Chapter Five

Hadley

Walking into the Gypsy Bastard clubhouse is a terrifying experience for me. Having grown up and spent most of my time around the Iron Disciples has definitely shaped some preconceived notions in my mind.

Expecting a dirty, dingy place has my jaw falling slack when I walk in. The Gypsy Bastards clubhouse is extraordinary by biker standards. From the outside, it looks like an old warehouse, the only sign of inhabitants the bikes standing outside. There are large, double sliding doors with red paint that is peeling in places and a bare concrete slab out front that the guys use for parking. A door to the side of the building painted in the same faded and peeling red is where we enter.

The warehouse has a large open floor plan with what I'm assuming was previously used as a board room and a downstairs office. They have a humungous bar built against one wall with a door behind it that I assume leads to either a kitchen or some type of storage. The bar is made of wood that has been stained to a dark, rich color with a couple of leather stools placed in front of it.

The lighting is bright but not so much that it breaks the atmosphere or hurts my eyes upon entry. Rock music plays loudly in the background.

Against the wall on the opposite side of the bar are a ton of framed photos. My feet carry me forward until I can make out some of the people in them. Kids, women, group photos, prospects, and what seem to be family gatherings, are all over the wall. This is definitely not what I was expecting.

"Got you a beer, pretty girl."

Viking interrupts my ogling. Turning to take the beer from him, I can see a thirty-something, bleached-blonde behind the bar staring daggers at me.

"First time in a clubhouse?" Viking queries.

"No." The temptation to lie almost overtakes me but I'm putting down roots and decide to lie as little as possible from this moment forth. "This is probably just the nicest and cleanest."

A belly laugh escapes Viking as he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the bar. "Got to introduce you to everyone."

From that moment, my night turns into a whirlwind of names and faces, accompanied by many shots. Viking pulls me from one person to the next, introducing me like a proud father showing everyone his new baby, and I find it endearing.

Meeting Pope is interesting. He speaks to me and asks all the questions one would expect of a club president but his eyes never stray from Storm for longer than a moment. His Irish accent flows over me and calms the last of my nerves.

Mad Dog is up next and although he is punching shots of tequila like there's no tomorrow, you can instantly see the military in him. Buzz-cut hair, bright brown eyes, and an impeccable posture. For a while, we get lost in conversation regarding his tattoos. Some he tells me the meaning about and some he simply smiles about.

"So you're the tattoo artist Storm has been hiding? Been trying to get your number but she wasn't giving it up."

"Do you need work done?" Already my mind is running a mile a minute with ideas. Adding on to his existing ink is going to be a dream job.

"We all do. Let me know when you're available and we can get together."

With a promise to call him and his number saved in my phone, I'm pulled away by Viking again.

He proceeds to show me around the entire clubhouse. From the bedrooms to the bathrooms and even the garage they use for any repairs a member might need, all the while introducing me to members, prospects, and even a couple of the club girls. By the time we make it back to the bar, I just want to rest my aching feet. There's a pretty decent amount of alcohol swimming through my veins but that doesn't stop me from drinking.

Lastly, Viking introduces me to the blonde behind the bar, saying her name is Jessie.

"What will you be having?" she questions in an unfriendly tone.

"Bourbon," I sass back at her. "But just give me the bottle and save us both the hassle."

The alcohol makes it easier to speak my mind, to do what I want. Jessie is being a fucking bitch and after all the hassle I get from Cherry at work, I've reached my limit. No more being friendly in the face of people who are blatantly rude to me. Viking laughs loudly at our exchange and leans over to whisper in my ear. "She's club ass. Probably just worried you're here to fill her position."

Scrunching my nose at him, I take the bottle from the bar where Jessie sat it down—a little too hard if I might add—and move away. Falling down into a green recliner, I lift the bottle to my lips and take a swig while watching some of the guys play pool.

"Chica," Sparrow calls to me as he leisurely strolls over toward me. "You're sitting in my brother's chair and he's very territorial about that ugly chair."

"Gorri?n, I don't see anyone sitting here." Calling him sparrow in Spanish catches him off guard if the size of his eyes is anything to go by.

"She speaks Spanish."

"Only enough to get myself in trouble. Either way, the rule stands, move your feet and you lose your seat."

Sparrow laughs, snapping a picture of me with his cell phone before making his way over to the pool table.

****

The guys come and go. Some just talking shit, some drinking with me, and at least a couple try to charm their way into my pants. But it's all in good fun. Very aware of the fact that I'm more than a little tipsy, I make my way through the bar, searching for Storm. A familiar song starts to play through the speakers, and Storm moves toward me. She smiles at me and before anyone is aware of what's going on or can attempt to stop us, we're up on the bar dancing. I'm sure for some it would seem like a childish thing to do, but it's always been our thing. Being in the middle of an MC clubhouse simply makes it more acceptable than doing it at a local bar.

Dancing and laughing and shaking our asses on top of the bar to the guys' hoots and hollers has me smiling so hard my face starts to hurt. As the song comes to an end and we're about to climb off the bar, I slip on a wet spot and go crashing toward the floor.