Buried Treasure Ch. 26-30

"That smells amazing," she said as I set the round tray and a bag down.

I set the table, then opened up the food. "Did you get enough? I'm not some salad and a Diet Coke chick, you know."

The tray had a pound of brisket, pulled pork, a rack of ribs, and a whole chicken plus beans, coleslaw and cornbread. "Pace yourself; there's pecan pie for dessert."

"With ice cream?" I shook my head, no. "Sooo close to getting into my pants with all this, and he can't stick the landing."

I just about choked on a piece of brisket dipped in hot and smoky barbecue sauce. "I'll know better next time," I finally replied.

Over dinner, we talked about what had happened today and what it meant for us. "Manilo is still at large, and he knows Chase and Rori are with the Brotherhood. If they don't believe the Feds have you, and they didn't kill you, it makes sense you might be hiding in Minnesota. You're still in danger, and still presumed dead."

She thought as she ate, which was another trait I loved. She was measured, not blabbing incessantly. "You should do my hair. A hotel worker might see me."

"Later." We'd made a good dent in the food by the time we'd discussed the Brotherhood, her upbringing with a DEA Dad and prosecutor Mom, and being the niece of the Club President. "You must have had boys lining up to date you in that clubhouse," I said.

She roared with laughter. "Are you kidding? I could have ridden my Harley naked through the clubhouse, and no one would have touched me. You don't know biker culture, do you." I shook my head, no. "Women in most Clubs can't be members. You only get in by being family, a member's Old Lady, or you are there to fuck. My Club doesn't have sweetbutts or club pass-around whores like others, but there's a lot of women attracted to the bikers. Those men get more ass than an airport toilet seat."

"Family members are different?"

"Hell yes. Since I'm a Club princess, the whole Club watches out for me. One visiting biker grabbed my ass as I walked by last year, and he didn't wake up until the next day." She grabbed the last rib, smirking as I tried to grab it from her. "If you wanted to date me, you had to get permission from my Dad and Mongo. Permission usually comes after a beating, and a warning involving dismemberment or death. No biker ever got that far; there's a prospect who I know wants to, but he can't until he's a patched member."

It was quite the cock block. "What about dating me? I'm not in the club."

She just smiled at me like I was an idiot. "Oh, then they just cut your dick off and dump you in the swamp," she said sweetly. "Pie, please?"

I handed it over. This girl would be the death of me.

And I was seriously considering ordering ice cream from room service.