Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC (2 page)

“We’ll see. Just stay out of trouble.”

Yeah, right.

Senna shifted in the driver’s seat and wondered just how depraved the powder blue minivan looked resting right in the middle of the parking lot of a strip club, in the middle of the afternoon, at that.
This ridiculous family minivan
. The backseat was strewn with clothes and blankets and empty snack bags and soda cans. The front passenger seat had been littered with CDs - the poor old vehicle was born before the time of the mp3 player. It was a van for families with little children or big dogs, not for badasses out on a mission, demanding answers.
But badass I must pretend to be.

Unfortunately rental cars were for girls with more money, and Senna’s funds were running low. Too low.
But no so low as to sink to working at a place like this.

The lights on the billboard flickered on as the sky darkened. “Fast Girls - Hot Nights” it advertised beneath the main sign, “Heaven’s Highway Gentleman’s Club.”
“Gentlemen” indeed.
She considered going inside. Stalking the doors seemed safer, saner.
Maybe I’ll work up the nerve in a bit.
Women entered the club not too long after she’d parked - four in all, she’d counted, and none of them the girl she was looking for. Men, too, though she didn’t count them. Some reemerged not long after, casting furtive glances about the area before scurrying to their cars, hoping their shame would remain unwitnessed.
The married ones, I’d bet.
But Senna wasn’t there to judge. Senna was there to find and warn her sister, extend an invitation, then disappear herself out to the west coast.

The loud blasts of engines shook her out of her brooding. A motorcycle wheeled into the parking lot, spitting exhaust and gravel in its wake. Then a second; and a third. Three men in leather vests and black helmets parked and dismounted, moving with no rush, no shame. They weren’t like the other men who darted in and out of the building, hiding their faces or slumping their shoulders. These three passed through the front doors like they
owned
the damn place. It was a relief when their backs and their matching gang patches disappeared inside.
Dammit, Aster, gangs? What have you gotten yourself mixed up in?

But her relief was short-lived. Just moments later, one of them reappeared and strode right for her van. He was the youngest of the three she’d seen, with a shock of dust-colored hair, trimmed short at the sides but curling wildly at the top.
Shit.
She sank down further in her seat but it was too late to escape notice.

He rapped on her window. She had to roll it down manually - another modern feature they old minivan was missing. The smell of leather and motor oil wafted inside as she let the fresh air in. She would have studied his face if he wasn’t wearing sunglasses; she couldn’t really tell if the tall man was angry or annoyed or anything at all.

“Looking for a job, sweetheart?” His vest fell open as he shifted, revealing the material of a black t-shirt clinging to a taut chest. He crossed his arms over her open window, all thick, strong muscles and dark tattoos. She swallowed. She’d expected a rough cigarette-damaged voice, or a dirty southern accent, or even worse, a tough guy Jersey accent. Not that sexy, smooth bedroom voice, the kind you
feel
just as much as you hear. She couldn’t place where he might be from, but that wasn’t what she was thinking about anyway.

“Definitely not,” she mumbled, shaking her head and pulling herself out of that unsettling line of thinking. She fumbled around the discs scattered across the passenger seat before finally finding a photograph. She held it up for him to see. “I’m looking for her - do you know her?”

He ignored it - instead he tilted his head as he looked her up and down, checking out her body as if assessing her, weighing her in his mind, as if she
hadn’t
just told him she wasn’t looking for employment. It made her self-conscious. Guys just didn’t look at her like that, ever. Most guys she met just looked straight through her. Whatever it was that she was missing, she’d yet to figure it out.
Bigger boobs,
she told herself, but she knew it had to be more than that.

“You sure?” he asked. His shrug held just a hint of derision. “I mean, I’ll bet you’d do okay as a waitress.”

She held her face steady.
I’m gonna pretend I didn’t find that just a tad insulting.
“The girl, please?”

Finally, he pulled off his sunglasses as he took it from her.
Whoa.
The man had the most beautifully chiseled face she’d ever seen in person. With eyes like blue ice chips and the type of five o-clock shadow that started at noon, he looked more like someone who belonged in advertisements than in the parking lot of a strip club.
A damn shame.
Anyplace else she’d have found him devastatingly attractive, though being somewhere in his mid-thirties she guessed, he was a little older than she normally went for. Her girlfriends back at college would have had their tongues on the floor regardless of his age. She couldn’t forget where she was, though. He was just some dirtbag biker, likely a criminal; a handsome face didn’t give him a free pass.

She was too busy checking him out to register any recognition in his eyes as he took in the picture.
Way to pay attention.
“Who’s she to you?” he asked.

“Why? Do you recognize her?”

He handed her the photo back. “Couldn’t tell you if I did. Stripper/manager confidentiality.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “We’re hiring, though. I could tell you more if you were my… employee.”

She struggled to keep her lip from curling in disgust. “I’ll just wait here, thanks.” She started to crank the window back up but he reached inside and stilled her arm.

“Private property. No loitering.” The strength of his grip made her blink, but she was
not
going to be intimidated by this guy.

“Get your hand off me, please.” He withdrew, the amusement on his face melting in a scowl. “I’m not bothering anyone.” She turned the handle again, but he shoved the window back down, breaking the mechanism inside.
Oh, shit.

“You’ve got three options, darlin’. Get hired, get a drink and a dance, or get the fuck out of here.” His knuckles turned white where he gripped the door and finally it occurred to her that she might actually be in trouble here.

He must have seen the change on her face, because his softened instantly. He took a step back and held up his hands, but the gesture was as close to an apology as she was going to get. “Your pick, or I’ll have you towed. Got it?”

Shit shit shit. I have to find her. I have to.
The trail went cold after this place.
But this guy is clearly unstable.
“A drink and a dance,” she said, fishing for her purse before getting out of the car. She had to take the risk - she had to find her sister.

She stepped quickly away from him, conscious of the danger he posed. He could have dragged her out of that car at any point, she should have never opened her window at all.

Fear wasn’t the only thing she felt, though, and that was even scarier.

He wore an amused grin but that could mean any variety of nefarious things.
Let me just get out of this parking lot and inside where there are witnesses.
She was too low on funds to do this but if she didn’t find Aster here, she’d have nothing left but to give up on her search and use her bus ticket to head out west. At least until she dug up another clue.

His blue eyes narrowed as she smoothed her shorts and passed him. “You’re serious.”

“I don’t bluff.” She strode ahead of him towards the front entrance. His eyes burned into her back like twin lasers but she ignored him, determined to not let him think he’d frightened her or gotten the better of her, or to give him the upper hand.
I’m letting myself get distracted. Just get in and get out.
She clutched the picture tight as she stepped through the doors.

The inside was exactly as she’d imagined - lit up in red and pink lights, with a long stage down the middle and a bar to one side. It was too early to be very crowded but the air was already thick with cigarette smoke and the smells of beer and perfume. It made her reluctant to touch anything in the place, and she reassured herself that there was hand sanitizer in her glove compartment. One girl was doing a slow dance on the stage’s pole while two others circled the room. She tried to imagine Aster working here, dancing here. Tall like Senna, with lighter hair, a trimmer figure, and a nice expensive rack, physically she’d blend right in.
But she’s so much smarter than this.

On the other hand, maybe she
was
being smart. How many hours did she actually have to work to make enough to live on? Everyone knew the stereotype of the girl stripping her way through med school. It was no big mind-blowing secret that there was good money to be made. All you had to do was kick aside all your self-consciousness and shame. Whatever Aster was doing, she wasn’t dependent on their family’s money. Not like Senna had been. Aster had gotten out.

Senna hoped the biker would back off once she’d perched on a stool at the bar, but no such luck. She did get a better look at the patches on his vest as he slid onto the stool next to her - the horned devil with the scythe and the cloud of smoke or dust behind it. “Dust Bowl Devils Motorcycle Club,” it read. There were smaller patches around the back and on the front whose meanings she didn’t understand - “OC,” “1%,” a few others she couldn’t quite make out.
Drugs, crimes, what am I doing here?

“Valentine will do a dance for you,” he said, looking her up and down once more. She wanted to shrink away from that gaze - his eyes were just too intense. He made her nervous, and it wasn’t just because of his display of aggression outside. It made her feel exposed. Like he could see more about her than eyesight alone could account for.
Lust and judgment,
she told herself,
Like any other man.
Still, is was disconcerting.

“Really.” She gave him a blank stare. “I can’t just buy a drink. You make every one of your patrons get a dance or get towed?”

“No,” he said, waving over one of the dancers on the other side of the space, “But it’s what you agreed to.” He grinned.

God help me.
She had to force herself to look away from that smile. It was twisted, like he liked what he saw but was making fun of her. Yet despite all that it was somehow
charming
.

“Houlihan!” he barked at the bartender, “Fancy drink for the fancy lady. Give her the special.”

“I’ll take a beer, bottled,” she called after, “And pop the cap where I can see it, please.”
And wash your hands. And wipe down this bar, for the love of God.

“What’s the matter, sugar? Don’t trust old Houlihan?” There was that grin again. If she stared too long she knew she’d end up falling for it, smiling back, flirting. Something about it triggered all sorts of bad ideas in her head; ideas that made her bite her lip and start to sweat.
A biker at a strip club? Am I that starved for male attention? Focus, Senna, focus.
She forced her mouth into a neutral line, giving away nothing.

“I don’t trust any strange man who tries to order me a ‘special’ anything.” When Houlihan arrived with her beer, she practically shoved the photo under his nose, determined to focus on why she was here instead of letting the biker continue to distract her. “Have you seen this woman?” she asked, practically wagging it at him. He snatched it from her just to stop her.

“Can’t say,” he said, passing it to the biker. “Have you?”

She didn’t even wait for another sarcastic answer before grabbing it back from him. “Thanks, you’ve both been very helpful,” she muttered, taking a long swallow from the bottle.
Just ignore them. Ignore him.

The girl arrived - Valentine. She wore red sequined lingerie and heels so high that Senna was sure her own ankles would break if she tried to so much as stand in them. Valentine planted a long, tongue-wrestling kiss on the biker before speaking. The sight sent a stab of ugly emotions through her - the sort she was unwilling to acknowledge or even identify. She blinked and made herself watch, waiting patiently for the two to break apart so she could continue her quest and get the hell out of there. “Who am I dancing for?”