Making the Cut (8 page)

“Here!”

As he turned my direction, I threw him the folded towel. He nodded his head sharply, and handed the towel to
Baldy
. Shocked at the immediate and effortless ending of the fight, I turned toward Axton.

“So, if I’d have told you to fuck off and let them
go at it
, what would you have done? This is
your
bar after all,” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

“Well, when people fight in here, I have three options, let ‘em fight, call the cops, or,” I paused and reached under the bar and pulled my Glock from my purse.

“This,” I twisted my wrist for him to admire the pistol, and slipped it back under the bar.

“Letting them fight isn’t a real good option, there’s still regular customers in here. It would make me look incompetent and someone might get hurt or killed. And, if someone got killed the cops would come. For what it’s worth, I
hate
cops. So, that brings me to option two, calling the cops. That’s an
option
, but not one I want to use. Generally, I tell people to pick, call the cops or stop fucking fighting. Realistically, I’m not pulling the pistol. Not
ever.
Well, unless someone’s trying to rob me or someone else in here,” I paused and waited for him to respond.

“Model 17?” he asked.

I scrunched my brow and stared, “Huh?”

“Your pistol. Glock model 17. It’s a nine millimeter, 4
th
generation. Must be pretty new,” he nodded.

“Oh yeah, it’s a Model 17. I got it about eighteen months ago when I got my concealed carry permit,” I bragged.

“Nice. Well,” he paused, reached for the rubber band, and snapped it against his wrist.

What the fuck with the rubber band?

“Avery, what night’s do you grace the world with your presence here?” he asked.

Shocked at the fact he asked the question, I considered my unpredictable schedule while I mentally formed my response. I wondered why he would ask if he wasn’t interested?

He wouldn’t.

“Tuesday’s, Thursday’s and Saturday’s,
almost
always. It’s hard to say, he changes our schedules all the time. And I’ve got finals coming up, so it’s anybody’s guess here real quick,” I shrugged.

“Finals, huh? College girl? I would have guessed you a little older.”

“Nope, senior. Criminal Justice, go figure,” I smiled.

“Wichita State?” he asked.

“Nope. Southwestern College, down in Winfield.”

“Winfield, huh?” he grinned.

“Yeah, Winfield. You know where it is?”

“Never heard of the place,” he shook his head, “I tell ya what, I’ll come in next week. If you’re here, I’ll see ya,” he nodded.

I considered giving him my phone number and decided against it. There’s a fine line between
acting interested
and
being a stalker
. I definitely had stalker tendencies, and had every intention of stalking Axton, but I didn’t want
him
to realize it.

“Sounds good,” I said.

So, I guess this is where you leave, and I spend all of next week sick to my stomach trying to decide what to wear to work, taking water pills by the dozen so I can shed weight, and feeling like I’m fat no matter what, right?

He glanced toward Otis.

“Otis, have ‘em saddle up,” he hollered.

Yep. Women’s intuition.

As much as I wanted to stay and get a few more sentences in, I knew it was time I changed up my game. I hadn’t been successful at picking up a man in several years. Not a meaningful one, anyway. I reached under the bar, picked up another clean towel, and walked toward the other end of the bar without saying a word. It was far too late for me to try the
hard to get
routine, but I could act less interested than I truly was. Sometimes, less is more.

I watched the men walk outside in small groups and a few individually. In many respects, it felt as if they had been in the bar for the entire night, if not more. In reality, they had been in the bar roughly thirty minutes. After almost all of the men were gone, Axton and Otis walked toward the bar. It seemed strange, because I would have sworn Otis had already left. 

“I appreciate you not calling the cops when the fellas were fighting,” Otis said as he reached over the bar.

As I shook his hand, he smiled, “Call me Otis.”

“Avery,” I sighed.

“What do I owe you for the beers?” Axton asked.

“Well, they drank both cases entirely. So, that’s forty-eight times $4.25, let me check,” I responded.

“$204.00 even,” Axton said under his breath.

I turned to face him, “Excuse me?”

“It’s $204.00 even. Forty-eight times $4.25,” he nodded as he pulled three hundred dollar bills from his wallet.

“And you know that because?” I asked.

He turned toward Otis, shrugged, and shifted his gaze to meet mine, “I know it because I know how to multiply numbers. Here.”

He handed me three one hundred dollars bills. 

“Keep this one, two hundred’s fine, it’s easier.”

“Keep it. It’s your tip,” Axton nodded.

“And one other thing,” Otis said.

I widened my eyes and smiled as I tilted my head toward Otis, “Yeah?”

“Your friend, Sloan? She says the only way she can leave here is if you say it’s alright. She’s out in the parking lot, afraid to come ask. She wanted me to ask you if you’ll let her off work?” he asked.

That fucking bitch.

I can’t get a fucking ride, and she’s going to leave?

Like now?

Fucking slut.

“She wanted
you
to ask?”

He nodded his head once.

Axton shrugged.

That whore.

I stepped from behind the bar, shoved my way past Axton and Otis, and walked briskly to the door. As I opened it, I saw Sloan in the parking lot, laughing with one of the guys beside what I guessed was his motorcycle. His back was to me, and the vest he wore was different than the rest of them. It said
Selected Sinners
on the top and
Prospect
on the bottom. There was no skull or guns in the center, and no
Kansas
banner on the vest.

I’d seen the shows on T.V. He was a Prospect; a soon to be member. He looked young, and was probably much closer to Sloan’s age than any of the others. She forced a smile, narrowed her eyes, and waved. I shook my head and stomped back into the bar. As I stepped inside, Otis and Axton were on the other side of the door.

“So?” Otis’ voice trailed along as he waited for an answer.

I looked around the bar. The guy with the ears and his two friends sat at number eight. Another group of four sat at number six, by the back door. The bar, with the exception of them, was empty.

“Fine with me. She’s a big girl,” I huffed.

“She sure as fuck is,” Axton sighed as he walked past me.

I wonder what he means by that…

AXTON

My opinion on women hadn’t changed. Not at all. I never believed a woman had a place in the club, nor would I ever consider it. Therefore, having a woman become an active part of my life wasn’t an option. Women become mentally attached to men through simple exposure and much more so when sex is added to the equation. For me to think for one moment I could have a relationship with a woman, even a friendly one, without her developing some sort of feelings or expectations would be foolish on my part.

I’ve never considered myself to be a foolish man.

My experience with women and sex in the last ten years had been a mountain of one night stands. I’d made every effort to be certain that each and every woman I had been with understood what we were agreeing to.
I fuck you, I leave, and there’s no chance of seeing me again.
Growing up the son of a Hell’s Angel father, I quickly learned the value of making rules and following them.

It takes a true outlaw; a person who refuses to be governed by the established rules or practices of any group, a rebel, a nonconformist.

Being a member of a motorcycle club requires that all members adhere strictly to bylaws and rules, yet the men place minimal value on the law. A club filled with and based on contradiction. The absolute adherence to the rules allows each and every member to immediately develop an understanding of one’s ability to be trusted. To be dishonest on the side of the law, but brutally honest on the side of being a member of the club takes a different type of man.

Most of the men who rode with the Sinners, or any club for that matter, had their own rules and regulations. Things they hold sacred. At any cost, they’ll adhere to the rules they’ve developed or put in place. Their doing so allows the members of the club to see their strong will, and slowly a trust develops unlike any other.

In the last decade, I had not seen any woman more than once. It was one of my rules. I had not received the phone numbers of any of the women I had sex with. It was another rule of mine. Having the ability to call a woman and have her come suck my cock or fuck me would create temptation to do just that. I’m tempted enough by simply living life, and I wasn’t interested in making my life any more difficult than it already was.

Going to see Avery a second time wasn’t breaking a rule of mine, but it was certainly out of character for me. As long as I wasn’t fucking her, I was convinced I had no rule in place to prevent me from seeing her. I, not unlike other men, tend to try and find a way to manipulate rules to allow a loophole big enough to slide through without being able to be criticized for having broken it.

In being honest with myself, I found Avery to be an extremely interesting person. If she were a man, I could see us developing a solid friendship. The fact she had a pussy between her legs made things fractionally more difficult. A man having a friend with a pussy is like a wolf being friends with a chicken.

Not impossible, but highly fucking unlikely.

“No, she said it was like riding an eight hundred pound vibrator. She said she was soaked when she got to town. And never heard of Winfield, huh? You lying fucker,” Avery laughed.

I shook my head lightly, “I was joking. Yeah, we’re based out of Winfield. I prefer the small town atmosphere, it makes life simple.”

“Well, now you know. Or if you don’t, I’ll guess I’ll tell ya. Sloan and I
both
live there. We’re roommates. I drive back and forth to this shit-hole to work, but I’m going to move here when school’s out, and she’s coming with me. I like the excitement of a large city.”

“Grow up in a small town?” I asked.

“Yep, Marietta, Ohio,” she nodded.

“Hell, never heard of it. Marietta, Georgia, I’ve heard of that one, but not Marietta, Ohio. How big is it?”

“About the size of Winfield, 13,000 people maybe,” she shrugged.

I felt a little relief knowing she would be moving in a matter of weeks. Having her in Winfield, and knowing it, would make
not
seeing her more difficult. Having her live in a city of 400,000, and being twenty-five miles away would be better for us both.

“Big city life will be an exciting change, I’m sure. And an eight hundred pound vibrator, huh?” I chuckled.

She nodded her head and laughed, “That’s what she said. I’d really need to tell you what else she said, but…”

I leaned into the bar and lightly pressed my right fist into my left palm. As I rested my chin on top of my clenched fist, I cocked one eyebrow, “Let’s hear it.”

She looked around the bar, “Give me a minute, I
might
.”

As she held her index finger in the air, she turned and walked away. After mixing a drink, she carried it to the other end of the bar and handed it to a man who was nursing his last sip from the glass on the bar in front of him. Completely the opposite of most every other biker I had ever met, I’d never been a man who preferred
a little meat on the bones
of my women. Given an opportunity to decide on my own, my preference was a thin attractive woman with small tits. Watching Avery walk to the other end of the bar was nothing short of painful. Yet more proof I had almost no business continuing with this little friendship we were developing.

As she turned around from her short visit with the man, she wadded up a napkin, stood firm, and shot it like a basketball at the trashcan which was almost twenty feet away. As the ball of paper fell directly into the center of the can, she pumped her fist alongside her hip.

Early spring in Kansas can bring snow, ninety degree days, or a tornado. It’s anyone’s guess and changes from day to day. Today, thankfully, was clear skies, sunshine, and almost eighty degrees. Avery was dressed in shorts, a baseball tee, and canvas sneakers. As she quickly walked back to the end of the bar where I was seated, I found myself admiring her.

Get your shit and go, Slice. This girls gonna cause nothing but trouble for you, and for the club.

As she stepped in front of me, she pushed her hands into her rear pockets and twisted her hips playfully, “So, wanna hear it?”

No, truthfully, I want to leave. If I stay here much longer I’m going to make a mistake.

“Huh?” I stammered as I snapped the rubber band against my wrist twice.

“You want me to tell you what else she said?” she asked as she twisted back and forth.

You cute little bitch.

“Sure,” I breathed as I continued to stare at her tanned legs and smooth skin.

“Your boy Cash has a choad,” she giggled.

“A
what
?” I laughed as I sat up straight.

“A
choad.
It’s a short fat cock. I guess it was about as big around as her wrist, and from what she said, it
might
have been an inch long.
Maybe.
Basically, she said it’s this huge head, and no shaft at all,” she giggled as she clamped her thumb and forefinger around her wrist and made a fist.

“Choad?” I chuckled.

“Yep, a choad. Short fatty. Look it up,” she nodded.

“Hell, I believe you. Just haven’t heard that one,” I responded.

She closed her eyes momentarily and started laughing. As she got the laugh down to a light chuckle, she continued. 

“So I guess she’s all wet from the ride, and thinking she wants this Cash guy to fuck her. So they go to his house, and he’s all acting like he’s going to fuck her brains out. He’d been telling her that as they rode slowly through town to his house.
I’m going to fuck you ragged
, he told her. She said he ripped off his pants like he had no idea he had this fat little mushroom head thing going on. She said she looked down at it, thinking it was soft, and when it got hard she’d be in for a hell of a ride, because it’s so fucking fat you know?” she paused, shrugged, and started laughing uncontrollably.

Her continued laughing and my thinking of the situation caused me to begin to laugh. As I chuckled at the thought of Cash’s
choad
, she finally continued her story.

“So, she said she got down on her knees and started sucking, and realized
that
was it. She said deep throating him would be taking the head in her mouth, because there was
nothing else
. No shaft. Seriously, when she told me the story we were at Taco Bell. I spit out my fucking burrito. No lie, right on the table. I almost pissed my pants. Sloan’s my best friend, don’t get me wrong. But she really, really,
really
likes cock; the bigger the better. And this dude pulls out the
head
, and it’s the size of a fucking apple, but that’s
all he’s got
.

“So what happened?” I asked as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

“That’s the funny part. Sloan’s kinda like me. She doesn’t really pull any punches. Maybe that’s why we’re friends. But she’s not like
mean
. She said when she realized it
was
hard, and all of an inch long, she spit it out and got like grossed out. She said she stood up and pointed at it, and just started laughing. Like uncontrollably,” she paused and began giggling again.

“And your boy Cash acts like he had no idea. So she left; like walked home.
That
kind of left. The
I’m walking home
kind,” she chuckled.

“Holy shit,” I said as I shook my head.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I said.
Holy shit
. So, anyway. That was her first ride. She’d never been on the back of a bike. And
now
? She’s hooked. It’s all she can talk about. And, just so you know, she’ll probably start stalking your man Otis. She’s guessing there’s no way he’s got a choad.”

“Stalking, huh? That’s probably not a healthy thing to do. And good luck finding him, he kind of keeps to himself,” I said flatly as I looked around the bar.

“Oh, Cash showed her where your clubhouse is,” she responded.

That dumb little cocksucker.

I tightened my jaw, and leaned into the bar, “Well, it’s no fucking secret. We ride in and out of there all damned day, but the clubhouse is off limits to outsiders. Without an invitation, no one’s allowed but members. If anyone comes there without prior approval, they’ll be escorted off the premises.”

“Sore subject?” she shrugged.

I shook my head, “Club business is the
club’s business
, not public business. It’s a private club. If she finds Otis and fucks him, I don’t give a shit. Hell they can run off and get married for all I care, but she can’t come to the clubhouse without an invitation.”

“Okay, I’ll tell her. I didn’t know it was like
a secret
,” she said apologetically.

To explain to Avery my disappointments in Cash’s big mouth would make the club seem to be a little too eager, almost desperate, in the selection of Cash as a Prospect. To me,
any
club business was the
club’s
business. It wasn’t a huge thing that Cash had told Sloan where the clubhouse was, and we didn’t keep the location a secret from the public. It didn’t change the fact that I thought Cash was an immature waste of the club’s time. He had until August to show his ability to be an asset to the club. In my opinion, he’d need to change quickly.

I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled. I studied her for a short moment and then responded, “It’s not. There are rules and we have bylaws in place. One is admittance into the premises of the club. It’s prohibited. The rules are a requirement, not a recommendation. Nothing against Cash, but it probably wasn’t very wise of him to show her where the clubhouse was and not tell her the rule regarding visitation.”

“Okay. Well, that doesn’t sound as bad. I’m not trying to get him in trouble, but I just thought if maybe you had some kind of
new members must have an actual cock
requirement; he’d like be out of the picture,” she chuckled.

“We don’t. But don’t worry, you’ve done a good job of burning a mental image into my mind of his choad,” I chuckled.

More than likely my entire problem with Cash was his immature behavior. Typically, with age comes maturity. Although he was thirty years old, he was extremely immature. As I sat and became angry at his childish decisions and behavior, I realized Avery was a senior in college. She, too, would be immature by mere design. Her lack of exposure in life would cause her to lack the maturity I’d need to even allow me to expose myself to her without placing the club at risk. As much as I enjoyed looking at her, and truly enjoyed talking to her, I knew what was in the club’s best interest. I stood from the stool, stretched reached into the pocket of my jeans.

“How much for the burger?” I asked.

Her eyes widened, “You leaving?”

“Yeah, I need to get back. I’ve got a business deal to finish putting together. Hell, I’ve been here for two hours. Time got away from me,” I sighed as I looked at my watch.

“Wasn’t anything I said?” she asked.