by Max Henry
He eyes the prospects as they strap the bike down, fixing it in place. “Hooch needs our help.”
Of course he does. If the guys up here think I’m trouble, then they should be thankful Hooch is all the way down in Fort Worth. He’s been quiet, moping around since shit went down in the ranks and his old man, and sister, got killed. But before that he was the quintessential shit stirrer, always causing trouble wherever he went.
“What’s he done now?”
“Picked up someone we need to bring home.”
I narrow my eyes on our president, wondering why he’s beating around the bush so much. King’s as straight up, no bullshit, as they come.
“Dare I ask who?” I say, sparking my smoke. “Or will you change the subject?”
He smirks. “How’s that new carburetor working out for you?”
Asshole. I shake my head, wandering over to the clubhouse to stock up on essentials. “How long we gone for?” I call out.
“Just the night,” he shouts back. “Bring a spare helmet.”
I hesitate at the door that leads inside and glance at him over my shoulder, lifting an eyebrow.
King laughs, pointing to the darkening sky. “Mighty fine weather we’re havin’ ain’t it?” Bastard’s laugh follows me down the hall as I walk through to the ruckus in the common room.
An hour ago I stared down the man who gave me life, wishing more than anything in the world I could have been born to anyone other than him. Just now, I felt what it would have been like had that wish come true.
Why waste my time with a man who doesn’t want anything other than to beat and shape me into his idea of perfection, when I’ve already got the role models I need in my life?
Everything I need is right here, right now.
Everything I am, contained in the colors that adorn my back.
Welcome home, Dog.
FOUR
Mel
Hooch slides the entrance to the barn open, throwing his back into it as he shoves the heavy wooden door along its steel rail. The reverberation of bikes grows louder, headlights casting shadows as he passes by the waiting vehicles.
I’ve never missed a sound more; the comforting syncopated rhythm of multiple V-Twins.
King rolls in first, lifting his fingers from the handlebar in a semi-wave as he smiles at me. I step back, allowing him room to turn around as the second bike enters. The rider holds my gaze with wide eyes, never once breaking as he follows King’s path and pulls up alongside. I fail at fighting the smile that twitches on my lips. I couldn’t forget those dark and soulful eyes if I tried, but damn has he grown up a lot in the last year.
Dog was a prospect when I saw him last, young and misplaced. Looking for a home like so many of our members are. He’s a definite man now, comfortable and at ease in his new life. It makes me so happy to see that he found his niche, found where he belongs. Almost as happy as I am to see these familiar faces.
Hooch wanders over as the crash van reverses part way in, blocking most of the exit and any possible prying eyes in the process. The girl he brought with him, Dagne, sits off to the side of our group, watching intently as she no doubt sizes the guys up.
Men in leather and denim, wearing colors and weapons, are nothing unusual for me. But for those not accustomed to the life, the brotherhood, they’re intimidating, threatening and most often misunderstood because of it.
I reach out, offering her my hand, and she slips to her feet to make her way over.
“Don’t be shy,” I say with a smile. “They’re harmless.”
She nods, giving my hand a squeeze before letting go and heading for the relative safety she finds in Hooch. We had a chance to talk a little this morning, and I like her. She’s straight up, headstrong, and sensible. Everything Hooch needs in his life.
Big sis approves.
I turn to my right as Dog approaches at speed with his arms out wide. He wraps me in his strong embrace and lifts me clean off the dirt floor.
“Fuck, Mel. You know how good of a surprise this is?”
“I can guess,” I say with a laugh as he sets me down.
“Heard you were missing, assumed dead.” He reaches out and picks a piece of hay off my sweater, pain clear in his eyes. “And yet here you are.”
“Here I am.” I fold my arms as I smile shyly at him.
Dog and I are about the same age, so naturally when he became a permanent fixture at the club gatherings, the two of us found common ground in our struggles to find our place amongst the ranks. Although our stories couldn’t be any more different: I was born into this life, he chose it; I’ve had my life’s choices dictated to me from as young as I can remember, whereas he’s been able to pick and choose his path into the Fallen Aces.
Still, the two of us would hang out at the club meets, swapping stories from our respective chapters and generally enjoying each other’s company. He’s my first real friend inside the club, and was right up until I walked away.
When his touch became something I’d crave, rather than pay no mind to.
I shake my head while I appreciate how ridiculously good he looks now his physique fills his shirt right out. “I can’t believe how much you’ve changed.”
“Been a while, huh?” He knocks his shoulder into mine.
“Far too long since I’ve seen anyone, that’s for sure.” I duck my head and pull in a deep breath. “So, how the hell are you anyway? You look as though you lift weights in your sleep. Mighty been sharing his tubs of protein with you?”
“You approve?” He throws me a wink, the same one he would always give me before stealing a bottle of liquor from the bar at the club get-togethers.
The man sure is pretty, but damn I hate cocky son of a bitches.
“You make me feel as though I should have applied all my spare time a little better,” I tease, pulling the sides of my loose sweater out to show how little I’ve changed.
He shrugs; lip pinched between his teeth as he blatantly checks the length of me out.
“No complaints over here, Mel.”
I snort a laugh at him and look away at the prospects as they open up the back of the van. Dog was always trouble with the ladies back when he was a prospect, so Lord only knows what a killer he is now with all the thirsty women that turn up on a weekend.
Something I sure as hell don’t need to mess with, that’s for sure. Almost went there once, not getting sucked in again.
The hairs on my neck prickle, and I realize that while I’ve been watching the boys unload the van, Dog’s been watching me. I turn my head and fix him with a frown.
“Words, Dog.”
He shrugs again, both hands jammed in his pockets. “Never seen you without makeup is all.”
“Well, now you have.” I lift my shoulders a little, hoping my sweater will hide me some.
“Still as gorgeous as ever, though.”
He reaches out and brushes my hair from my face, which results in my back going a stiff as a board. His is the first non-platonic touch I’ve received in over a year, and I’m not too sure how I feel about that. Especially since I made a promise to myself to only ever be friends with the guy.
Too many memories of awkward failed kisses for this tender ego to handle right now.
“Seriously,” I snap. “Stop before you really embarrass yourself.”
“Come on, Mel. Don’t be like that.” He ducks his head a little to level our gazes. “I’m still on a fuckin’ high from seeing my girl here in the flesh when I thought she was gone for good.” He sighs, twitching a small smile. “I missed you, missed our chats. Missed seein’ your smile.”
I shake my head and back up a step. ”Dog, we went there. It didn’t end well, remember?”
“Went where?”
I peer out from under my lashes at him, giving my best “don’t fuck with me” stare.
“Can’t fault a guy for tryin’.” He shrugs.
“Except your timing is way off.” I’m not even home yet, still on the way
back to the club after being hidden from everyone I love for the past year. He could at least let me have a damn shower and sleep before he starts on with this.
He could at least give me time to catch my breath.
“Well,” he snaps. “Good to know you didn’t feel the same way, then.”
“Don’t, Dog. I’ve missed everyone, I just …”
“Didn’t miss me that much.”
“I missed my friend,” I stress. “I want my friend here right now, okay?”
I expect the usual brush off, the “I wasn’t interested anyway” bullshit that comes when you wound a man’s pride. I don’t expect the absolute shutdown that happens right before my eyes.
Dog’s gaze falls to the ground, his shoulders curl inward, and he jams his hands in his pockets as he walks back to his bike.
I almost feel sorry for the guy.
Almost.
“Dog giving you grief already?” King asks as he approaches.
I look over to the man in question as he flops dramatically onto his bike and stares at the wall with his arms folded.
“He seems more sensitive than I remember.” I pull my chin back, making a mock “oops” face.
King frowns. “Something’s up with him these past few days. Don’t let it bother you. I’ll have a quick word.” He pats me on the arm and follows after Dog to have a quiet conversation in the corner of the barn.
I turn my attention to the prospects that unload an unmarked stock standard bike from the back of the van. They wheel it over next to Hooch’s, transfer his gear over, and then wheel Hooch’s custom bike into the van in the spare bike’s place.
All the while my brother makes cutesy with his new plaything. I’m happy for him, honestly, but damn, talk about feeling like the fifth wheel.
I hover on my spot, trying to decide what to do. I can’t get on Dog’s bike yet because King is still having words with him, and I can’t help the prospects because that would undermine their job; take away their pride in doing what they’ve been instructed to by the president.
So I stand, wondering if this is how life will feel from here on out. I’m supposed to be dead. In theory, there’s no place for me in this world any longer. Am I always going to wake up wondering what the purpose of the day will be? While I was in hiding, I understood the feeling of pointlessness. After all, there’s not much you can do when you’re literally unable to show your face to another living person besides those who know where you are, which for me, was one man.
A trusted third party hired by the club to put me into hiding, and then promptly “forget” the address.
Days went by the same as the one before, and each and every night as the sun would sink behind the trees I’d lie there on the grass, watching the stars come out, dreaming of a life back with my club.
This wasn’t exactly how I pictured it.
I mean, I didn’t expect a fanfare, a huge welcome home party or anything. But I guess I thought I’d fall back into my role as the president’s daughter. Except my brother is now the president, and when I ask him why Daddy didn’t come to get me, he changes the subject.
A niggle I’ve been trying to ignore.
A question I’ll demand answers for when we arrive in Lincoln at the Fallen Aces mother chapter.
Right now, I just need to focus on the task of getting there with a guy who’s making it clear by the daggers he fires my way he’s pissed I friend-zoned him. Yay.
Let the fun begin.
FIVE
Dog
Fucking stuck-up club princess.
Maybe I laid it on a little thick, but shit, the woman was a fine piece of ass when she wore a shit-ton of makeup and dressed in figure-hugging shit that left nothing to the imagination. Yet pure as the moment she woke up, bare and demure in a baggy sweatshirt? Makes me think all kinds of inappropriate things.
I wasn’t lying—I’ve missed the hell out of her. But shit, I’ve done a lot of growing up in the last year too, and part of that was realizing what I should have appreciated more when I had it.
I thought I’d lost her, thought she was gone for good. And fuck it all if that didn’t tear me apart. Seeing her alive and well, remembering all the things that I love about her that almost pushed us to breaking our friends only rule … I don’t want to be the pussy that misses out a second time.
“Here.” I shove my spare helmet her way as she approaches, her brow pinched in a frown.
“Thanks.”
She makes a point of grabbing it on the exact opposite side I hold it so there isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of our fingers touching.
“Might be a bit big for you.” Then again, with an ego like hers …
“I’ll make do.”
She lifts the open-facer to her head, sliding it on and promptly losing herself in it as the helmet slides down over her face.
I can’t help it. I snort at her predicament.
She whips the damn thing off as though it conspired against her and shoves it back at me. “Fucking hilarious, asshole.”
“Hey,” I protest, taking it from her and twisting to pack it back in my saddlebag. “I legit thought you might be able to strap it up real tight. Something was better than nothin’, right?”
Not as though these assholes told me who we were on the way to get, either. I can’t believe Hooch knew she was okay and kept it a fucking secret.
“I guess.” She crosses her arms, hip popped and her lips pursed as she scowls down at me.
“You gettin’ on or what?”
“Can I trust you not to dump the thing and kill me if I have no helmet?”
I thumb to the patch on my back. “Does that say I’m useless as horse shit at ridin’?”
Her huff of breath sends the dark strands of hair near her face adrift. “I guess not.”
“Besides,” I say as she lifts her leg and slides it over the back of the seat. “You think King would pick me for the run if he couldn’t trust me to get precious cargo like you back in one piece?”
“I’m not precious, and you know I hate it when people say that, so don’t,” she mumbles, her breath tickling the back of my neck as she adjusts her seat.
I adjust my own to counteract the effect the roll of her hips has on the fella downstairs. Lord, give me a sign that it’s wrong to pursue this a second time. I glance around as she draws a deep breath, her chest pressing into my back while I look for the thunderbolt that’s bound to strike me dead any second.
All I find is Hooch watching us diligently. Close enough.
King starts the bike, the crash van coughing to life soon after, signaling it’s time to go. I turn the key and push the button to start, trapping my breath in my lungs as Mel sets her hands on my hips in preparation. Focus on the bike, I remind myself. Pretend she’s not even there. Except I can’t. It’s my duty as a responsible rider to be aware of her every move. Fucked. I’m fucked.
“Do what King tells you, and don’t cause trouble,” Hooch warns her, stopping beside the bike.
“Yes, brother dearest.”
“I’ll be in touch when I can.”
I turn my head and look at the sad son of a bitch over my shoulder. I’ve got no idea what’s going on here, but I recognize that look: it’s the look of a man who’s losing something he’s only just regained.
I’m pretty sure it’s the look I wore when Mom passed. I’m also pretty sure it’s how I’d look if Mel were taken away from me again, too.
“Don’t worry about me,” Mel answers, her hands tightening on my hips. “Spend that call wisely on the one who’ll need the reassurance. I know you, and I know you can look out for yourself. She doesn’t.”
The woman Mel talks about sits awkwardly astride King’s bike, her legs stiff and her eyes wide. Newbie.
King eases the throttle open, winding his bike through the narrow gap left between the van and the barn door. I lean the bike upright, taking both my weight and Mel’s, and kick the stand in.
I don’t miss the wa
y her chest expands against my back as she watches her brother shrink in the distance. I also don’t miss the subtle pinch of her fingers as her hands clench a little tighter around my hips, sliding together until she rests her hands against the V of my stomach.
She’s sad, understandably so, but what I recognize most is the stoic silence of a person who wants to deny it all. Silence not only in her words but in the most telling language of all, her body, as she settles in to the position she holds for the next hour until we pull off the highway for gas.
A club princess with probably the most revealing story to tell. And yet, as the gas flows into my tank, she holds my gaze and says nothing at all.
She doesn’t need to say any more.
I get it.
SIX
Mel
Misty rain falls across the light cast by the flood lamp over the yard as we pull into the Lincoln compound. The weather grew progressively worse as we rode, the clouds thickening until they became a dense blanket across what’s left of the early dawn light.
I shiver as Dog maneuvers the bike into the garage, my sweatshirt soggy and stuck to my body in places. I’d like to think he would have offered me a jacket, but given the fact his skin is covered in goose bumps, his dark T-shirt soaked, I’d say he didn’t even pack one.
Men.
He stops the bike in the wide aisle, allowing me space to get off before he backs it into the lineup. Dagne dismounts ahead of us, King offering her an arm to steady herself. I don’t even get that, just an indifferent stare as I try to slip across the wet seat, the damp flesh of my leg sticking to the surface.
“Thanks for the help,” I sass, promptly shedding the wet sweater.
I pull the fabric over my head and discover Dog clearly checking out my painfully erect nipples through the light tank I have on. Bunching the sweater in my hands over my chest, I scowl at him and head for the common room.
“What else did you think I’d do?” he calls after me.
I stop midstride and spin on my heel to face the fucker. “Show some goddamn respect.”
“I was, by showin’ how much I appreciated what you chose to share with me,” he quips.