“Butt out, buddy. This is between me and Polly.” Bobby uses his free hand to shove the biker, but Green Eyes grabs Bobby’s hand and thrusts the thumb back, making Bobby scream in pain and release me. Green Eyes is there to catch me. Meanwhile, Bobby is on his knees with his hand in the air since Green Eyes is still torturing him.
“Let me go,” Bobby cries out.
“Apologize.”
“Sorry,” Bobby whines. “Let me go.”
Green Eyes does. “Get out of here, and if you ever touch her again, I’ll find you.” Bobby’s gaze widens before he takes off running. “Are you okay?” my savior questions.
"Yes. Thank you." My hands are shaking. I'm used to people yelling obscenities in my direction, but when it comes to someone touching me, I get nervous.
"Why don't you take a few minutes to calm the nerves? We can wait," he suggests.
I nod and quickly rush through the diner and out the back. I try lighting a cigarette to calm down, but my hands won’t stop trembling. I breathe in and out to see if that helps. I don't know which I'm more anxious about, Green Eyes being so close, or Bobby hurting me.
I've always been this petite girl. Kids at school began bullying me for having an eating disorder. I never had one, I just couldn’t ever gain weight since I only ate at lunchtime during school days because it was free. I wish I could defend myself better.
It's been about fifteen minutes, and I head back in. Two of the three guys are standing outside on their phones while Green Eyes is still sitting at the table. Our eyes connect, and this time, I have a burning desire to run into his arms. He watches every movement I make.
Plastering on a smile as I reach his table, I say, "I wanted to thank you for standing up to Bobby for me. He's usually not that bad, but when he's been drinking, he's like a different person."
"How is your arm?" he asks me.
"It’s pretty sore, but I have about another six hours before I can think about resting it. Please know that your meal is free today. It's on me."
"Thank you, but not necessary. We paid Daisy. I just wanted to wait so I could make sure you were okay."
"I'm going to be. Thank you again." I walk away from the table and find Daisy standing there, watching us with a smirk on her face.
"Shut up." I get a drink of water, and she hands me fifty dollars. “What is this?”
“Your tip from the three good-looking guys.” Daisy grins like a Cheshire cat.
The rest of my shift is pretty much the usual, and I head to the bridge after clocking out, but I can’t shake this eerie feeling that I’m being followed. I swallow hard and move faster. My head is continuously swiveling, scanning my surroundings.
Making it to the bridge without incident, I see a few people who are here with me most nights.
“Hi, Walter. How are you doing?” I inquire. Walter reminds me of a crazy uncle.
“I’m here. How was work?” He likes to check on me.
“It was rough, but I do have some goodies. I used my tips to get fresh burgers, fries, and the onion rings you love so much.” I pull a bag out of my gym bag. I change and shower at local gyms, the YMCA, or anywhere else that will let me.
“What happened?” Walter and I sit down near his tent. I tell him about Bobby, and he gets mad. “I’m glad that man was there to protect you, but I wish you could find another job.”
“Who is going to hire a homeless high school dropout?”
We eat in silence.
After we’re done, I say, “Walter, I hate my job, but until I can get a place of my own, no one will take me seriously. What am I supposed to do when they ask me for my address? The yellow tent under the 5th street bridge.” We laugh.
“You cut yourself short these days. You need to do better for yourself.”
“I can say the same thing about you. We can both get out of here,” I remind him.
I hear a noise coming from the shadows just past the bridge. As I peer over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of something, but I’m not sure what until an alley cat jumps out of the bush screeching. I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My nerves must be more frayed than I thought. Forgetting out the cat, I focus on Walter again.
267
Jackson Hughes
Dark Leopards MC is an outlaw MC, one of the one-percenters. It’s nothing like the Sons of Anarchy; we don’t do “community service” like charity rides, raising money for different programs, or even do a toy drive. When people see us riding through town, they cross to the other side of the street and avoid making eye contact. We’ve made a name for ourselves.
After leaving the diner, we head over to the Chaotic Twister. The club is in the factory district of our little town fifteen miles north of Detroit. The outside of the three-story building is gray with dark blue doors and windows.
The first floor is your typical bar with a dance floor, DJ booth, and stage area. The colors on the walls reflect our Dark Leopards MC logo of blue, gray, and white. The bar has enough seating for a hundred people and two areas for them to buy drinks. We staff about forty women who work as our bartenders and waitresses, and we make sure to have twenty of them working at night.
The second floor has thirty rooms for those who want a little privacy for things like sex or drugs. We don’t discriminate between two or more consenting adults. Some rooms happen to have a bed,
