Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC 17)

Dancers scatter out of Digger’s way. Some try to stop and talk to Dex and me. I snarl at a few who put their hands on me or grab my arm.

A young woman dressed in street clothes, carrying a large duffle bag, is waiting outside Digger’s office door. Even though she’s in jeans and a sweatshirt, her teased halo of hair and heavy makeup say she’s finishing a shift.

“What’s wrong, Jenny?” he asks.

“Can you walk me to my car? That guy…” her bottom lip trembles.

Digger sighs. “I’m in the middle of something.” He turns and claps me on the back. “Rooster will walk you out.”

Startled, I don’t say anything right away, which Digger seems to take for acceptance.

“Thank you, Rooster,” Jenny gushes.

Dex shrugs as he follows Digger into the office.

Fuck.

Jenny scans my cut. “You’re visiting from New York, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I want to get up there for Christmas this year.”

“Well, I think that’s what Dex and Digger are talking about if you’re interested in taking a few shifts at our upstate New York club.”

She quickens her steps to keep up with me. “Oh, yes. That would be perfect.”

I push the back door open but ask her to wait, scanning the parking lot behind the building. All the vehicles appear to be empty. No pedo-vans lurking. I motion for her to follow me outside.

“Which one’s yours?” I ask.

She points to a small, red hatchback. “So, should I ask for you if I want to schedule something?”

“Huh? Oh. No. Dex runs Crystal Ball.”

She lets out a throaty laugh. “Will I see you at all if I visit New York?”

Hell fucking no.

“No. I’ll be on the road with my girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Her heavily glossed lips push into a pout.

We stop at her car and she hits the unlock button. The alarm chirps and the lights flash. I lean in and open the driver’s door.

“Thank you so much.” She tosses her bag into the backseat. “I had this customer who wouldn’t take no for an answer and he started waiting in the parking lot for me…” her voice trails off. “Scared the hell out of me a few times.”

I scowl and glance at the club. The few times I’ve helped out at Crystal Ball, hell, any of the strip clubs Lost Kings own, we’ve always walked the girls to their cars at night. Too many guys fell “in love” with the girls and acted like dropping their weekly paycheck on lap dances entitled them to more after hours.

“Digger doesn’t walk you guys out?”

“No, he does. Or he has someone do it. We’re short on bouncers lately, though. Squiggy’s usually careful about that stuff but Digger said he’s on a run or something.”

I search my memory for a face to match with the name. Lost Kings isn’t the largest MC out there but we’re not small enough that I can remember every single patch-holder’s name in a flash either. “Big, bald-headed guy?” I tap the side of my neck. “Octopus tat?”

Her smile brightens. “That’s our Squiggy.”

“Yeah, he’s a good dude. Where’d he go?”

She shrugs. “I don’t ask questions. I thought Digger said Everhart but I’m not sure.”

Funny, I just came from there and didn’t run into him. Granted, he could’ve arrived after we left. And it’s not like Ice is obligated to tell me who’s visiting his clubhouse and when.

“I’m working tomorrow.” She steps closer and rests her hand over my VP patch. “Will I see you again?”

Not only is it rude as fuck to touch a biker’s cut or patches without asking—which she should know since she works for a bunch of bikers—I don’t want some strange woman’s hand on me.

Gripping her wrist firm enough to send a message but not hurt her, I remove her hand. “No.”

She pouts again. Guess that usually works for her. “Well, all right then…”

I open her door wider. “Go on. I’m gonna watch you drive out. Make sure no one’s following you.”

That must’ve sent the wrong signal. Her eager smile returns. “Oh. Okay.”

I move to close her door but a flash of movement near the dumpster on the other side of the parking lot catches my eye. While my attention’s focused over there, she pushes the door open again. “Give me your number. I’ll let you know I got home okay.”

Christ, she’s persistent. Slowly tearing my gaze away from the dumpster, I open my mouth to say no. Then I reconsider and recite Jigsaw’s number. He likes the tenacious ones.

Finally, I get her door closed and she starts the car. She wiggles her fingers at me and reverses out of the spot. I jam my hands in my pockets and walk toward the club, keeping my eye on her car. No other cars start up or follow her out of the parking lot. She turns left onto a side street and I figure my job here is done.