Dangerous Curves Ahead
Chapter 2
Dylan turned towards the door, moving carefully so that she wouldn't burn herself with the hot curling iron that was wrapped around a strand of her long blonde hair. The door to the clubhouse dressing room was open. But the prospect that was carrying a giant bouquet of flowers knocked anyway, tapping lightly on the frame. "They're for you," the girl exclaimed, taking one more smell of the fragrant blooms before she approached. Dylan released her hair from the iron and took the flowers, setting them down on the long vanity table so she could pluck the card from the center of the artfully arranged bouquet. Whoever sent them spent a pretty penny. Not only was the bouquet huge, it was entirely made up of expensive cut flowers instead of the filler florists often used to make an arrangement look bigger than it really was.
Dylan took one glance at the card before she lost her cool completely. Ripping the piece of thick paper to shreds, Dylan let them flutter to the ground as she snatched up the large bouquet. She blinked back the tears that were already forming in her eyes. Stomping across the room, she hurled the entire bouquet into the trash with so much force that the glass vase broke. Water splashed back at her, wetting the front of her black silk robe. Her outburst frightened the poor girl that had the misfortune of being the one to make the delivery. Dylan turned, intending to apologize for her uncivilized behavior. But the girl was already long gone.
"Those were from Antoine?," Rabbit asked, a hint of sympathy in her voice. Dylan nodded and returned to her seat, plopping down into it with a huff. She spent over an hour blocking that asshole from communicating with her on every platform possible. One would think he'd take the hint and leave her alone. Instead he sent flowers. Like he'd canceled on her at the last minute instead of been caught fucking another woman.
"What happened with Antoine?," Max asked, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. "I thought things were going well…"
Rabbit shook her head at the darker complected woman as she lowered herself into the seat next to Dylan. Scooting the chair as close as she could first, the petite woman pulled Dylan into a hug as she briefly explained the situation to the rest of the girls in the room.
"He was fucking one of his paralegals behind her back. Again. This time he couldn't lie his way out of it. She walked in on him and caught him in the act."
"That motherfucker," Max cursed. "He needs his ass kicked."
"It's not even worth it," Dylan replied with a depressing sigh. "It was my own fault."
After one tragically failed marriage and the long string of disastrous relationships that followed it, Dylan felt like she should have learned by now that she was never going to find her ride or die. She stopped dating bikers years ago. But that didn't seem to help. On paper, Antoine was perfect. He checked off all the boxes. He was a successful criminal defense attorney. Which meant he wasn't naive to club life, but he also wasn't directly involved in it either. He was handsome and charming and only mildly boring in the sack. Dating him was Dylan's last ditch effort to try and find something that might pass as a functional relationship.
Dylan picked up her curling iron, holding it in her hand for a moment before she hurled it back down onto the counter and buried her face in her hands. Rabbit stood, picking up the iron and moving behind Dylan so she could start curling her hair for her. Her own darker tresses had already been ironed to sleek perfection. As Rabbit worked, Max took the seat next to Dylan.
Dylan smiled as she glanced over at her most trusted confidant. Max was more of a tomboy. She didn't bother with as much makeup and frills as the rest of them. Not that she needed it. Her dark skin was flawless and her lips were naturally full and sensual. The small silver hoop in her nostril added just the right amount of ornamentation.
"DoubleD," Max said, teasing Dylan with the club name she knew the woman despised. Only a few of them could get away with calling her that. "I'll be fuckin' damned if I'm gonna let you sit around her and be miserable over some sleezy lawyer with a small dick." Dylan bit back a smile and rolled her eyes.
"Now brush off your shoulders," Max ordered. Dylan obeyed her vice president with a wider grin, swiping imaginary dirt off each of her shoulders. "Adjust your crown." Dylan giggled as she lifted her hands and pretended to adjust a crown on top of her head. "You know what you're gonna do next?,' Max asked. Dylan shook her head, hoping that their game of charades was over. "You're going to that meeting today with your head high and your titties up. You're gonna kick ass. SAMCRO is gonna agree to give us everything we want." Max paused, her face lighting up with a wicked grin. "...and then you're going to pick out the biggest baddest crow there and fuck the shit outta him."
Max's words were met with a loud chorus of cheers and high pitched excited squeals from all the women in the room. Even Dylan couldn't stop herself from bursting out laughing. Especially once Rabbit started jumping around behind her. Her name wasn't really Rabbit, of course. It was Jessica. But whenever she got excited, it was easy to deduce how she got her club name. She hopped like a rabbit. And if the rumors were true, she fucked like one too.
Dylan wasn't sure if she was going to follow through on Max's suggestion and get herself laid. She still felt a little raw from her encounter with Antoine and his paralegal last night. But Max's words successfully lightened the mood in the room back to where it was before her flowers arrived. Dylan skillfully applied her makeup while Malice, one of the founding members of the Dolls, refreshed her on everything she knew about The Sons of Anarchy. Like the Danger Dolls, SAMCRO had charters all over the world. Everyone knew they ran guns. But their legitimate business endeavors seemed to at least equal the more unsavory ones.
The man Dylan would be meeting with today was Clay Morrow. But Dylan also hoped to open the door for a good working relationship with his stepson Jax. At his age, there was no way Clay had more than a few years of club life left in him. Jax was the one they'd eventually be dealing with. And she hoped to use this meeting to get a feel for the type of man he was and decide if he might make a trustworthy business partner or not.
The Nevada sun was beating down, making the hard wind that whipped by them on the open road even more welcome than it usually was. The drive out to The Devil's Tribe Clubhouse took them a little over an hour. Riding usually relaxed her. But Dylan found she was still keyed up with nervous energy when they arrived. She needed a longer ride to clear her mind and chase away the image of her boyfriend slamming his dick into his legal assistant from behind. He didn't even bother to stop thrusting when he saw Dylan standing in his bedroom doorway with her fists clenched. The thought of it was still making her feel sick.
Dylan unclipped her helmet. Over the years, she figured out a way to twist her hair up inside it so that it came out in tousled waves when she pulled the helmet off. She shook her hair out as she pulled her leather jacket off, lying it down over the seat of her bike. Dylan could already hear the hushed whispering giggles of her girls. And she turned towards the clubhouse to see what, or rather who, had them in such a state after only a look.
There were two men standing outside, both in SAMCRO leather jackets. The shorter of the two was the one Dylan guessed her friends were fawning over. He was a pretty boy if she'd ever seen one, all broad shoulders and blue eyes and shaggy blonde hair. But it was the giant to his left with the intensely serious expression on his face that caught Dylan's attention. Despite the desert heat, his hair was covered in a black knit cap. He was so tall she wasn't sure if he could get in through the clubhouse door without ducking his head. The sunlight was glinting off the rings on his fingers. And as she tried her best not to outright stare at the delicious hunk of a man, Dylan was convinced that no matter who else she saw inside the clubhouse she'd already found the biggest and the baddest among them.
Dylan flicked her eyes over the big man as his companion held the door open. He was even better looking up close. And she had to remind herself to stay focused on her meeting with his club president. There would be plenty of time for mingling later.
When she entered the clubhouse, Dylan didn't have to fake how happy she was to see Jury again. The Devil's Tribe had a long standing symbiotic relationship with her club. Jury owned several of the most lucrative strip clubs in the greater Vegas area. The Dolls got a percentage of his profits. And in exchange, they helped him promote his clubs. Dylan and her girls did guest appearances a few times a year. She used her connections to help him book the type of celebrity guests that made people line up outside to see them. And her club backed him up a few times when The Tribe had trouble with other clubs or pushy real estate developers.
Jury offered Dylan his arm and she took it with a smile, waving off his attempt to pay her for the cupcakes she brought him. Even if he didn't spend his time calling in favors to set this meeting up for her, she still wouldn't have charged him.
Across the bar, Dylan spotted the man she assumed was Clay Morrow. His gray hair was slicked into a sharp crew cut. And the patch on his jacket declared him as the club president. Dylan cast one more longing glance over her shoulder towards the tall handsome stranger she saw outside before she turned her attention to Clay. From his reaction, it was obvious that he wasn't expecting to meet with a woman. And certainly not with her. He did manage to get control of himself faster than the man next to him though, Dylan would give him credit for that. Clay looked her over, but he didn't leer. And he offered her the same firm handshake he'd give to the president of any club.
The meeting was a friendly one. But Malice still stuck close to her. The woman was always wary of any men they didn't know. And most of the ones they did. And Dylan was grateful for her imposing presence when the man next to Clay lurched forward and whispered his name directly into her ear. He got so close, Dylan could feel his breath on her skin. And Malice stepped forward, backing the man up a few steps. Before the situation could turn awkward, Dylan quickly offered up the gift she brought for the president of the Sons. A dozen cupcakes from her bakery in all their most popular flavors. And these were not the kind they sold in glass cases to overweight tourists, but the sort that you could only get by special order.
A man with long shaggy hair and a large potbelly was the first to step forward. And Dylan bit back a giggle when she realized he was much more focused on checking out the treats she brought than he was in checking her out. She smiled as she pointed out a few of the different flavors to him. The death by chocolate was her personal favorite. Dylan could tell the man was ready to reach into the box so she stopped him just long enough to issue a warning.
Upon hearing that the cupcakes she brought were edibles, Clay's group rushed in like small children converging around a busted pinata. Dylan's stomach flipped when she saw the tall bearded man she was eyeing earlier rise from his seat. He wasn't rushing as fast as the rest of them. But he was still moving in her direction. There was a slight scuffle behind her. And when one of the guys bumped into her, Dylan didn't let the opportunity go to waste. She let out a little squeak and tossed herself very dramatically into the arms of the tall man in the black stocking cap. The moment his arms went around her, she felt her knees go weak. And she fought back the urge to run her hands over his chest and arms. He was as muscular as he looked and he smelled like leather and smoke and the open road. A combination of scents that always managed to feel comforting and arousing at the same time. Dylan jumped back when Clay barked at his men, sending them scattering off with their treats in hand before he snapped the box of cupcakes closed.
Dylan thanked Jury for the cold beer he brought her. She took a sip and leaned forward to let Clay light her cigarette for her. His eyes were still lingering on her, but his gaze felt more curious than predatory.
"You look like your mother,' he finally said, taking a sip of beer to disguise the momentary look of sadness and regret that crossed his face. Dylan thought she was prepared for anything. But the mention of her mother shook her a little.
"You knew her?," Dylan asked.
"I did. I was a prospect for your grandfather's club. Seems like a lifetime ago," he admitted. Jury nodded his understanding before they both laughed and clinked their glasses together. Dylan nodded. Clay's admission had piqued her curiosity. But if she got him and Jury telling old biker stories, they'd be here all day. And that wasn't going to help her get what she wanted from the Sons of Anarchy.
Thoughts of her mother and the man at the end of the bar were still lingering in the back of her mind. But Dylan forced herself to switch into business mode. She wasn't looking for a quick exchange of goods or services from SAMCRO. She wanted to start what she hoped would be the type of long standing partnership she had with The Devil's Tribe. With that in mind, she was very forthright, telling Clay exactly what she wanted from him and what she was willing to pay to get it.
The Dolls Vegas Charter had overgrown their clubhouse years ago. And with all the new recruits she and Max were bringing in, the problem was only getting worse. Dylan was the president. But there were still enough active founding members in her club to vote down all every new idea she came up with. There was no bad blood between them. But they liked doing things the same way they'd done them for years. And Dylan had other ideas about how things ought to run. Which led her to the reason she was at the table with Clay Morrow. Dylan wanted to split her charter. Most of the founders were staying to run Danger Dolls Las Vegas. And she had her sights set on Charming, California.
The idea was one of her better ones, if Dylan dared to say so herself. The Sons already had the town and the whole surrounding area on lockdown. Which meant she wouldn't have to worry about crossing into another club's territory. Her club would kick Clay back a percentage of anything they made off their business ventures in California. And all his club had to do to earn it was to keep doing what they were already doing, which was keep the other clubs and the drugs out of the area. She expected they would watch her back. But since she planned to watch theirs in return, that was more of an even exchange.
Clay leaned back in his seat, puffing on his cigarette and thinking over her offer. He was definitely sizing her up. But from his facial expression, Dylan could tell he was also trying to figure out what the catch was. What she was offering him probably sounded too good to be true. And it seemed Jury had the same impression, because the man spoke up for the first time since they all sat down at the table together.
"I've been in business with The Dolls since her aunt Rocket was still running things," Jury said. "...and I have no complaints." Clay nodded as Dylan thanked Jury for his kind words. She liked the man. He'd always done right by her, both personally and professionally.
"I'd have to take a club vote to make it official," Clay mused, scratching at the stubble on his jawline. He glanced around the clubhouse, watching his crew interact with Dylan's. He doubted there was a single member that would even think to object to letting these girls move into their backyard. On the contrary, they'd be falling all over each other to make it happen. And he knew Jax had his mind set on expanding the club's legitimate business ventures. A bakery seemed legitimate enough to him, even if they were selling edibles out the backdoor. He could even put Jax in charge of the whole deal. If the business wasn't enough to distract the kid from constantly challenging him, all these pretty girls would certainly do the trick. It would be good for everyone. Especially him. Clay extended his hand to Dylan with a broad smile.
"Welcome to California," he said, chuckling a little when she ignored his outstretched hand and leaned in to hug him instead. He hugged her back, patting her back in the comforting fatherly way that Jury always did.
When she sat back down, Clay called Jax over. Dylan giggled at the big grin that was spread across his face, knowing that he must be feeling the effects of the edible he consumed by now. He ran his eyes over her, sliding his chair closer. But she was impressed that once Clay told him Jax that he was going to be in charge of their joint business endeavors, he shifted his focus completely. Clay stayed mostly quiet as the two of them kicked ideas back and forth. Dylan gave Jax the addresses of a few potential locations for the bakery and he agreed to look into what it would take to get some sort of medical license so that even the sale of the edibles would be on the up and up. Dylan would reserve her final judgment until she got to know Jax a little better. But so far she liked him and felt like they were operating on the same wavelength.
"Can I ask you something?," Dylan said, setting her empty beer mug down on the table and leaning in towards Jax. She'd lost count of how many drinks she had. The girl Jury had waiting on them was very attentive. She kept filing their glasses before the beer was gone. And given that she was drinking it all on a mostly empty stomach, Dylan felt like she was getting a little drunker than she intended.
"What?," Jax asked, not being shy about setting his hand on her knee as he leaned in so they could conspire together without being overheard. Dylan took a quick glance down towards the end of the bar.
"Who's your friend?," she asked. "...the tall one." Jax pulled his hand off her knee, leaning back in his chair and laughing. At first Dylan guessed he was just laughing because she was interested in his friend instead of him. But he was laughing a little too hard for that. Like there was some sort of joke going on that she wasn't privy to.
"Sorry," Jax said once he regained control over his laughter. "That's Opie. He's got a real thing for you. And he just got out of prison."
"Oh! Really?," Dylan asked. The irony of being excited to find out that the man she wanted was a convicted felon wasn't totally lost on her. But it was what it was at this point. "He doesn't have an ole lady hanging around her does he?" Dylan wasn't afraid of a little cat fight. But at the moment she was more interested in getting her bell rung in a different sort of way.
"Nope," Jax told her, shaking his head with an amused grin.
"Well in that case," Dylan said, "... you'll have to excuse me. "Cause I think I'm gonna go over there and shoot my shot."
Jax scooted his chair back, giving her room to rise from hers. Dylan tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling the front if it down just a wiggle more. And then she headed across the clubhouse towards the man she'd been thinking indecent thoughts about since she arrived. Standing as close to Opie as she could, she leaned forward over the bar and asked the girl behind it for a beer.
