Page 101 of Not Mine to Rescue

“Sorry. Didn’t see a vest. My bad. Apologies, ma’am.”

Wombat glared at him. “My tongue was in her mouth, idiot.”

“That don’t mean nothing. Your tongue’s been in a few mouths, Wombat.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Wombat fired back.

“Shutting up.” He sent me a dip of the head and moved farther down the bar.

“Is it always like this?” I asked the air.

Fly spoke up again. “It’ll stop when Wombat commissions your vest.”

All of the women I’d spoken with tonight wore black leather vests. Each were embroidered with skulls matching the patches on the back of the men’s jacket. Sometimes, those skulls were small patterns snaking around the edges. Other times, like with Mary’s they were almost as large as the back patch itself. The words embroidered around it were “Destroyers property, touch her and die.”

Even Olivia had that embroidered on hers. Marie’s was older. On the back it said, “Property of Digger.”

Hayley’s declared her “Property of Snake.”

There were a couple other women who had those vests.

“I’ll get right on that, dumbass,” Wombat fired at Fly, then he turned to me, “Stay right here. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He kissed me again and slipped away to find Walt.

Fly watched him leave and waited for the right moment when Wombat would be out of earshot.

“I hear the condom broke.”

I choked on the sip of water I’d taken. “What?”

His grin was crooked. “Did he go to CVS or are you two…” The words trailed off to fly directly into my chest like a blow.

My hands shook. I set the bottle onto the bar so I wouldn’t drop it and clutched them both at my waist where they could hide out of sight.

“Hey, it’s cool. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t say a damn word.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

Everyone said that.

Every-fucking-one. What did they know? How could they?

“It’s just that, you touched the vest. The last person who did that got a broken hand. He must like you a lot.”

I glanced up, still mired in my anger. “What?”

“The vest. It’s sacred. No one but a patched brother, or their ol’ lady can touch it. But he put your hands on his name patch and the memorial patches on the other side. That’s against the rules. I figure he’s breaking them on purpose.”

“Oh?” When did my eloquence disappear? “I’m sure it was a momentary lapse.”

“Not with Wombat. He’s been a straight arrow for years. Then you come along and he’s just… well, I won’t say a word. You’re drinking that because you’re driving, got it?”

Strange how the nicest people were sometimes the roughest looking. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job.” He tipped his head and went down the line to fill drinks and spread the word that “the club’s lawyer was present, play nice.”

A few of them introduced themselves, asked how to hire the firm. More avoided me, thinning the crowd by the bar which was quickly replaced by others.