Malcolm (Henchmen MC Next Generation 2)

I shouldn't have been surprised with where I'd ended up though.

Back at the karaoke bar.

Let's face it, when it came to needing some support from someone, you weren't inclined to turn to your biker brothers who might rib you about in the moment—or later and to eternity.

But my female cousins?

Yeah, they were the kind of comfort I could cling to when I was fighting not only with my own cowardice, but the unexpected disappointment that felt like a knife to the gut.

"Hey, why does he get to cut the line?" one of the frat-boy types grumbled as the bouncer waved me in when I approached.

"You want privileges, go ahead and join a one-percent biker club and earn your bones. Until then, shut the fuck up," the bouncer snapped to them as I opened the front door.

I'd been inside the bar once before. Back when the girls found out a hidden truth about the usually so in-control Hope.

That tequila made her lose every last inhibition.

And most of her clothes.

The girls had called me to help carry her loopy ass out while they collected her scattered clothing items and paid the bill.

Hope hadn't touched tequila since.

And I'd never had another reason to go inside again.

It hadn't changed since then, though, with its round bar with booths to one side and tables to the other. Toward the back of the building was the stage with the karaoke equipment set up.

Who was on that stage doing a sexier-than-necessary dance to Madonna's "Human Nature?" Well, Billie, of course.

It was an apt song for her.

Because if there was one thing you learned about Billie, it was that she was never sorry for who she was. It was one of her best traits, even if a part of me worried that by putting herself out there so much, she was going to end up hurt some day.

The music ended, and Billie did a little curtsy before her gaze drifted around, only to land on me.

Even from across a crowded bar, I could hear her when she squealed, "Malcolm!"

Then she was hopping down and running toward me.

Her running drew the attention of Hope and Gracie. Gracie shot me a pleasant, but confused smile. Hope, though, stiffened, jumping out of her seat as Billie pulled me over.

"Is something going down?" she asked, already reaching for her bag.

"No. Nothing is going down," I assured her, thankful that even a couple drinks in, she was keeping her head about her for possible emergency situations.

"Then why are you here?" Hope asked, brows furrowing.

"Maybe he wants to have some fun with us," Billie declared.

"Does that sound like Malcolm to you?" Hope shot back, brow arching up.

"Maybe we should let Malc talk for himself," Gracie suggested, always the middle ground between her two opposite personality cousins.

"What's going on?" Hope asked, waving toward the empty end chair to their table.

"I need a drink," I grumbled, making Hope's brows draw low.

"Really?" she asked.

I could practically hear her thoughts. But you're our designated driver.

It didn't matter, though. There were dozens of others they could call to get them home. Same for me.

"Okay," Billie said, giving me a curious glance as she moved toward the bar.

"You good?" Hope asked, about as eloquent with her feelings and words as I was. Meaning not at all. But, hey, she was trying. And I appreciated it.

"I don't know," I admitted, accepting the drink Billie handed to me, taking a gulp before I really even looked at it, then nearly gagging on the sweet concoction.

"The fuck?" I grumbled, looking at the glass.

"It's a margarita," Billie said, sharing a smile with Hope. "Lower those inhibitions, so we can get to the root of your problems. Bottoms up," she demanded, tipping the glass up so I had no choice but to drink or wear it.

And, well, within a few minutes, I felt a warm sensation flooding my system that I liked more than I should have. So I didn't fight them when they got me a second one. Or a third.

"Are you... are you thinking of singing?" Hope asked, sounding a mix of confused and horrified at the prospect.

"Dunno," I said, taking Gracie's drink, ignoring the look she shot to Hope as I took a long swig of it.

"It's okay," Billie said, rubbing my back in circles. "Music is therapeutic. You can sing. I will even be your backup or duet if you need it, okay?" she asked as I flipped through the song book selections.

She sounded like a kindergarten teacher with her soft, sing-song voice. Like she was trying to talk a kid out of a temper tantrum.

She probably would have been a great teacher if she could stop talking about pussies for five minutes. Which was unlikely.

By the time I was done with Gracie's drink, I wasn't sure there was a single voice in my head reminding me that I couldn't carry a tune in a fucking bucket, or that it was embarrassing as fuck to get up on stage and sing.