting my eyes and flashing him my best sweet smile.
He just shakes his head and tosses an arm over my shoulder. He glances at Tracie and says, “Go party,” before turning back to me and leading me away from the bar.
When he doesn’t make a move to take away my beer, I take a small sip and try to convince myself that I like the taste of it. I’ve only ever really liked beer after I’ve had enough of it that I can’t really taste it anymore. Still, it’s my best friend right now since I know if I drink enough, it’ll calm my nerves. I take a large gulp and fight off the bitter aftertaste.
Ian’s always been good to me, but I know he has a dark side that puts people on edge. I try not to walk on eggshells around him, even knowing everything I know about him, but it’s hard. Forcing myself to see past his damage, I smile at the man who once felt very much like an older brother.
“Checking up on Baby Boy?” he asks.
I shrug my shoulders and decide to just be honest. “Yeah, but I’d also like to know where Daniel is.”
“Detroit is in the palace,” Ian says. “Not sure about Baby Boy.”
“You’re not going to tell me I’m too young to be here or that I don’t want to see this shit?” Honestly I’m a bit surprised he isn’t pulling some big-brother routine. With his arm that’s draped over my shoulders, I’m slightly turned to see Jeremy at the far wall where Ryan is standing with a brunette who can’t be much older than me. She’s wearing jeans and boots with a tight tank top.
I swear the chicks at this party created some kind of freaking dress code or something. The whores are either naked or almost there, and the old ladies look classy as ever next to their badass biker men. There’s no mistaking Ryan’s companion is Alex. Her dark brown hair is up in a casual bun with strands falling and swooping out in places. Her brown eyes that look so much like Ian’s and Ruby’s stay focused on Ryan. He isn’t doing much talking, or if he is, he’s talking slowly. He has all of her attention, and she has his. I almost didn’t recognize her at first—it’s been a few months—but I saw her at both Chief’s and Aaron’s funerals. Both of those days were hazy.
“Is it weird having your sister here?” I ask.
“No weirder than having you here,” he says. His voice sounds tight and uncomfortable. We close in on Ryan and Alex, but when we’re a few feet away, Alex makes eye contact with Ian and smiles. He gives her a casual head nod, but then we’ve suddenly taken a jerky turn toward the hallway. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him that. It’s really none of my business, and it’s not like we’re close friends who share secrets or something.
“You want to know why I’m not trying to scare you out of here?”
In my experience, I’ve learned that if someone asks you a question that requires a simple yes or no, they are going to tell you the answer whether you want to hear it or not. So instead of fighting it, I just agree that I want to know why.
“You’re going to do what you want anyway,” he reasons. “And this way, at least you’ll be fully informed of what you’re getting yourself into.”