That night, Brick’s girl had brought two friends to party.
Brick got his girl. Shy got the friends.
Shy left the Compound, went to his bike, threw a leg over, and drove the six blocks to his apartment. Once there, he didn’t bother going upstairs to his place. He never bothered to go upstairs to his place.
He wondered vaguely why he kept it. He was rarely there. He ate fast food that he ordered to go. He slept in his bed at his room in the Compound. He worked in the garage at Ride or the auto supply store attached. He drank and partied wherever there was drink or party provided. He communed with the brotherhood.
All other times, he was on his bike.
This was because Parker Cage only felt right on his bike.
It started with the dirt bike he got when he was fourteen, and it never stopped.
Five years ago, on his thirdhand Harley, he’d cruised by Ride Custom Cars and Bikes, a massive auto supply store that was attached to a garage in the back that built custom cars and bikes. He’d heard of it, hell, everyone had. The Chaos MC owned and ran it, and the garage was famous, built cars for movies and millionaires.
But it was the flag that flew under the American flag on top of the store that caught his attention. Until that day, he’d never looked up to see it. It was white and had the Chaos Motorcycle Club emblem on it with the words “Fire” and “Wind” on one side and “Ride” and “Free” on the other.
The second his eyes hit that flag, he felt his life take shape.
Nothing, not anything in his life until that time, except the first time he took off on a bike, had spoken to him like that flag. He didn’t get why and he didn’t spend time trying. It just spoke to him. So strong, it pulled him straight into the parking lot and set his boots to walking into the store.
Within months, he was a recruit for Chaos.
Now, he was a brother.
Outside his apartment, he parked his bike and moved from it to his truck. If she was in a state, Tabitha Allen wouldn’t be able to hold on to him on a bike. If she was feeling sassy, which was usually the case, she’d put up a fight he couldn’t win with her on a bike. So he hauled his ass into his beat up, old, white Ford truck, started it up and took off in the direction of the address on the text Hop sent.
As he drove, that fire in his gut intensified.
She was in college now, supposedly studying to be a nurse. Cherry, the Office Manager at the garage who also happened to be Tack’s old lady and Tabby’s stepmother, bragged about her grades and how good she was doing in school. Shy had no clue how Tab could pull off good grades when she was out fucking around all the time. He couldn’t say one of the brothers got a Tabby Callout every night but it was far from infrequent.
The girl liked to party.
This wasn’t surprising. She was nineteen. When he was nineteen, he’d liked to party too. Fuck, he was twenty-four and he still liked to party in a way he knew he’d never quit.
But he wasn’t Tabby Allen.
He was a biker who worked in a garage and auto supply store, oftentimes raised hell and kicked ass when needed.
She was studying to be a freaking nurse with her dad footing that bill, so she needed to calm her ass down.
This didn’t even get into the fact that it wasn’t a new thing she liked to party and take a walk on the wild side. Three years ago, on his first Tabby Callout, she’d been sixteen and her twenty-three-year-old boyfriend had roughed her up because she wouldn’t put out. That was the situation where Cherry nearly got her head caved in with a baseball bat, and it happened right in front of Shy. It was a miracle of quick reflexes that didn’t end in disaster. Shy liked Cherry, everyone did, the woman was the shit; funny, pretty, sexy, smart, strong, and good for Tack in every way she could be.
If you could pick the perfect old lady, Tyra “Cherry” Allen would be it. She had sass but with class, dressed great, didn’t let Tack roll all over her but did it in a way she didn’t bust his balls. She was hilarious. She was sweet. She was a member of a biker family while still holding on to the woman she always was. And, honest to Christ, he’d never seen a man laugh and smile as often as Kane Allen. He had a good life, and it wasn’t lost on a single member of the Club that Cherry made it that way.
So, during Tabby’s first callout, it would have sucked if Cherry was made a vegetable or worse because of Tab’s shit. Not to mention, if Shy had to explain why he was at Cherry’s back, watching her head get caved in with a bat, instead of taking the lead and protecting her from that eventuality, Tack was so into his old lady it was highly likely Shy would no longer be breathing.
How the fuck Tabby hadn’t learned her lesson after that mess, he had no clue, and as he drove it came crystal that she needed to get one.
And he was so pissed, he decided he was going to be the one to give it to her.
Tonight.
Shy pulled up outside the house and he wasn’t surprised at what he saw.
He knew that scene, lived it until he found the brotherhood.
In high school and out of it, the other kids had attached him to the “stoner” crowd, the “hoods,” even though his affiliation with them was loose. He didn’t connect with anyone in high school or after it, not in any real way, but that didn’t mean he didn’t find an escape. A place to drink beer and find a bitch so he could get laid. So he’d been in many houses just like this with cars and bikes outside just like the ones he saw now.
He still lived that scene but it was better.
It was family.
He saw a couple of bikes parked outside the fully lit and heaving house, and they pissed him off even more than he was already pissed. The bikes were older, the kids inside didn’t have enough money for better, but still, they didn’t take care of them.
If you had a Harley, you took care of it. You treated it like a woman, lots of attention, lots of TLC. No excuses. If you didn’t do that, you didn’t deserve to own it.
There were also a couple of new souped-up muscle cars, which meant whoever owned them put every nickel into keeping up the cool.
But there were more junkers and classic cars, the latter in the middle of restoration, all of it loving. Whoever owned them was taking their time, doing it right, saving up and taking care of their baby before they moved onto the next project in line to make their Mustang, Nova, Charger, GTO, or whatever cherry.
Those cars meant that not everyone in that house was a loser.
At least that was something.
Shy angled out of the truck and moved toward the house. Once in, he shifted through the bodies, ignoring looks from the girls and chin lifts from the guys. He was on a mission and wanted it done.
It didn’t take long to find her. She was in the living room sitting on a couch, a cup of beer in her hand, her head turned away from him, her pretty profile transformed with laughter.
When he saw her it happened like it always happened. He didn’t know why he hadn’t learned, why he didn’t brace. He always expected he’d get over it, get used to it but he didn’t.
Seeing her hit him in the chest, the burn in his gut moving up to flame in his lungs, compressing them, making it suddenly hard to catch a breath.
He didn’t get this.
She was pretty. Jesus, she was pretty. All that thick, dark hair and those sapphire blue eyes, her curvy, petite body, perfect, golden skin still tanned from the summer. Any guy, even if they didn’t get into short women with dark hair, could see she was pretty.
It was more and he knew that too, had been around her enough to see it and often. Her face was expressive, she was quick to smile and laugh. She was animated. She was just one of those chicks it was good to be around.
She could get pissed off. She could get feisty.
Most of the time, though, she was in a good mood, but her good moods were the kinds of good moods that filled a room. Even if you were having a shit day, if Tabby Allen wandered into the common room of the Compound wearing a smile, some of that shit would wear off and
your day would get better.
But she was his brother’s daughter and that was reason number one not to go there. Further, she was too young and too immature. She did stupid shit, like her being with this crowd, drinking beer underage and laughing rather than home studying or hanging with kids from college. So regardless that she was fucking pretty, had a sweet little body, and could light up a room with her mood, he was never going there, but even if he could, he wouldn’t, because she was flat-out trouble.
And yet every time he saw her, it somehow rocked him.
He ignored this feeling that he didn’t want and didn’t understand, and his mouth tightened when he saw how she was dressed. Tight skirt, short. Tight top, cleavage. Lots of leg on show even if she wasn’t all that tall. Nice leg. Shapely leg. Fucking great leg.
Shit.
And fuck-me high-heeled sandals that even if she was too young and his brother’s daughter, the sight of them Shy still felt in his dick.
Damn.
He ignored this too and moved through the room, eyes on her, determined.
She must have felt his approach because she turned her head, looked up, and that burn didn’t lessen at all when her unbelievable blue eyes ringed with long, dark lashes hit his.
He was not surprised when her smile faded, the animation left her face and she snapped, “You have got to be shitting me.”
That pissed Shy off too. He fucking hated it when she cursed. Tack didn’t give a shit, even when his kids were younger. Shy, though, detested it. There was something just very wrong about words like that coming from lips as beautiful as hers.
“Let’s go,” he clipped.
“Shy—” she began but didn’t finish, mostly because Shy grabbed her beer, set it aside, then grabbed her hand and hauled her ass off of the couch.
Surprisingly, she didn’t fight.
She followed.
Good, he thought. He wanted this done.
He got her out of the house, down the walk and opened the door of his truck for her. He was pulling her by her hand to get her close to the cab when she finally spoke.
“Shy, I keep telling you guys that this is not what you—”
He leaned in, nose to nose with her and cut her off. “Shut it.”
She blinked even as her head jerked. This wasn’t a surprise. Brothers respected brothers, and one of the ways they did that was by showing respect to their kin. Chaos was Chaos, it was all family. Brothers, old ladies, kids. Shy had never spoken to her that way. None of the brothers had. Not to her.
“Get in the fuckin’ truck,” he went on.
Tabby rallied and started to say, “Can I just explain—?”
Shy interrupted her again. “Get in it or I plant you in it, Tab.”
Even in the shadows of night, he saw her eyes flash before he saw her clamp her mouth shut. It was with jerky movements that she yanked her hand from his, turned, and climbed into the truck.
Shy slammed her door, rounded the hood, and folded in.
They were on their way when she tried again, her voice quiet. “Shy, really, those are my friends. It’s all cool. Just a couple of beers. A few joints. I’m not smoking and I’m driving so I wouldn’t—”
“So all of those kids are nursing students?” he asked.
“No,” she answered. “They’re friends from high school.”
“You’re not in high school anymore, Tabby,” he pointed out, and felt her eyes come to him but he kept his angry ones on the road.
“You’re right,” she snapped, the quiet in her voice gone. “I’m not. That doesn’t mean they aren’t still my friends. We’ve had a lot of good times together. We’re close. What? You think I should just scrape them off?”
He didn’t glance at her when he replied, “Uh, yeah, Tab. They’re trash. You aren’t. Jesus.” He shook his head. “I do not get you. I know your mom’s a bitch, but for the last three years you’ve had Cherry in your life. It isn’t like you don’t have a good role model. Why the fuck you can’t be like her is beyond me.”
He heard her swift intake of breath before she returned, “Maybe it’s because I should be like me and, by the way, Shy, Tyra would want me to be like me too.”
The members of the Club called Tack’s woman Cherry but Tack called her Red. His kids and everyone else called her Tyra or Ty-Ty.
“Anyway,” Tabby went on irately, “they’re not trash.”
“They’re trash,” he stated firmly.
“They. Are. Not!” she stated loudly.
There it was. That gave him his opening.
“You want that life?” he asked.
“That life?” she shot back.
“Booze and bodies, booty calls and bust-ups,” he explained.
“Um…hello, Shy. That is my life.”
“So you want it,” he concluded.
She ignored his question and pointed out, “It’s your life too, you know. Nothing wrong with it. Never was, never will be.”
A nursing student.
Right.
On this path, she’d never make it. On this path, she’d end up like those bitches in his bed. On this path, Tabby was pissing her college education away, and Tack might as well be pissing that money into the wind.
“You want that life,” he said softly, “you think that’s cool, baby? Then let’s roll.”
It was perfect timing because he’d flipped on his turn signal to turn into Ride.
“What the hell? Why are we here?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.
He drove around the store and through the forecourt of the garage to park in front of the Compound. He didn’t delay in folding out of the truck, rounding the hood, and yanking open her door.
“Shy, what are you—?” she started but stopped since he leaned into her, undid her seatbelt, tagged her hand, and hauled her out of the cab. “Dammit! Shy! What are you doing?” she clipped.
Again he didn’t answer. He just tugged her into the Compound and straight behind the bar. He nabbed a bottle of tequila off a shelf at the back then pulled her in front of him.
“Ready to let go of that little-girl-beer bullshit?” he asked, holding up the bottle.
Her eyes went to it then to him. He saw the confusion and he sensed her unease.
He ignored that too.
“Tab, asked you a question. You like to party. You aren’t in high school anymore. You wanna grow up and learn how it’s really done?”
She ignored him this time and asked, “Why are you being so weird?”
He pulled her closer and tipped his chin down to hold her eyes, now ignoring that it was starkly apparent she wasn’t breathing and her body had gone still.
“Didn’t answer my question, baby,” he said softly and watched her swallow then lick her upper lip.
Jesus. Shit.
He’d never seen her do that. Definitely not this close.
The tip of that pink tongue on the perfection of that rosy lip.
Shit.
“Tab,” he prompted, his hand squeezing hers.
“I want to go home,” she replied quietly, being smart for a change.
“Too late for that,” he muttered then moved away, pulling her with him as he moved from behind the bar, through the room, and into the back hall.
She tugged at his hand and called, “Shy. Seriously. You’re more than kinda freaking me out.”
Hopefully, in about two seconds, she’d be a lot more than kinda freaked out. She’d be scared straight and out of this bullshit she kept pulling.
Therefore, two seconds later, he yanked her into his room, tugged her to a stop and flipped the light switch.
The two women were still naked, lying head to foot on the bed, having, since he was gone, tangled with each other.
Briefly, he tried to remember their names.
He stopped trying when he felt Tabby’s hand spasm in his and she gave a rough pull to try to break away but he just held her tighter and turned to her.
“Usually, we throw some back, get lo
ose, in the mood,” he educated her, lifting up the bottle. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, baby, so if you wanna just get naked and go for it, I’m up for that too. They’re out but, we go for a while, no doubt they’ll rally and join in. Sounds extreme but, trust me, you try it, you’ll like it.”
When he started talking, her eyes were on the bed but they moved slowly to him and he saw she was pale beneath her tan. Her eyes were also wide with shock and something else he didn’t quite get, and her full lips were parted.
“What’s it gonna be?” he asked. “You wanna loosen up or you wanna just go for it?”
“Why are you doin’ this?” she whispered, and Shy shrugged.
“This is who you are or who you’re headin’ to be. Might as well quit fuckin’ around, babe, and go for it.”
Her eyes slid to the side then to him before she stated quietly, “This isn’t who I am.”
He looked her down and up and pointed out, “Short tight skirts, too-tight tops. I know it’s not lost on you that I can see most of your tits not only through the shirt but spillin’ out of it, Tab. Then we got your high heels, lots of hair, lots of makeup. You scream you got a wild side, baby. Quit fuckin’ around. You been wantin’ to explore it since you were sixteen. The time is right. The stage is set.” He pulled her closer to him and lifted the bottle again. “Let’s go.”
When he said the word sixteen, she flinched and her hand jerked at his again.
Also, the look in her eyes he couldn’t quite place came clear.
Hurt.
It sucked. He didn’t like to do this to her, but he reckoned that emotion stark in her gaze meant he was getting through.
“Take me home,” she said softly, and he shifted closer to her
She swung slightly back, but her movements were wooden.
“Come on, baby. Don’t bullshit me,” he coaxed in a gentle voice. “I’ve seen the looks you give me. Now’s your shot. You’re hot, you like to have fun, you shouldn’t waste this opportunity.”
“Take me home,” she repeated.
“If you don’t want an audience or this to be a participation sport outside us two, I can rouse those bitches—” he jerked his head to the bed “—send them on their way before we get goin’.”
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