Six
Three tequilas later, or maybe it was four, and Lyla was smirking triumphantly at Chibs as she pulled Eden onto the dancefloor and he watched from where he was stood leaning against the bar. Lisa didn't seem to mind being left behind, since she'd long since been distracted by a couple of the visiting Samdino crew who had rocked up late, or early depending on how you looked at it, considering they'd said they weren't coming until the next evening, just before the big fight night.
As it was, Friday night's party was definitely in full flow, even if – at nearly 1am – it was technically no longer Friday. Lyla, well and truly buzzed now, was back in her old party girl mode, dancing like there wasn't another soul in the room – well, except Eden, and maybe Chibs as she occasionally thought to check if he was still watching. And of course he was, it'd be impossible not to, all things considered.
Eden, probably starting to feel the effects of the shots, had let her hair down too. Not literally, since it was twisted into a high messy bun, loose tendrils falling around her face, but definitely figuratively as she now danced with Lyla like they'd known each other all their lives – or at least met on the set of some soft porn shoot, Chibs thought idly. Until he realised what a dangerous train of thought that was in a public place.
Fucking hell, what was Lyla doing? From the way she was grinding up on their pretty visitor, if he didn't know better, he'd say she was trying to steal the damn girl for herself. Except he did know better and her little knowing glances told him exactly the truth of the matter – that the devious little former porn star was just giving him a taste of what he was missing.
It certainly made for a helluva show, he had to give her that.
Eden was, as accurately predicted by her new friend and dance partner, wearing black leather jeans that made her ass look incredible, heels that were no less high for not quite matching Lyla's towering strappy sandals, and a silver halterneck that made up for its initially disappointing lack of exposed cleavage by proving entirely backless and revealing way more lightly tanned skin than Chibs had expected to see from her that night.
The first chords of Alice Cooper's Poison hit and both women shrieked in delight, singing along as they danced together, utterly oblivious to the lust-filled looks they were drawing from more than one quarter.
"Oi, tongues back in, boys," Chibs growled, clocking Wheels and a couple of hang-arounds practically drooling over the bar they were supposed to be working.
"I got no idea why Lyla stopped doing porn, man," Wheels muttered to the others, starting to clear empty glasses and bottles from the counter again. "Bitch is still fine as fuck …"
With difficulty, Chibs restrained himself to a sharply raised eyebrow at overhearing Opie's widow referred to in such a way and leaned in to coolly set the record straight. "Because, sunshine, she decided she'd be better off running the garage and wearing little prospects' balls as earrings when they get too big for their bloody boots. Now, you shutting that mouth or am I adding to her jewellery collection?"
Wheels shook his head frantically, flustered at having been overheard by the president and even more mortified to be called on it in front of the hang-arounds he'd been trying to impress. "S-sorry, boss."
"Aye, that's what I thought."
"Hey, Chibs, you got a sec?" their new intelligence officer Ryan 'Bug' Hopewell – a recent transfer from Vegas and a decent pick-up, in his late thirties, with years of experience as a patch and plenty of smarts – asked, looking reluctant to disturb his president.
"Problem?" Chibs demanded, hoping not, but having quickly learned it was better to nip shit in the bud before it really bloomed into a clusterfuck. So party or not, if there was a problem, he wanted to know about it.
"Hear me out, 'cause I know how it sounds," Bug grimaced, brandishing his personal phone rather than one of the disposable burners they kept strictly for club business that needed to stay on the down-low. "Facebook …"
"Facebook?" Chibs echoed. "Bleedin' hell, man, we're outlaws – not fucking frat boys!"
"I know, I know. Just take a look though. One of the sweetbutts flagged it – comment on the event page for the fight night. Someone claiming the Sons are gonna get, and I quote, 'owned'."
"Have folk nothin' better to do than run their mouths hiding behind a keyboard?" Chibs snorted. "Don't be wasting yer time worrying about-"
"Chibs, it's signed WB MC and with a '1%' added," Bug said.
That made the president take notice and actually glance at what was on the screen being held in front of him.
"Claiming to be from another MC?" he mused, a frown knitting his brows. "No true one-percenter's gonna be dicking around admitting it online … Could just be some kid playing Billy Big-Balls …"
"WB mean anything to you?"
"Aye, there is one thing springs to mind," Chibs admitted. "The War Boys. But they went to the wall years ago – fell foul of ATF and the club just crumbled under the pressure. They were a bunch o' military vets like our First Nine though. Ain't none o' them gonna be playing silly beggars on fucking Facebook."
"New generation looking for a revival?" Bug suggested.
"Guess we're gonna find out …"
Forcing himself to put the unexpected message out of his mind, Chibs ended up sinking a few more shots by the bar as the party raged on around him – and Lyla made her final move.
The music shifted into that Celtic influenced rock again, the girls drifting closer on the dancefloor even as the smiling blonde fanned herself and huffed out a breath.
"Whew, it's hot in here – I need some air," she shouted in Eden's ear over the din. "And I don't know this one anyway. No, no, you stay – here, sounds like Chibs' sort of thing …"
And with that, she winked at him and pushed the startled girl into his arms. "Oops. Back in a bit …"
"Sorry," Eden tried, her hands on his chest to steady herself. "She's, uh, not exactly subtle."
"That's porn stars for ya," Chibs said wryly, inadvertently sending their guest's eyebrows shooting up.
"Lyla's a porn star?!"
"Retired. Mostly," he clarified.
"Wow, did not see that coming. Which, I guess, is ironic …" Eden noted, making him chuckle heartily at the unexpected inuendo.
Across the clubhouse, as the Dropkick Murphys belted out Rose Tattoo, the Rogue River sergeant elbowed Tig none too gently in the ribs. "You seeing this shit, man?"
The VP grinned broadly at the sight of his president finally twirling the broad he'd been eye-fucking all night on the dancefloor, as she laughed and clung to him for balance, one hand on his shoulder and the other caught in his, while his arm curled around her waist to hold her tight. "That's my boy," Tig declared proudly. "Taught him everything he knows."
"Just hopefully not everything you know, you sick fuck," Knox noted, only half joking.
"Oi, watch yersel', ye dopey bastard!"
Some clumsy fuck bumped into the girl from behind, pushing her tight up against Chibs and he shoved the offending culprit out of the way, even as he steadied Eden on her feet. She only laughed though, both arms wrapping around his neck to anchor herself to him. Jesus Christ, between this and her and Lyla's little display earlier, it was a miracle he hadn't had a heart attack right in the middle of the bloody clubhouse.
"You okay?" he mouthed, knowing there was little chance of her actually hearing him over the thump of the music. But she nodded and he smiled down at her, his fingers trailing lightly over the smooth bare skin of her back. It was enough to put him in mind of what it might be like to do the same in the comfort of his bed, with her laid in post-coital bliss on his chest, and he almost groaned out loud as he tried to shake off that image.
His gaze flickered from her green eyes to those soft, tantalising lips.
Fuck. The urge to make a move on her was almost overwhelming. And he could practically hear Lyla's thoughts on the matter - having returned from her brief sojourn outside to try to make her wafer-thin excuse to leave them alone look even the tiniest bit legit – no doubt inwardly urging him on, like some kind of one-woman cheer squad. And Tig would no doubt back her up.
But he couldn't, could he?
He wanted to, he really did. But even if she wasn't Seth's sister, she wasn't some sweetbutt, some damn croweater to be passed around for a casual fuck and then forgotten.
This right here was torture though. Exquisite torture, but torture all the same. He couldn't drag it out any longer - whatever decision he was going to make, it had to be now. Before the song ended, and it was already building to a crescendo. He could pull her close, or …
He spun her again, one hand held firmly in his as she twirled in front of him, making her gasp when he suddenly pulled her in tight again and for a moment, their lips were almost touching and he could feel the warmth of her breath …
"Uh, boss?"
"Not now, ya wee ballix," Chibs hissed at Wheels out of the corner of his mouth.
"But, boss-"
"Christ's sake, laddie, can ya no see I'm busy?"
"Sorry," the prospect shrugged, already starting to walk away. "I just thought you'd want to know if Happy and one of the nomads were beating the shit out of each other in the yard, what with the fight and-"
"WHAT?! Ah, fer fuck's sake …" Chibs sighed, raising Eden's hand to graze a light kiss against her knuckles. "Sorry, darlin'," he said ruefully, before turning his focus firmly back to the club. "Why didn't ya tell me sooner?" he demanded of the sulky prospect. "You couldn't just break that shite up?"
"I ain't getting in the middle of that. Do I look stupid?"
"Don't make me answer that."
