Filed to story: Cora and Gunner MC Story Book PDF Free
“Today, we are having an open mic day. Is anyone out there willing to sing for us?” A couple of girls got up, and they sang terribly; some of the crowd booed, while a few clapped, and I would have thought those clapping were friends, encouraging them along. Wish they wouldn’t, I’d rather hear the loud music than this cat wailing.
An hour went by, no one I knew had come to sit in this area, and I was enjoying watching the crowd and singing along to the music, even the bad singers. Until the woman who had been talking about me and watching me closely decided they wanted to stir the pot.
“DJ! This chick can sing.” Pointing to me. I felt my cheeks flush.
“Miss, would you like to come up here and sing?” The man who was called DJ asked, looking at me. One of the men I had met, but couldn’t remember his name, leaned in and spoke to him. His eyes widened, and he got up off the stage and walked over to me.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this lovely lady can’t walk to me because of an injury she sustained a few days ago, so I will go to her. What would you like to sing?” I looked at him, petrified. I hate being put on the spot; it has happened too often in my past for my liking.
“What choices do I have?” I asked softly. He handed me the mic and told me a few songs. I didn’t like any of them, so I asked for one I knew. The Angels, am I ever gonna see your face again?’ He smiled, and soon the band was playing the song. I started to sing, not caring how I sounded, I knew my voice wasn’t that bad. The crowd joined in; it was nice to have them do that because it meant they weren’t listening to my voice; they were listening to the song and music.
“Fantastic, anyone else?” He moved to the ladies who put me on the spot, and had them sing. The three of them, one sounded okay, one sounded like she was already drunk, slurring and giggling through the song, and the last one, I would say she was miming, because no sound was coming out of her mouth that I could hear.
Gunner arrived with another bottle of water and a plate of food.
“Are you okay?’ I nodded, taking the plate, and he sat down long enough to eat two pies.
Before he said,
“For fuk sake, can’t they behave for five fuking minutes?” and got up, heading over to where a couple of guys looked like they were having a fist fight.
Gunner POV
It was hard leaving Cora in the members’ area, with no one to talk to, but there was little I could do about that. I didn’t want her sitting at the bar, getting hit on by every single man in the club, and a few married ones, if they thought they could get away with it. I would be knocking teeth out by the end of the day, and it would be all my fault for letting her be hit on.
At least she had some food to keep her going for a while.
“Sh.it, have you tasted those pies? One of them burned my mouth off.” One of the club members was shouting, grabbing our attention.
“What pies?” Another asked looked at the pies with different letters on them.
I moved to look, took one of each, and ate them.
“Easy, guys, you don’t want a hot one, don’t eat the one with the letter H on it.” I bet this was Cora’s doing, bet Scones is in the kitchen laughing at the ones complaining about the heat.
“We never had choices before. I like them. If you don’t want the hot ones, I’ll eat a lot,” Snail said as he searched the tray, picking out all the hot ones.
“Besides Scones, who was in the kitchen today? I want more of these,” Lobster said, trying to be Snail to them all. I have to admit, after years of the same meat pie, having a variety was a treat.
“That chick that saved Gunner’s life, saw her making muffins when I went for coffee,” Carnage answered, taking a muffin and taking a huge bite. The only part they took in was that Cora made the food, and how good they were, being the one to save me, slid past them.
“Wow, she can work in the kitchen anytime.” The compliments on Cora’s cooking were welcome; she was a big hit.
“Gunner, is she yours? Like she’s gonna stay? Are you claiming her?” Snail asked, having now scored what was left of the hot pies.
“Working on it, she will be around town either way, because she will be working with Bluey at the hospital, getting us a new emergency nurse, to help Bluey out,” I replied, grabbing a few more pies.
“About time, the last few days have been terrible. I can already tell, with how Cora handled the shooting, that she is a stayer and good at her job. She fixed you are pretty quick.”
“Just don’t scare her away,” I said, as I snatched up a few more pies and headed back out to check the door.
The crowd was fairly well-behaved tonight; our usual deadbeats hadn’t shown up yet. Night is still young, and there’s plenty of time for things to go bad. Add a bit more alcohol, and these visitors lose it and want to pick a fight with the big bad biker. Yeah, you ride a bike, and you’re bad right away. I was called bad before I understood the stigma attached to being a bike rider’s son. Sometimes we are bad, but that’s not twenty-four-seven. We have lives, and we don’t fight, steal, do drugs, and sell guns as much as the public thinks. I know of some street kids who get into more trouble than we do, but it’s the unknown factor, the code, that glues us together, that people don’t get, and I think deep down they wish they had it in their lives. When we go out, we know without a doubt our members have our backs. It’s rare for one to turn on you.
The band was doing great today. This open mic day always draws those who love to be seen, even if they can’t sing for shht. The ladies in the members section are not patched, but family members who often come are offered seats there. I want to stop that from happening. These near Cora are three that I am not keen on, and none of the male members would choose any of them; they don’t have what it takes, they want to look good, and put it over others that are in the public section, boasting that they can get in there, not for much longer. I am pushing for that change.
One of the ladies called DJ to give the mic to Cora, trying to embarrass her. I went to step in when I noticed the guitarist speaking to him, but I stopped and waited to see what would happen next. I was ready to come to her rescue if she needed it.
Cora nailed it, picked a song that the audience would join in, and drowned out her voice, but not before I heard her singing, and was pleasantly surprised she could hold a note. I don’t think she would be getting a record deal, but it’s not a cat wailing.
I decided she needed more food and a bottle of water. I was getting a bit peckish myself.
Cora accepted the plate with a smile. It rattles my hardened heart when she gives me that shy smile. “Your pies are going down a treat,” I said between songs, and popped a second pie in my mouth, when the barman waved to get my attention, and then pointed to two male members of the public, circling each other, and I knew what was about to go down. Can’t even have a break to spend time with Cora. I think I said a few expletives as I got up, and left Cora open-mouthed, staring at where I was headed. They had reached the stage of fists flying, drunk as skunks, and soon anyone close to them might end up with a fist in their faces.
I ducked as one threw a wild fist, then I dodged a second one, and saw my opening. I grabbed both men and dragged them to the door, throwing them out. The guys manning the doors will handle them; they will make sure they don’t get back in tonight. I looked around the room, searching for more trouble, before heading back to Cora and by now my cold pies. Cora had Scones beside her now, chatting away, and that gave me relief, because all night I had looked over at her, when I could, and she was still alone, and those three were circling trying to find a way to piss her off.
“Hey, Scones, the food tonight was getting some great reviews.” I sat, picking up my plate, thinking it was cold but still tasty.
“Yeah, Cora added some different flavours, and other than some complaining about the heat, they loved the variety. I have asked Cora about what she added so that I can do it next time. Maybe write it down. You know I am not a fancy cook, never have been.”
