“Property patch?”
“Come with me. We need to chat.”
She whispered something to Jake, and then grabbed my hand and led me through the crowd, picking up a few other ladies along the way. By the time we made it to Link’s office, there were four of them, all of which appeared to be between their early forties and late fifties wearing leather vests like the men. Margo made introductions and then got right down to business, turning around so I could see the back of her vest.
“This is a property patch.”
Patches in the middle of her back marked her as property of Jake. So many questions bubbled in my mind, but I blurted out the first one I could form. “Property of Jake? Isn’t that a tad bit demeaning?”
Every single woman in the room said some variation of the word no.
“Not at all.” Margo gave me another smile. “We’re not like the rest of the world here. We follow our own rules and our society has a different way of looking at things. This here’s more like a ring to the bikers than a physical band of gold. When a man gives you his property patch, he’s making it clear that you’re his woman and he’s your man. You’re expected to be faithful, but so is he.”
“Besides,” a woman named Amy added. “The patch gives you a measure of respect. I remember when I got mine, I was amazed at the way the guys all changed around me. They treat me like a sister now, and whatever I need, I can ask. If it’s in their power, they’ll do it. They were there when our kids were born, when Tank had surgery on his shoulder and I needed someone to mow the lawn and help around the house, and anytime we’ve needed anything.”
“It’s like a big dysfunctional family,” Molly agreed. “Being an old lady makes you part of the family.”
“An old lady?” I asked.
“I know it sounds derogatory, but it’s not,” Amy said.
“Trust us when we tell you there is nothing but respect behind the patch, and the title,” Margo added. “But stick around long enough, and you’ll see that for yourself. I’m just happy to see Link finally interested in someone. Emily, if you have any other questions, now would be the time to ask.”
“But do it quickly,” a woman named Sunny said, glancing at the clock. “We gotta get out there and feed them soon or they’ll be gnawing on the furniture.”
I had plenty of questions, but none that I was comfortable enough to voice, so I followed the women out of the office and helped them in the kitchen. They each shared the story of how they met their “old man,” and their first impression of the Dead Presidents as a whole. The stories had us all laughing while we worked, and anytime one of the men poked his head in to check on us we’d quiet down like a bunch of gossiping school girls.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged in a group. Never in a million years would I have expected that sense of belonging to come from a motorcycle club.
We served dinner, drank entirely too much, and the party raged on until well after midnight. Most of the older crew left, taking their sweet old ladies with them. Eventually, Link stood, pulling me up beside him.
“’Bout time we head upstairs too,” he said, nibbling at my neck.
The remaining bikers hooted and hollered, like they had every time a man left with a woman. My cheeks heated, but when Link wrapped his arm around my waist and hefted me up over his shoulder, I actually enjoyed it. That feeling of belonging only intensified, shocking the heck out of me. He turned in a circle, swatting my ass to get a few more cheers from his men before heading up the stairs.
That night, there was more than sex between us. Something had changed, and I felt it in the loving way his hands caressed my body and his tongue danced with mine. We made love for the first time ever. It was sweet, sensual, and beautiful, and by the time I fell asleep, I knew this thing between me and Link was about way more than the case.
Soon, Havoc’s trial would be over, but I had every intention of staying in my sexy biker’s life.
* * *
My phone pealed at six twenty-three a.m., interrupting my Saturday morning sleep-in. Still buzzed from last night’s party, I fumbled with the covers, finally throwing them off so I could reach my phone on the other side of the nightstand. I didn’t recognize the phone number, but answered anyway.
“Hello?”
Link stirred beside me.
“Emily,” Grandma said, her voice sounding strange. “I’m sorry to call so early, dear.”
I knuckled my eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall, confirming what my phone said. Yep. Too damn early for a Saturday morning phone call. My grandmother was far too considerate to call so early, so I knew something must be up.
“That’s all right Grandma. Is something wrong?”
“Remember when you were in middle school and you saw your friend… what was her name? Oh shoot, I can’t remember. But you saw her stealing from a teacher and you asked me what you should do? Remember?”
“Yes.” A shiver went up my spine and I pulled the blankets over me. “Why?”
“Remember what I told you?”
