Page 35 of Affliction


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Checking the screen, she felt both happiness and concern when she saw it was Stephie.

Stephie had been busy lately—with work and her new man, and all that came with dating a member of an MC.

Am I dating a member of an MC? Was that what she and Patriot were doing? Yes, they were fucking, Patriot called her his woman, but he had said he was going to put her on the back of his bike and a kutte on her back, which she knew from Stephie and overhearing the club women, was a big deal. None of the Unchained let just anyone on the backs of their bikes. Hell, even Horde made Stephie ride around in a “cage”—his truck—before they got serious. Once they agreed to be exclusive, Horde took her for a ride on his Harley, and Stephie cried ugly tears of joy afterward.

Answering, Cilla said, “Finally come up for air?”

Stephie snorted and Cilla could practically hear her friend roll her eyes. “Mr. Dawson is a lazy fuck, so I’ve been doing all the work. You’d think that the number of years he put in to get his degree, that he’d actually want to do the job,” Stephie grumbled.

Stephie was a paralegal at a local law firm, and her boss was riding the coattails of his more successful partners, which meant he didn’t put a whole lot of effort into his own cases, which meant Stephie was stuck doing all the actual research and leg work to compile the information needed for the legal documents. Her asshole boss ran her ragged most days, and when she had time off, understandably, she wanted to spend it with Horde.

“I don’t know how his partners don’t know that he isn’t actually working. Does he fake working by sitting at his computer, playing solitaire when they stop in?”

Stephie huffed, and Cilla could hear rustling sounds, like Stephie was putting her coat on.

“I have no fucking idea. All I know is that I am getting the hell out of here, and I am in desperate need a drink with my bestie. Meet me at Cool Hands?”

Cilla snapped her mouth shut on her automatic “no.” Usually, she hated going out and being Stephie’s wingwoman, but now that Stephie was happily locked to Horde, maybe tonight they could just have one-on-one time without the humiliation of trying to help her friend get laid.

“Cool Hands? Isn’t that the new pub in Scranton?” Cilla asked, wondering why her friend wanted to go someplace new when she usually wanted to stick to local watering holes where everyone knew everyone else.

“Uh…yeah. It’s new. I’ve actually been there a few times because Horde said something about the club investing in it.”

Ah. Now it made sense. “Is Horde going to be there?”

Stephie snickered. “Sadly, no. He’s doing ‘club business’ with another brother, and I wouldn’t mind a night without him. He’s amazing, and I really like him, but he’s in-freaking-tense. Tonight, will just be me and my bestie, sipping fruity drinks, eating greasy apps, and jawing about everything we’ve missed in the last few weeks.”

And man, do I have a lot to tell Stephie…. But she couldn’t. Not yet. And she felt like a big ol’ bitch, keeping secrets from her best friend.

“Their chicken nachos and hot wings are fucking fire,” Stephie added, knowing Cilla was a slut for good nachos.

Actually, that sounded pretty amazing, and it wasn’t like Patriot was coming over. He had “club business.” Maybe he and Horde were in the same place. Shrugging, Cilla headed toward her car, her mind on what she should wear to a pub.

“Meet you there?” Cilla asked, unlocking her car door, and slipping inside.

“Yeah. I’m gonna Uber because after dealing with Dawson’s shit this week, I need to get a little more than buzzed.”

Chuckling, Cilla got more details from her friend, ended the call, and headed home to shower off the diner, and change.

It wasn’t two hours later, and she was pulling up in front of Cool Hands. The pub was in one of Scranton’s older buildings on the outskirts near the railroad hub. It looked like it had once been a warehouse for storing whatever was moved by train, but had been refurbished for commercial use. Now, it was a teeming pub. If this was one of the Unchained MC’s legitimate businesses, they were doing well.

Cilla met Stephie at the door, and the women embraced. God, she missed her friend. Stephie, obviously having been to Cool Hands before, dragged Cilla behind her to the bar where two bartenders were serving up drinks like booze vending machines. The place was so crowded, even for a Friday, that Cilla couldn’t see a damn thing about the place other than the ceilings were cliché industrial, with exposed wiring, girders, and pipes, and the floors were stained concrete.

Stephie ordered a sour apple martini, and two shots of tequila, and Cilla decided that if Stephie was shooting tequila, then she needed to be the sober one. She ordered a diet Coke with lime. Drinks obtained, Stephie lead the way through the throng to set of three tables in the back corner. Apparently, because this was an Unchained bar, it meant that those associated with Unchained needn’t worry about finding a place to chill.

One of the three tables was full, and Cilla only recognized three of the eight people: Sasha and Tasha, and Cluster, who was proudly wearing his club kutte. However, Sasha and Tasha were proudly wearing barely anything. Low tops, high skirts, and higher heels, they were ready to strut right down the street and pick up a customer for the night, but Cilla wasn’t going to say that, even when they caught sight of her, sneered, and began murmuring about her behind their hands. Like Cilla didn’t know what they were saying. At least Cluster looked like he was on duty—his gaze was sharp, his head swiveling from one side of the pub to the other, as if watching for trouble. His cell was on the table right in front of him, probably within easy reach for if he needed to call in reinforcements. As if knowing she was looking at him, Cluster’s gaze swung to her and widened.

Um…. Her suddenly sweaty hands slid down her sides and around to her belly, making sure she wasn’t getting lumpier under the heat of the room.

Cluster blinked, ignored Sasha, who was pouting and saying something to him, and then he picked up his cell.

Stephie poked Cilla in the side with her elbow and tossed her head, not so subtly reminding her that they were headed toward a table, and they were there to enjoy themselves.

Tonight, Cilla wanted to take some of the confidence she’d gained in bed with Patriot, and flaunt it a little, so she was wearing the dress she wore the night she met Patriot. Dark red, clingy, baring a little boobage, and tight in all the lumpy places. But she knew that Patriot saw those as curves, and that he loved them, had worshipped them over and over again.

Forcing a smile she wasn’t quite feeling, Cilla lifted her chin at the twins and Cluster in greeting, the turned toward where Stephie was now sitting, at the table furthest from that group. Cilla nearly kissed the woman in relief. She’d come to tonight to enjoy her friend, and she didn’t want to deal with the twins, and whatever drama they were looking to stir up.

“So, where are these amazing nachos you promised?” And, she’d have to change her order, because diet soda wasn’t going to cut it.

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