conditions I’d had to survive. To give her the pleasure of seeing the boy grown up without her having the burden of raising me. In my mind, she didn’t deserve a happy reunion. I also didn’t deserve to be made to feel worse, to discover in the same way as she hadn’t wanted me as a baby, she also might not be impressed with the reminder years down the line. Nah, no reunions happy or otherwise are in my future.
As the evening goes on, glad I’ve kept sober, I take my chance to watch and learn. I note Swift is treated just like one of the men, which no longer surprises me. Now knowing her background, it’s clear to see she fits right in. Her in-depth knowledge of bikes and even my own sport means that after a while I find I’m able to ignore that she’s got a decent, if small, pair of tits and other attractive assets, and instead, I’m talking to her as I would any brother back home.
Except there’s one question that I don’t feel right to ask until Swift excuses herself to visit the bathroom and for a moment I’m left to my own devices. Apart from Swift, I’ve seen no other women around. No old ladies or sweet butts. Such a masculine environment strikes me as strange and the dynamics are far from what I’m used to. I approach Bolt.
“Do you have sweet butts?”
“Whores? Nah, we’re not like other clubs. If you want to get your dick wet, you’ll have to go into town, or wait until the weekend when we party. Hangarounds come along, both women and men, depending on your taste.” I presume he’s talking about Swift, but see him nod toward Duty and Honor which raises my suspicions again.
“Each to their own, but it’s pussy all the way for me, man.” I’m not comfortable yet calling him or anyone here, brother. I rub my leg.
He notices. “Swift taken you to your room, yet?”
“Have I got one?” I raise my eyebrows. “Or is that a euphemism for a cell?”
He slaps me on the back and chuckles. “I like you, man. Your lodgings will be more comfortable than jail, I assure you of that. Hey, Brute, c’mere.” His last is directed to a man who’s joined the prospect, Igor, as I’ve discovered his name is, behind the bar. Continuing my reconnaissance, I bank that observation, there are at least three prospects.
A big man lumbers over. “Whatcha want, Bolt?”
“Take Road to room eleven. Then get his gear in from his bike.” He turns to me. “You want both your saddlebags?”
I nod. “Sure.” While answering, I eye up the big man, noticing his nose has been broken a couple of times and not straightened quite right. Reckoning I won’t cross the man who looks like he could take on Mike Tyson, I see Swift appearing behind him.
“Oh, I was going to see if you wanted to call it a night. It’s okay, Brute. I’ll take him to the room, you just get his stuff.”
Bolt lifts one eyebrow toward her and smirks. Swift slaps him hard on his shoulder, his bionic hand rubs the sore spot.
They’re sharing a joke but I’ve not heard the punchline.
I ignore them. I’m too old for childish games. In truth, my leg is aching, and I could do with swallowing some painkillers down and getting horizontal to take the pressure off. I pull the cane toward me, push the tip against the floor, and balance myself once I haul my ass out of the chair.
My limp is more pronounced than normal as I try to keep up with Swift’s pace. Instead of getting frustrated with myself, I remember I had a long ride today, pushing myself on the final leg of my journey. Then I was forced to stand, sit, stand again. All without the aid of the Tramadol which I usually take because it tends to make me drowsy and dull my senses. In a place like this, I need to be on high alert.
No wonder the damaged muscles and newly healed bones are screaming in agony.
I’m thankful that in this multi-level clubhouse there’s no need for stairs, and my grimace when a particularly bad bolt of pain shoots up my leg as I step inside the elevator means I almost miss that instead of pressing a button, Swift presents what resembles a credit card to the keypad inside. The doors shut, and once again the car starts to rise.
I