He lifted his bottle and with his arm slicing through the air in a sidearm throw, he sent the bottle sailing across the room to smash in a foamy explosion of beer and brown glass on the wall opposite the door by the Club flag.
“Jesus, brother, what the fuck?” he heard rumbled from the side of the room. He turned and looked to see High sitting on a stool at the bar with Snapper behind it.
Shy didn’t answer. He prowled behind the bar and nabbed a bottle of tequila.
On his way back around the bar, heading to his room, he ordered Snapper, “Clean that shit up.”
Then he disappeared into his room.
*
Seven months later…
He rolled his truck to a stop behind the electric blue car on the side of the road.
Shy had gotten his first Tabby Callout in eighteen months.
She wasn’t out on the prowl.
She had a flat.
She was standing, jean-clad hips against the side of her car, thermal-covered arms crossed over the poofy vest she was wearing, low-heeled booted feet crossed at the ankles, head turned to him, eyes hidden behind a pair of mirrored, wire-rimmed shades, face vacant.
He’d seen her once since she took off with Petey and her brothers, and that was at the Chaos Christmas blowout at the Compound. He’d shown with a woman on his arm. She’d left fifteen minutes later.
That was it.
Now, as he angled out of his truck and moved toward her, she didn’t twitch. Just watched him.
When he got close, even though he hadn’t spoken a word to her since they saw each other at Fortnum’s over a year ago, she announced sharply, “I know how to change a flat, but I can’t get the lug nuts to move.”
He stopped a half a foot away from her, looked through his shades down his nose at her and growled, “I’m doin’ fuckin’ great, babe. Thanks for askin’. How the fuck are you?”
Her head jerked and her shoulders straightened like a steel rod had been jammed down her spine. “Pardon?” she asked.
“Nothin,” he muttered. “Do me a favor, step away from the car. Don’t need it sliding off the jack while I’m dealin’ with your tire because your ass is leaned into it.”
She pushed away from the car and Shy headed to the flat. She’d pulled out the spare, had the car jacked up and the lug wrench lying on the tarmac. Shy crouched to it and was grabbing the wrench when she spoke.
“Roscoe phoned. He’s ten minutes away. If this is biting into your schedule, he said he’d be able to help out.”
“Take me ten minutes. Then you can disappear again,” he muttered, putting the wrench to the nut and finding she was not wrong. Those bitches were on there tight.
Tabby fell silent. Shy worked.
He switched the tire with her spare, dumped the flat into her trunk, and was slamming it closed when he stated, “Get to the garage. You got time, now would be good. Don’t drive too far on that spare.”
“I may be a girl, but my dad’s a biker and a mechanic. I think I know enough not to ride around on a spare,” she returned. “Though,” she went on when his eyes cut to her, “you’ve given me an idea. All those silly women out there who don’t know better, I could give a helping hand, design some leaflets. Pass them out all around Denver. Explain about spare usage. How dangerous it is. I’ll be sure to put a bunch of butterflies on it and douse it with glitter so I can keep their attention while they’re reading it.”
He felt his eyes narrow as his mouth asked, “What the fuck?”
“Nothin’,” she muttered, then he felt his gut tighten when she asked, “Is a blowjob acceptable payment for a tire change or does the headboard need to rock?”
Seriously.
He hadn’t seen the bitch in months, he hadn’t spoken to her in over a year, what was with the fucking attitude?
He was too goddamned incensed to ask her that, all he could force out was a repeated, “What the fuck?”
“Payback, Shy. I certainly wouldn’t want to put you out of your way for nothing,” she explained, and he felt his jaw go tight before he forced it loose in order to respond.
“Give me five minutes, baby, hauled ass out here to take care of you, my truck’s old, the heat isn’t what it used to be. She warms up, a blowjob in the cab would be just fine.”
“Is it necessary for me to call a friend or will just me do?” she shot back.
“Hard for two bitches to get their mouths wrapped around my cock, but if you’ve got a way, sugar, I’m up for the experience.”
“Oh, you’ll be up,” she hissed, leaning in slightly.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he returned.
She stared at him through her shades, her mouth set, and he knew, he tore off those fucking sunglasses, her eyes would be flaring.
He pulled in a breath, calming the burn in his insides so he was able to request, “You wanna explain the attitude?”
“No,” she clipped.
“If you don’t, then don’t dish that shit out. You got somethin’ up your ass, you gotta have the balls to let it hang out. Not dish out shit and expect me to eat it when I don’t know your fuckin’ problem.”
“You’re right, Shy. My apologies. You walking up to my car and cursing sarcastically at me threw me off my game. You went out of your way to help me, I should be more appreciative.”