Chapter Forty-One
Looking around, I notice several motorcycles parked in front of the place, all big ones in dark colors, but not a living soul on the street. Mads takes me to the entrance of the bar and we meet an old man sitting on a stool in front of the place, wearing a white tank top, pants and sandals, a cigarette between his fingers, which he often smokes, the cloud of smoke, red from the contrast of the light, slowly rising around the man's face. He watched us silently.
"Hey old John, how are you today?" The man looks at Mads with a forced frown.
"You're the old man."
"I won't deny that." They both laugh and John waves his cigarette in his fingers. Mads stops and stares at the old man's hand, suddenly squeezing mine more tightly.
"That's the good thing, the money paid off today."
"Not now, John. But thank you." John shrugs and beckons us inside. Mads strokes my hand with his thumb and moves closer to my body.
"He always says I'm old." His whisper against my ear sends a shiver down my spine, and my body easily surrenders to his.
“You're preserved." He raises an eyebrow and looks down at me.
"Thanks?" I laugh and tap him on the shoulder. Mads looks at me with an intense look that makes me stop laughing. I see a mischievous, genuine smile on his lips. "You first."
He opens the door to the pub and I'm confronted with a completely different interior than on the outside. From the outside, everything seemed calm and quiet, but inside I was confronted with the presence of several people. Men, bearded or not, some tattooed, slim or not, and some women were also there, in general, they were all older, in their 30s or so, I guess. The place was partially lit, there was a bar with a large counter, lamps and neon lights, retro decorations on the wall, record collections, tables and chairs, music playing, and bottles and mugs of beer on almost every table. It was a lot of information, everything seemed different, the only similarity I noticed was the leather vests, just like Mads. Suddenly I partially understood things.
"He's here!" A tall man with a black beard a few white hairs, thinning hair tied back in a ponytail, and a bandana on his head comes to greet Mads, drawing the attention of the others. I can still feel his hand holding mine, but suddenly all the attention is on him. Men come up to greet him, talking loudly with a strong alcoholic breath that makes me blink. Mads smiles, shakes hands, gives hugs, receives friendly pats on the back, and even invites me to a beer. He keeps refusing while holding my hand tightly against his.
The men make noise, talk loudly and ask questions that make him laugh or swear. I look at this man, sociable but still withdrawn, I observe his mannerisms, his eyes, his mouth and his smile. I feel that this was a part of his personality that was revealing itself to me for the first time. He sounded more youthful, yet mature in everything he said and did.
"Who's the girl?" I feel the eyes on me as they finally notice my presence, suspicious and curious. Mads follows their gaze and looks at me with intensity, something like admiration and desire. His fingers caress my hand and a smile appears on his lips.
"This is Dakota, I wanted you to meet her." He says, his voice is loud as everyone stares at me.
"Ah, the girl who put Mads Moser in his place! I remember you, miss." A man with completely white hair and tanned skin approaches me and holds out his large, calloused hand. With the other, he squeezes Mads' shoulder. "I've admired you since that day, no woman has ever left that bastard so shaken." He laughed, showing his yellow teeth. His face was hard and cruel with wrinkles and cold eyes, but his smile was sweet. I shake his hand with a mischievous smile.
The other men relax and show a healthy mockery of Mads, who rolls his eyes and smiles.
"Is that so?" I ask in a teasing tone, my eyes on my man.
"Yeah. By the end of the night, he stank of beer and cigarettes, girl." Mads looked at me with a mischievous expression, a smile and a posture that showed it was true. But he didn't look insecure, he looked confident.
"If the intention was to make me feel sorry for him, it didn't work," I say, and the men laugh and push Mads. The white-haired man laughs grotesquely and gives me a light tug on the shoulder.
"I like her, Mads! Come on, let's go to the bar and get you something to drink."
I look at Mads, who watches me walk to the bar next to the man. I gave him a sign of doubt, and he replied with a gesture that meant I could trust the man.
"Do you like beer, miss?"
"I won't reject it." We sit down and the bartender, a bald, tall, strong man full of tattoos, pours us two pints of cold beer.
"Beer in hand, even if I know when someone doesn't appreciate it." says the man, his voice now deep and automatically more serious. He looks at me with curious attention. His words indirectly challenge me, and as proof, I grab the handle of the mug and turn it over, taking a tasty sip of the drink. I hear his laugh, his eyebrows raised in admiration.
"How do you know someone doesn't like beer?" He takes a deep breath.
"Something in their eyes, the way they hold their mug, the way they seem to think long and hard before taking their first sip." I nod, thinking about my shortcomings. "But he's already analyzed you that way." I follow his gaze and see Mads talking to some men at a table, he notices me and his gaze softens. "You don't seem surprised to be evaluated."
"No." I turned to him, who seemed to be evaluating me.
"Darian, founder of the Desert Snakes Motorcycle Club. Nice to meet you, Dakota."