The thing that got to me though was that not once had I heard any of the guys complain about his previous shit-titude. Back at my old job, if my boss was having a bad day and was on an ass-ripping mission from hell, we’d all talk about him the moment we had the chance. Or at least I’d roll my eyes.

But did anyone say anything about Dex?

Nope.

I had no one to roll my eyes with. No one who understood my resentment for the jerk who had made me feel like I had no business breathing the same air as him just because he was supposedly having a bad day. I could only come up with the conclusion that while Slim, Blue, and Blake were friendly, they hadn’t completely let me into the ranks yet.

Having someone else call him a dick wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

When Slim gave me the chance to get out of there so I could avoid being in Dex The Dick’s general vicinity, I took it. I changed as quickly as I could—because you don’t go to a bar owned by bikers wearing business casual.

Now that I was more familiarized with the area, I realized the bar was just two blocks down from Pins and the body shop Sonny worked at. It seemed like the entire city mile was Widowmakers' territory. There were a handful loitering around outside with my brother in their midst.

Old, still smelling strongly of cigarettes, pee, and beer, Mayhem had new upgrades like flat screen televisions mounted on the wall and new pool tables lined up far from the entrance that clashed with the old bar. The lights were dim, the place was as loud and crowded as it'd been two weeks before. And for some strange reason, I didn't feel completely awkward there like I usually did when I'd gone to bars with Lanie.

This in itself said something because in the first five minutes I was inside, someone had broken off a bottle against the edge of the counter and held it up to someone else's throat before two Club members split them up.

Sonny and I walked around the floor. I smiled and waved at some of the people he'd introduced me to the last time. People who knew the complicated web of our lives thanks to an irresponsible former Widow.

And apparently, because I was getting so chummy with strangers who were a little interested to meet a former member's daughter, Sonny thought it'd be fine to leave me.

The horny bastard said he’d be right back, and thirty minutes later, he wasn’t. I’d seen him spying some brunette across the bar before pulling a Las Vegas magic show act on me and disappearing.

What was a girl who didn’t really know anyone supposed to do? Sit her ass at the bar, watch, and wait.

And watch and wait was what I did. About a quarter of the people boozing and being really friggin' loud were dressed like Luther and Trip: jeans, a t-shirt, and a black leather vest with multitudes of patches. And so many tattoos I didn't know where to begin looking. I could still remember the WMC insignia my dad had worn proudly until he'd gotten it covered up one day randomly. I was never sure what had officially cut his affiliations with the Club after nearly a decade of living away from Austin but honestly, I didn’t give a crap.

Not a single one.

The other half of the people milling around Mayhem doing shots, yelling, laughing, and smoking something I had a feeling wasn’t legal in the corner, were still pretty rough looking.

Glancing around, I’d never seen so many tattoos, leather, and facial hair in my life—and that was just the men.

The women were all around mid-to-late twenties and older. Their skin and hair colors ranged across the color spectrum. Clothes were obviously optional after I’d seen a couple women flash their boobs just for the hell of it.

It totally made sense to me right then why my mom had hightailed it back to Florida when she found out she was pregnant with me. In the ten minutes that followed the first broken-bottle-to-the-throat incident, someone got socked in the face. What did I do? I sat there and watched.

Maybe I should have felt awkward and out of place. I was used to being alone and I didn't mind it. But even though the men were loud, burly, and kind of intimidating and overbearing, I liked listening to their laughs and voices.

I found myself alone, nursing a glass of orange juice Sonny had ordered for me, and people-watching. It was like my senior prom all over again minus the fancy dress, orange juice, and smoking.

The guys from the shop hadn’t shown up yet, and at that point, I was desperate enough to attach myself at the hip to any of them. Well, with the exception of Dex.

“Iris.”

I whipped around to spot Trip making his way toward the part of the bar I was at, dressed in a nearly identical outfit as the one from the day before. He was also either on his way to Shit-Facedville based on the glazed look in his eyes, or already there.

“What are you doin’ here all by yourself, pretty Iris?” he drawled lazily, stopping to the side of me.

“Waiting on Sonny,” I told him with a smile, but really, I was making sure he wasn’t a belligerent drunk. Or worse, someone with a weak stomach. He hadn't been last time we stopped in but you could never be too sure. Getting thrown up on wasn’t on my list of things I’d like to suffer through any time soon.

He tisked. “Saw him go off with Tiff. Might be awhile.”

I made a face because seriously, that was gross. “Well, I’ll wait for him a little bit longer.”

Trip backed up to sit on top of empty stool to my left. “Not much of a party girl, eh?”

“Not really.” I never had been. When I turned twenty-one, Lanie and I had bought a bottle of boxed wine to celebrate an age I wasn't sure I'd make it to. So it wasn't a surprise that we'd celebrated way too much. The next morning, when I was hunched over the toilet seat puking my guts out, I swore I’d never do it again. Three years later, I’d kept my word. On the rare occasion I'd drink half a beer or maybe a glass of wine.

Party animal, I know.

His fingers swept over the sides of his mouth, brushing the yellowish hair of his goatee. The look on his face was pure sin. “I’ll keep you company then.”

“Why thank you.” I shot him a smile, still keeping an eye on his mouth's movement to catch any gag reflexes though I was grateful to have someone to talk to. “If I start to bore you, feel free to go hang out with other people.”

Trip rolled his eyes and pressed the bottle to his mouth for a long drink. “Whatever you say, baby.” He smirked. "You likin' the new job?"

Not wanting to be rude but also not wanting to lie, I shrugged a shoulder. "It's coming along, but I'm still looking for another one."

He leaned toward me. His face serious. "Dex bein' a dick?"

I didn't mean to do it but the laugh just kind of burst out of my chest. Wasn't Dex the first person Blake thought of when he saw someone had upset me? That should have been a sign of what I was getting myself into. If Trip immediately guessed, I could only imagine what that guy must have done to earn a reputation of pissing people off.

"Why you laughin'? I'm right, aren't I?" Trip grinned.

I had a record for putting my foot in my mouth so I shrugged instead, still laughing just a little bit.

It was Trip's turn to shrug. "He's as moody as can f**kin' be, baby. Always got somethin' up his ass."

So, so true. But I wouldn't admit it outright like that. They were friends, after all. It would be like me hearing someone call Lanie a bitch. I could call her a bitch but no one else could. "He definitely had something living up there a few days ago."