by Addison Jane
I was reasonably impressed.
More than impressed actually.
Our clubhouse back home was amazing. The boys looked after it, it was often renovated—sometimes due to bullet holes and explosives, other times because the old ladies said so.
But this, I had to admit, was next level.
“Where shall I park?” Dakota questioned, casually turning in circles in the oversized clubhouse lot.
“Um… anywhere?”
She slammed on the breaks and threw it into park, looking over at me with a wide grin. We were smack dab in the middle of everything. People coming and going would have to go around the car.
Instead of making her move, I just shrugged. “Okay, let’s do this.”
“You’re a lot less freaking out than I thought you’d be.”
Maybe because this is the kind of place where I felt comfortable. It wasn’t home, but it was similar, and honestly, that at least kind of made me feel happy.
Huntsman stepped out of one of the roller doors as we climbed from the car. His eyes looked at the car first, then to me, then to Dakota, where I felt like he decided he needed to pick his battles, and instead just waved us in.
“How was the drive,” he asked as we stepped inside.
Dakota and I both looked up and around at the enormous space, our mouths hanging open.
About a third of the place was left open from floor to ceiling, exposed metal beams and other stuff uncovered. There looked like there were offices or rooms which lined one side, while stairs led up either side of the building to a second level which was closed in. I assumed where the mens’ rooms were located.
I still couldn’t quite gauge how big this place was, knowing we hadn’t seen it all when we came in and even now, wondering if there was more hidden away. Curious, I walked toward the doors that went out the other side of the building, stepping straight out onto a well looked after concrete patio. It had a barbecue area, a firepit, with plenty of tables and seats around.
“You have a lot of parties?” I asked loudly, not even bothering to look over my shoulder and see if Huntsman was following.
“You always this nosey?”
“Not nosey,” I argued, turning on him with a wide grin. “Curious.”
“You know what curiosity did?” he asked, following me toward the grassed edge.
“Killed the cat,” I acknowledged before adding, “I’m more of a dog person myself.”
“She ever stop talking?” I looked over to see a guy with dark overalls on, holding a white torn piece of what looked like a towel, wiping his grease-covered hands on it. He had long hair which was pulled back into a ponytail, a dirty blond color, and streaks of all kinds of oil and dirt across his face.
Over in the corner of the yard, I could see more asphalt and a couple of bikes parked outside a two bay garage. There were a few guys in there working, the low thump of music coming from inside.
“Not really,” Huntsman grumbled, making the man laugh.
“Spark.” He held out his hand to me, and I reached out, shaking it firmly.
“Meyah.”
A smile quirked in the corner of his mouth, and he looked over my shoulder at Huntsman. “She passes.” He took a couple steps back, saluting me with his fingers before wandering back toward the garage, leaving me terribly fucking confused.
I narrowed my eyes and turned on Huntsman who was actually smirking as he leaned against the doorway. He nodded to my hand, and I looked down, finding it covered in a black handprint.
“The boys like to weed out the prissy princesses pretty fucking quickly around here.”
I scoffed, wiping my dirty hand on my jeans, not giving a shit about the big black marks. “It’s gonna take more than a bit of grease to scare me.”
I loved to get dirty.
When I worked with the horses, I was always the first offering to do the hard yards or help clean the stables. I wasn’t afraid of a little hard work or a little mess. Things just continued on into my drawing and the way I used my fingers and hands to smudge my shading or to blend colors, and I always ended up walking out of my room with it all up my arms, all over my face and often on the carpet. I was nowhere near a princess, and if they thought that’s what they were going to get just because I was Huntsman’s daughter, these boys were going to be seriously mistaken. And I was about to show them just why they didn’t need to play any more games to figure out what kind of girl I was.
“Do you have a 9mm on you?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at Huntsman whose eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Back home, the boys had gotten used to me borrowing the odd gun or two when I had the itch to practice. Hadley wasn’t always around, but the guys had all done their part, offering their advice on techniques and stances until I found one that worked for me, and worked pretty damn well.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Meyah,” he growled, his tone turning severe and gruff.
I pointed out across the yard to where I spotted a line of beaten up cans sitting on top of a fence. There was a purpose-built wall behind it made out of what looked like a mixture of materials and which appeared as if it had taken a pretty good beating over its lifetime.
He looked apprehensive enough already, but then Brewer stepped out from behind Huntsman, and my gut tightened just a little. His glare wasn’t as harsh as it had been the last time we met when I held my gun against his chest and threatened to pull the trigger.
He reached into his club cut, and my body tightened a little as he pulled out a black pistol, 9mm, and held it out to me.
Huntsman was quick to turn to his club brother. “Brew,” he scolded, but he was ignored.
Brewer stepped forward, waiting for me to take the gun from his hand. “You told me you were a good shot,” he drawled as I plucked it from his hand and felt the weight of it in my palm. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Dakota stood off to the side, her eyes moving from one person to another nervously chewing her lip. I swallowed the now nervous lump in my throat. I didn’t know why it was there. I was a good shot, I knew I was. But I did it for fun, to help calm my nerves, or more importantly, to make myself feel that little bit more like I had control in a world that was uncontrollable.
Now, though, I could feel the eyes on me.
Not just Huntsman and Brewer, but the boys in the garage had stopped, and a handful of men inside were watching from the bar and sofas.
I wasn’t so cocky anymore. I walked forward, stepping down onto the grass and brushing my hair back from my face before I took my stance. I’d done this before. A million times.
Hell, I’d even outshot half the members of the club back home, including Ham.
Not that he cared.
He was proud as hell of me, and I think the fact that I could handle a gun made him feel a little better about me being able to keep myself safe.
Inhaling deeply, I pulled back the chamber, loading the gun and lining up my shot.
Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.
Line up your sights.
Take a deep breath.
Breathe out.
Ting. One can.
Ting. Two cans.
Three, four, and five followed in quick succession, and I lowered the gun with a smile.
“Well, fucking shit,” Huntsman muttered in quiet awe.
Despite the way Brewer initially made me feel when I looked over my shoulder and found him grinning and scratching his beard, I couldn’t help but smile back. “Think she’ll fit right in.”
Huntsman nodded. “Think she might.”
“This is Texas,” Huntsman acknowledged the good-looking biker leaning against the bar with a cigarette in his hand. Unlit. He had dark, spiky hair on the top, the sides shaved bare, and a solid square jaw which was covered in a brush of dark bristles after what looked like a couple days of not shaving.
Texas dipped his head. “I saw you out there, you’re a da
mn good shot.”
I frowned and tilted my head to the side. “You don’t have an accent.”
The younger biker next to Texas almost choked on his drink while Texas’ dark, moody features seemed to brighten excitedly. “Road names sometimes shouldn’t be taken so literal.”
I continued to stare at him for a few seconds, mulling over what he’d said and trying to figure out what his road name could mean. Finally, I clicked my tongue and shook my head. “You’re gonna have to throw me a bone here.”
“Oh, fuck…” the young kid groaned.
“Funny you say that,” Texas chuckled, the noise a deep rumble that reminded me of some of the men back home, instantly giving me this churning feeling of guilt in my stomach. Texas continued a sparkle in his eye that made me wonder if I should have even asked the question. “They say everything is bigger in Texas.”
I couldn’t stop the giggle that followed, while Dakota’s face just lit up like it was Christmas morning. “I think I’m gonna like it here.”
“God, just fucking kill me,” Huntsman rumbled, looking to the sky as if he was praying for the Lord to just smite him on the spot. After a breath, he finally lowered his head and narrowed his eyes at the two men. “Shouldn’t you two be back at work by now?”
The two of them were quick to scamper, the younger guy stopping right in front of me and holding out his hand. “Diddit.” He shook my hand tightly before ducking around me and heading out through the massive rolling door to his bike.
My hand was still floating in the air from his handshake as I looked over at Huntsman with a raised eyebrow. “Diddit?”
“Yeah, as in who did it,” he answered as if that was the obvious answer.
“And if he didn’t do it?” Dakota asked seriously.
“He did.”
I had the feeling there was a story behind that, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what the story was, and I was pretty sure Huntsman had no intention of telling it, already moving on to the next part of the clubhouse.
“Hunts!” a stocky looking guy called, stepping out from one of the many office looking rooms that lined the right side of the room. “I gotta chat with you about some shit.” It looked like he’d taken one too many steroids and had to turn to get through the doorway.
Huntsman just nodded at the man before turning back to Dakota and me. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Go sit at the bar and help yourself.”
I chewed my lip but just nodded and did as I was told while he stomped off like a man on a mission. I wondered if this was what it was going to be like the whole time I was here, or whether there would be a point where I would actually see his hard shell open a fucking little bit to let me in.
Huntsman was good at locking down his emotions, that I knew for damn sure, but I wasn’t here to just be an accessory or an obligation. He either wanted to make an effort, or I would go back to my life without him. And you know what, at this stage, I’d be okay because he had yet to show me anything that made me want to stay other than the fact his sperm was needed to create me.
Thanks, Dad.
Great job.
“You okay?” Dakota asked, looking at me worriedly.
I swallowed past the agitated and disappointed lump in my throat and forced a smile—one I knew she would see right through. “I’m just gonna sit and have a drink.”
She nodded in agreement. “Give me one moment to find a bathroom, and I’ll come back and hook you up with the world’s best margarita.”
“Sounds fucking amazing.”
She skipped off to God knows where. But that was Dakota, unafraid of anything. Even a biker clubhouse where she knew no one but me in reality, but she was about to go and open any door she felt like opening in order to find a bathroom and not give a shit who she pissed off in the process.
I took a seat on one of the barstools, running my hands over the rough surface which resembled a type of concrete with a sheen over the top to make it smooth.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
I instantly cringed and didn’t want to look at him as he took a seat next to me. Wrong foot my ass. He’d come at me like he was going to throw a punch. I knew this club was a little different, a little deeper into the shadows than the boys back home, but one thing I could guarantee you—not one of them would ever hit a woman unless she was threatening to hurt the people they cared about.
Tapping my nails on the stone bartop, I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was looking straight ahead, his body slumped as though he was feeling defeated. He looked older, more weathered and broken down than he did a few weeks ago when I’d pointed my gun at his chest. I sat a little straighter and took a deep breath. This was someone who was important to Huntsman—my dad—and even if I didn’t like him, I had to respect he’d been there for Huntsman for a long time, supporting him, protecting him.
“I think the wrong foot is kind of an understatement,” I murmured after a minute of silence, turning my body slightly toward him.
He nodded, doing the same, opening himself to me, so we could at least have some kind of a conversation, at least until someone came to my rescue. “Huntsman and I have known each other for a long time,” Brew explained. “We met at high school, we were kinda shitheads. By kinda, I mean Hunt’s mom spent a lot of time coming to the principal’s office to rescue us.”
“Just his mom?” I questioned instantly, and a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re a smart kid,” he acknowledged before continuing, “Yeah, I was in foster care from the day I was born. Shifted from one house to another as I got older. No one really around to give a damn. Was lucky to find Hunt and his parents. They helped me out. Let me stay with them when my foster parents were drinking too much or forgot to buy food.”
The more Brew talked, the more I turned my body toward him, opening myself up and feeling his pain. He was probably close to fifty, but the way he spoke, the grit in his voice, it was like he could still feel that pain as if it was only yesterday.
“Hunt’s granddad was one of the founding fathers, one of the original Exiled Eight. Huntsman was always going to join, he was always going to become the president one day because that’s just how things work around here. It’s about leaving a legacy, a bloodline to be proud of,” Brew explained, his gestures animated, telling me it was something he was really proud of. “I joined the club straight out of high school, there wasn’t anything else for me. I had nowhere else to go, and they were accepting of a kid who had nothing to show for their education.”
“What about Huntsman?” I asked curiously. I knew there was more to his story. There was something about the way he spoke and acted that reminded me of Uncle Leo. “He joined the army, right?”
Brew’s eyes grew a little wider, and he grinned before dropping his head in a nod. “You’re good,” he praised. “He wanted to follow in his dad’s path. Did eight years. Five of those as a Navy SEAL.”
My mouth dropped open. Navy Seals were the elite of the elite. Part of me wondered whether I should go and find him, ask for more information, desperate to hear how this man fought for our country and did so in one of the most demanding and dangerous jobs in the entire world. But would he tell me?
Huntsman so far was more of an ‘order people around’ and ‘refuse to share my emotions’ type of guy, which made me wonder how he and my mom had gotten on so well when she was so ‘in your face’ and ‘need to know every detail’ control freak.
“You know, I see your mom in you,” Brew continued, his eyes roaming over me, assessing and pulling apart my appearance. “She was strong, feisty, and determined.”
“You remember her?”
He hummed as he nodded. “Yeah. She was special, that one. Her laughter and the way she was always so bubbly and a little flamboyant.”
“Wait,” I interrupted, holding up my hand. “I thought my mom and Huntsman had a fling? She said it was like three days. It sounds like you knew her for a while.”
His brow seemed to pull together at my question. I could see the question going through his mind, and I watched as he asked himself whether he’d said something wrong. He was pulling back, but I just wanted more information. I wanted to know more about this strange woman who claimed to be my mother. Because the person he was speaking of—bubbly, flamboyant—it was hard for me to envision after spending so long with a woman who was not either of those things.
He was shutting down. There was something I was missing in this story. Something everyone seemed to be holding back from me.
So before the door could shut completely, I tried a different approach. “Why were you so intense with me the first time we met?”
His body quickly became alert again, and his eyes focused back in on me. “Because whether your mom knows it or not, what she did was the catalyst for a war that hasn’t ended since. And unfortunately, the other side has a tendency to really try and hit Huntsman where it hurts.” His eyes glazed over like he could see the enemy ahead of him, and he was contemplating how he would destroy them. “Huntsman is my best friend, and I’ll protect him whichever way I have to, even if that means taking down teenage girls playing games too old for them.”
Gone was the calm and talkative Brew, the one who had actually helped me feel a little more at peace about who Huntsman really was. He was replaced with the man who would do anything to defend the club and his best friend. The man who I know for a fact would have taken me out within a second if I hadn’t been able to prove my story. No matter that I was only young. No matter that I was a girl. None of that mattered when the person who had had your back for over forty years could be in trouble.
“That’s enough, Brewer,” Huntsman’s voice growled, echoing in the vast space. I looked over to see him standing in the doorway of the office he’d entered moments ago, watching me. Maybe gauging my reaction to the situation I was in.