Free Iron Disciples MC 1 Joy Ride by Eliza Stout Page B

nervously. “Um, no thank
you.”
    He was wearing the leather kutte of
the Iron Disciples M.C., but his vest was a little different. It
was more decorated than some of the others I had seen around, and
right over his breast was a patch that read VICE
PRESIDENT.
    “What’s the matter, honey… you
somebody’s old lady?”
    I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer
that question. “Something like that.”
    He grinned and took another long drag
of his cigarette. “Alright. Fair enough.”
    Just then David appeared with two cold
beers in his hands. He handed one to me and gave me a slight peck
on the cheek.
    The biker leaned his head back and
made an inaudible “ah” with his mouth.
    “The writer’s girl. I knew you looked
out of place.”
    David nodded to him. “How are you,
Johnny?”
    “Just peachy, Dave. You two enjoy the
party, alright?”
    He clapped his hand down on David’s
shoulder, but his eyes hung on me momentarily as he stepped
away.
    “Who is he?” I asked David, once he
was gone.
    “That’s Johnny. He’s the club’s vice
president. Probably going to be the next president too, if I had to
wager a guess. He’s an alright guy.”
    I just nodded.
    “Hey, come on out to the back yard.
They’ve got a big fire going.”
    “Sure.”
    “It’s this way.”
    He grabbed me by the hand and started
to lead me through the party. Along the way we passed a room that
had no door, just a curtain hanging across the doorway. I could see
the shadows of figures moving behind it in a dim light. I stopped
David momentarily.
    “What’s going on in there?” I
asked.
    He paused and looked at me for a
second.
    I saw the figure of a woman, and the
darkened shapes of men all surrounding her.
    “You probably don’t want to know,” he
said, rather grimly.
    But I already knew. It didn’t take
much watching to realize that it was a bunch of men in there
passing around one woman like some kind of commodity - in the same
way that they would pass around a joint. From the shapes I could
make out that one had his hands around her ankles and was holding
her legs up in the air and was having a go at her. There was
another man at the other end of her putting his dick in her mouth.
It was just shadows of course, but still quite unmistakable. The
other men crowded around like vultures, waiting in the wings for
their own turn at her. Her shadow bounced around loosely like some
kind of ragdoll. A chill went down my spine.
    “Come on,” David said, spurring me
on.
    “Okay…” I said.
    Shit. What in the hell were we doing
here? We didn’t belong here. Even David, who appeared to be in good
standing with the club, still stuck out like a sore thumb. I
quickly forced down the rest of my beer and tried to forget about
it.
    Outside, around the bonfire, I was
introduced to more of the Iron Disciples. There was Skids, and
Hard-on Terry, and Little Sam – who wasn’t little at all, but was
called that on account of his dad being Big Sam – and Bobby the
Bat, who could hardly see two feet in front of himself without his
glasses on, and a bunch of others whose names I forgot. They all
seemed to be more or else nice enough, despite their intimidating
demeanor. As we stood around the fire, listening to all the bikers
trade borderline insulting jabs at each other and wrap their arms
around their “old ladies” or some of the women that hung around the
club like sucker fish on the belly of whale, waiting for someone to
make them an old lady, I still couldn’t shake the image of those
shadows moving behind the curtain back in the house.
    “I need another beer,” I told
David.
    “Oh… I’ll go get you
another.”
    “No, no, I can get it. Just tell me
where they are.”
    As David was explaining where the
kitchen was, Hard-on Terry took the empty bottle from my hand and
hurled it forcefully into the bonfire where it shattered against
the burning wood.
    When I passed by that curtain again,
the lights were out. There were no more dancing