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Besides, my blood brothers and I survived the Navy SEALs. We survived the first ten years of this club, picking up where our fathers left off. We’re not destroying our livelihoods and losing our freedom for this.
I’d like a few more years ahead of me so I can make the most of them. So I can maybe see if there’s more than just lustful fireworks between Nadia and us. I could work things out with her old man and get him to loosen up a little bit.
Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Nadia isn’t the kind of woman who the three of us can just fuck sideways and drop when we’re bored. She’s unlike any woman we’ve ever known before, and she’s not someone we’d ever get bored with.
She’s the kind of woman we’d fall hopelessly head over heels with. And that makes her more dangerous than a thousand Colton Harrow’s put together.
5
Nadia
There are a lot of women who come to the clubhouse just to get on the radar of the Blackthorn Riders. Most of them pine after the leaders, and sometimes that results in ridiculous catfights long before Orion, Kai, and Drake even arrive.
Occasionally, Paddy and the other guys manage to break them up and woo them upstairs. Now and then, some of these ladies get banned for the month, which is just ridiculous. Working behind the bar, I get a front-row seat to watch all of the drama unravel.
It does make me squirm a little bit to see all these women trying to make a move on the club leaders. Maybe it’s jealousy; I know that they used to have access to them. According to Paddy, before I got my job here, the president and his close friends used to have one chick or another servicing them upstairs. But all of that stopped when I arrived.
And it’s got me thinking things about them that I shouldn’t.
Tonight is no different. It’s Saturday, and the cats are on the prowl. Short skirts. Knee-high boots. Gold-brushed bangles and shimmering lipstick. Cheap perfume and too much makeup. I watch in amusement while I sweat my ass off, pushing drinks across the bar, waiting for my shift to end.
The remaining prospects are busy arguing over a pool game. Some of the younger girls stop by their table and try to strike up a conversation, only to get harshly rejected.
“The boys are on a celibacy week,” Paddy tells me at one point. “They’re not allowed to get laid before tomorrow at midnight.”
“Another rite of passage?” I ask, smiling.
“Yeah. We need to make sure they’re able to abstain and not act like desperate fools,” he replies. “Although by the look on Jimmy’s face, he doesn’t have much resistance left in him.”
I follow his gaze and see the prospect in question. Tall and lanky in his plaid shirt and Junior Iron Horse leather vest, the guy reminds me of a famished wolf lost between sheep, barely able to contain himself. Two brunettes are currently circling him like vultures, giggling and tempting him with shots of tequila and swaying hips.
“Wait, I know those girls,” I mutter.
“Yeah, they’re The Hammer’s nieces. The Brady twins,” Paddy chuckles.
“Oh, gosh, if The Hammer sees them, poor Jimmy.”
The Hammer is one of the club’s enforcers and Kai’s shadow when he’s doing business without Drake or Orion. A big man with giant shoulders and enough force in his left hook to practically dismember a human being, The Hammer isn’t known for being warm and gentle, especially where his family is concerned. And he loves his nieces dearly.
“Wait, what are those girls even doing here?” I ask Paddy. “I barely recognized them in those skimpy outfits.”
“Yeah, they’re usually more conservative,” he agrees. “The Hammer asked them to come in.”
And then it hits me. “Oh, no. He’s literally dangling them under Jimmy’s nose.”
“I'm testing him,” Paddy laughs. “If he goes upstairs with them, he’s done.”
“Shouldn’t somebody warn him?”
“That’s the point of a test, honey,” he says. “Leave him be. He’ll either pull through or fail like his predecessors. You can’t be an Iron Horse if you only think with your dick.”
I shrug and decide to mind my own business where Jimmy’s concerned, leaving Paddy to try to impress another barfly with his stories from the club’s golden glory days. The local girls are always starry-eyed whenever they come around. I guess they look at this place as though it’s some kind of stepping stone in life.
To be honest, I do see the appeal. Being an Iron Horse’s old lady means you’re protected and well taken care of. You become part of the family, and you’ll never go without.
The money is good. Every club member has a nice house up in the hills, cash in the bank, and at least one custom hog. Plus, the guys all have a strong work ethic and ironclad character.
The club business may be on the shady side of the law, but it doesn’t mean they conduct themselves as dirty criminals. The guys will don a suit and tie if they have to; their salesman skills are so damn good they could sell ice to an Eskimo.
