Page 96 of Not Mine to Rescue

What did a man have to do to get some respect around here? I pointed at him. “I’ll tell Walt you disrespected a member. That’ll be another three months tacked on.”

“I’m sorry.” He straightened up and finally averted his eyes.

Keeping my mouth shut wasn’t why they’d recruited me. Knowing when to use it was. Ignoring his bullshit would make him sweat more. So I did just that as I led Honor inside. “Welcome to the Destroyers’ Clubhouse.”

I’d timed it perfectly. The wall of sound hit us first. The jukebox blasted over the laughter and shouts. Then there was the visual slam.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, the ceiling opened all the way up. If the lighting was up, you could see the ten by twelve inch oak rafters. If it was a night like tonight, the ceiling was one great big square maw that made you search for something, anything to put an end to all that darkness.

The middle of the building was sliced neatly in half by a fieldstone wall that climbed upward. It acted as both a defense and an optical illusion, making the space look larger than it was.

One of the prospects called it a mindfuck. You see the barn, think of all that open space, then get inside, become overwhelmed by the upward volume, and forget all about the other half you couldn’t see.

And that’s just the way Walt liked it. The only clue that there was more behind that wall was the hallway to the kitchen, offices, and the bathrooms. We couldn’t do much about that space, except cut it short by placing a closed door right before it led to Walt’s office and the meeting room. The abruptness of the hallway’s end was just another way we hid the most sensitive parts in plain sight.

Walt picked me out from the sea of bodies and waded through the crush to meet us about halfway to the bar. “Wombat.” He slapped hands with me, then he swept a long look up and down my woman. I almost blurted out, “eyes front,” but remembered this was my club president and I’d catch hell for the disrespect.

Instead, I played nice. “I think you’ve met Honoria before?”

“Damn woman, you ain’t playin’ are you?”

She straightened. “Playing at what exactly?”

He shot me an upraised brow. “As you put it, ‘seeing’ this one.” He hesitated and did something I absolutely hated. He licked his lips, stuck a hand out and said, “When you’re here, you call me Disney. None of that Mr. Tipton bullshit you did back in the office.”

In small words, he’d warned me to keep her on a leash for the night. Only patched members and their ol’ ladies got to call him Walt. Heck, even the president of the nearest Destroyers chapter never got to call him that to his face, and they’d known each other for over twenty years.

“Disney. How cute.”

I checked his eyes for the glitter of hatred that was sure to be there if someone showed disrespect like that. Strangely, he stared at me. And that hatred? It wasn’t there. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was curious. “With your permission, I’d like to introduce her to… everyone.” That almost came out as a question. I sucked in air because if I didn’t I’d hyperventilate.

This was dangerous ground. It would only be worse if the woman on my arm were a cop, a narc, or an enemy. Honor wasn’t any of those. She should be welcome here.

He hesitated just enough to tell me he wasn’t happy. “Steer clear of Killer. Maybe Rachel.”

Right. The two women with the most to lose if Honor figured out their history. “Understood.”

Then he asked something crude, but one-hundred percent Walt. “Honoria, that’s a mouthful. You got a nickname sweet-tits?”

It was a damn good thing I’d warned her in advance. She took the insult in stride. “Honor works.”

This time, he didn’t even try to hide the scowl he sent me. “Honor, huh? You’re wasted on this one.”

“Low blow.” I didn’t say it loudly, just loud enough to let him know I wasn’t happy.

He smirked at me. “Honor, let me introduce you to the woman I’m wasted on. Cherry!?”

His wife. This was getting interesting.

Mary, aka Cherry, was almost as pretty as Honor, but instead of tall and lean, she was poshly curvy and obscenely stacked. Those tits made her a mint back in the day. Now she worked at a family law practice, putting her smarts to work in her retirement.

Strippers like Mary retired early because they could. She wasn’t just a pretty face or a big set of bosoms. If I had to guess which of the couple was more cunning, I’d say she was.

Mary took one look at Honor and held out a perfectly manicured hand, “So nice to see you outside of the courtroom.”

A couple of hangers overheard her and moved their conversations farther away.

“I don’t remember seeing you in court. But I know you.”