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By the fourth, she’s pouring her heart out, drunk off her ass and reminiscing about her younger years. Like many of the other hookers and strippers I’ve met in this place, Carla has serious daddy issues. Abandoned by her father and raised by a drug-addled mother, she did the best she could with what she was given. She never got an education, not the kind that might help her overcome her social position, anyway.
In that sense, I know I got lucky. I was raised in a good family, in a safe environment.
“Anyway, that’s the end of that,” Carla says, wrapping up a story about an abusive ex-boyfriend who was also her pimp. “Curtis is serving ten to fifteen in Folsom. He’s not gonna be out for at least a couple more years, and he’ll probably wanna come after me since I testified against him in exchange for time served. But I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“You’re on your own now, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. Orion would’ve made a good partner,” she says with a slight scoff. “Having the Blackthorn Riders’ support would keep that bastard away from me, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Is that why you’re upset tonight?”
She nods once. “I got a call from Curtis. He wanted to see how I was doing. The asshole called me collect from prison. Every month, he calls to check up on me.”
“He’s making sure you’re still here for when he gets out,” I say.
“Yeah. One more,” she says, lifting the empty shot glass for me to see.
But Carla is already impaired. I can’t let her drink anymore, not unless I’m ready to call her an ambulance. “How about a Diet Coke instead?” I ask. “You’ve had enough absinthe, Carla. It’s rough stuff.”
“I said one more!” she snaps.
Eventually, I manage to talk some sense into her, and Paddy helps her out of the clubhouse. Once she’s loaded in the back of a cab, I can breathe a sigh of relief.
“I’m just not comfortable with letting anybody drink themselves to death,” I tell Paddy when he comes back.
“No, I get it,” he replies with a wry smile. “Poor Carla has always been a mess. Comes strutting in here like she’s the Queen of Sheba every damn night. She keeps trying to become somebody’s old lady, whether it’s Orion or anyone else who’ll have her.”
I can’t help but shake my head. “I don’t know, Paddy. She had a lucid moment earlier, and I could tell that she wanted something different for herself. Maybe it’s not too late.”
“Sadly, I think it could be for her. She’s in her mid-thirties and still turning tricks. She doesn’t know anything else. Who the hell is going to hire her for a decent, law-abiding job? With her criminal record and basically the whole county aware of her nighttime activities … no, this is it for her. And she’s going to have to make her peace with that.”
It breaks my heart. I may not like Carla, and she sure as hell doesn’t like me, but I feel sorry for her. She never had a chance. From the moment she was born, her fate was more or less sealed.
“Whatever happens to Carla, it’s on her,” Paddy reminds me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a call to make in the little boys’ room.”
I giggle as Paddy politely bows and backs away from the bar. Within minutes, I’m working the crowd again, pouring drinks and trying to stay within earshot of any club-related conversation, curious about what’s going on and wondering what will happen next.
Paddy’s warning has left me unsettled. It doesn’t change my plans for the evening, though.
Upstairs, Orion, Kai, and Drake are busy conferring in their private offices. I look forward to crashing that party as soon as my shift is over. I’m not wasting another second.
It’s past midnight, and the bar is empty. Only shadows loom across the ground floor, the moonlight pouring in through the windows as the last of the motorcycles rumble away into the darkness outside. I stayed behind to lock up, which surprised Travis since it was his turn, but I had something else left to do here, and I was not going home without doing it.
I take one last shot of whiskey and make my way upstairs.
Two of the rooms are taken for the night, but the guys were so drunk when they checked in that I doubt they’ll be out before sunrise. They’re club prospects, anyway. They know the drill with the emergency exit.
Here goes nothing,” I whisper to myself and stop outside Orion’s office door.
I can hear them talking. They’ve been up here for hours.
“We’ll need Roscoe to get involved,” Kai says. “He may not want to, but it’s time for the Wolves to step up before they get lead up their asses. Colton is clearly serious and not taking any prisoners.”
“And Shelby,” Drake adds.
“They’re not Orange County,” Orion tells them.
“It doesn’t matter,” Drake replies. “It’s not an Orange County–only problem anymore, and you know it. If the other clubs don’t step up, it’ll get worse and uglier.”
