Bikers, Chains and Bad Boys

Chapter 22

Bikers, Chains and Bad Boys: Chapter 22

     Burning daylight streamed through broken cracks of the dusty blinds in the only window of the simple room. My eyes slammed shut just as fast as I'd opened them, to stave off the burning brightness assaulting them. I took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. The pain in my ribs was twenty times worse than it was yesterday. It was nothing compared to the crushing weight of guilt and despair resting uncomfortably on my chest, though.

     My face stung with every twitch and pull of skin as I grimaced, pulling myself painfully to sit. I heaved a few small breaths, then held it in as I forced myself to my feet. It wasn't as bad when I was standing still, but I braced myself on the wall, breathing air like needles as I dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and shoved my feet into my boots.

     I swiped my mother's knife off the side table, strapping it to my hip and went to step out of the room, stopping only for a second and, as an afterthought, slipping the two knives they'd used to slash my tires in the the side of each of my boots.

     The room was relatively quiet for seven in the morning. Two men sat conversing at a table as another man sat on a couch, a woman on his lap. A woman moved behind the bar, wiping counters and refilling the coolers with bottles, and two women sat on the opposite end of the bar, smoking cigarettes and laughing at something only known to them. The bartender's eyes met mine as I made my way behind the bar to the ice chest, giving a subtle nod in their direction when the women on the end stopped chatting to stare at me.

     "You must be Whiskey." The woman with the rag looked away first, her long red hair forming a curtain around her face as she continued her business with wiping the counter. She looked back up to me when I didn't answer. I blinked.

     "Uh," I cleared my throat, filling a rag with ice and letting the door to the chest slam shut. "Yea, that's me." The women on the end were still watching me, puffing on their cigarettes. The blonde eyed me with mild interest as the the one beside her watched me with disdain. I vaguely remembered her, but couldn't tell how until my eyes met her chest and it flooded back to me. The woman from the first party I came to. I spilled my drink on her, I think.

     I looked down for a second to discourage the smile threatening to slip onto my face. The woman with the rag finished wiping the counter, washed and dried her hands and stepped toward me, holding out her hand. "I'm Red." I shook her given hand and dipped my head in a nod, leaning against the counter. "I'm Thrasher's old lady."

     When my brows drew in confusion, she continued. "Have you met Kennedy – sorry Kenny?" She smiled at the shot of recognition I must have shown in my eyes. "She's my daughter." I smiled in return and she turned to continue what she was doing.

   I lifted the rag full of ice to my ribs as subtly as I could and gritted my teeth as it met my skin. I tried to lean as casually as I could so it wouldn't show. Red was quite attentive though, and I took her lifted brow as asking if I was alright. I shook my head though, sending her a small, polite smile as I waved her concerns away.

     I sat there a while, before gently making my way to a stool on the opposite side of the bar, stomach rumbling as I took a seat. Red went to say something when a voice piped up behind me.

     "Never fear, I've brought sustenance for that beast inside you." I laughed before thinking better of it and grimaced quickly at the ache in my ribs. Corey sat a bag down on the bar in front of me with take out containers from the diner in town. I went to smile at him, but the first thing that caught my attention was the leather cut over his shoulders, a Prospect patch sewn onto the left chest. My eyes met his, filled with questions, but he just smiled at me, whispering later and taking a seat next to me.