“Oh yeah, of course,” Carly said. “Go get yourself a plate, and I’ll introduce you later.”
Grateful for the reprieve, I scurried off.
8
Hound
WHEN IT WAS time for the club to head out on their ride to BC, everyone gathered in the common room. Weaving my way through the cluster of bikers and their women, I found Wasp wearing his signature amused smirk as he watched his wife and son. Carly was talking to Tap’s mom, a kind black lady who was one hell of a good cook and had been gracing the club with occasional meals. Trent flew a dragon between the legs of surrounding bikers with Tap’s daughter, Hailey, hot on his heels, some kind of sparkly unicorn in her hand.
“I can’t thank you enough for watching Trent,” Carly said, handing a backpack to Tap’s mom. “His clothes, toys, and snacks are in here. I think I remembered everything, but there’s $40 in the inside pocket in case you need to buy something I forgot.”
“Trent will be fine,” the older woman said, taking the bag with a reassuring smile. “He and Hailey play well together, and Tap turned our living room into a giant blanket fort for them. Those two are gonna be livin’ their best lives and won’t even care what is—or isn’t—in that bag. Don’t you worry about him.”
Wasp seemed to realize I was standing there. His smirk fell as he looked me over, no doubt checking for signs I was using again. “You good?” he asked.
As my club sponsor, Wasp had every right to be concerned. I’d met him while we were in the Navy, and as people, we couldn’t have been more different. I took my career seriously and had every intention of being a lifer, and it was obvious as hell that clown was just passing through. Regardless, he was one hell of a good guy, and we became friends one night over a bottle of Captain Morgan and a game of darts. He’d kept in touch after separating from the service, even mentioning the biker club for veterans he’d joined. I had no plans to leave the service and didn’t even consider his invitation at the time. But then life kicked me in the spine, and I found myself living on the streets in Vegas with nowhere to go. I couldn’t remember much about the club Wasp had mentioned, other than it was located in Seattle. With no way to reach him and not a goddamn thing to lose, I scraped together the bus fare and took my sorry ass north.
By the time I crawled onto the club’s doorstep, I was fucked up seven ways to Sunday. Morphine was practically seeping out of my pores and I couldn’t remember who I was or what I was doing. All I knew, was that I had to find Wasp. Some little seed of hope inside me refused to die until I did. Wasp should have taken one look at me and told me to get lost, but instead, he’d carted me off to a rehab facility. Already going above and beyond anyone’s expectations, he had every right to leave me in there and write me off, but he was still the good man I remembered. He kept coming around, encouraging me to stay clean so I could join the club.
Despite my fucked-up state, the Dead Presidents still wanted me.
“No man left behind,” Wasp told me when I asked him why they gave a damn. “These guys are out of the service, but they’re still goddamn lifers.” Shaking his head, he let out a chuckle. “They remind me of someone I once knew.”
I understood he meant me, but I was so far removed from the man I once was, I couldn’t agree.
“Your noble ass will fit right in,” he promised.
Noble. Right. Considering how far I’d fallen, the adjective was almost laughable. I didn’t understand why they valued me, but I sure as hell appreciated their mercy. As my sponsor, Wasp had put himself on the hook for my sobriety. No one had ever stuck their neck out for me like that, and I was determined not to let him down.
The same eyes that stared confidently at me as I emerged from rehab, now watched me to make sure I was still holding up my end of the bargain.
“I’m good,” I assured him. “Better than good, in fact. Morse hooked me up with a job.”
Wasp nodded. “I heard. Congratulations, brother. It sucks that you’re a geek and all, but at least that brain of yours is employable somewhere.” He cocked a smile to let me know he was screwing with me.
I laughed. “Not all of us can be crazy-ass grease monkeys.”
Wasp ran the motorcycle division of the club’s auto repair shop. Knowing I’d needed a job, he’d wracked his brain for something I could do at the shop, but they already had a damn good receptionist and that was the only job I was remotely qualified for. Even if I’d known everything there was to know about engines, my body was in no shape to be bent over working on them for hours on end. I hated being so damn limited in what I could do, but my frustration didn’t increase my capabilities.
“At least now I can help Morse keep your website and system from getting hacked.”
“Just be sure to step out from behind that computer and go for a soul-cleansing ride every once in a while. You don’t want to end up without a fuckin’ sense of humor like this asshole right here.”
Morse was walking by and Wasp clapped him on the shoulder, making it clear which ‘asshole’ he meant.
“Can you believe this dickhead?” Morse asked me, pointing toward Wasp. “Good thing your wife and kid are here, pretty boy, or I’d take you out back and teach you some manners.”
Morse wasn’t a small man, but there was no way in hell he could take Wasp. Doubling over at the ridiculous threat, Wasp laughed himself silly, proving himself wrong. Morse had a great sense of humor, he was just usually too busy to show it.
“Let’s ride,” Link shouted, his booming voice cutting through the chatter.
Conversations tapered off as everyone headed outside to the parking lot. One of the old guard—a brother by the name of Tank—said a quick prayer for road safety before about two dozen bikers mounted up. A handful of women climbed on the backs of bikes, but most of the brothers rode alone.
The Harleys roared to life. Our road captain, Frog, took over command. He signaled, and the first pair of bikes peeled off from the group and headed out of the lot. Pair after pair of bikers followed, forming straight, evenly spaced lines, looking and sounding impressive as hell. Between their military precision and their badass appearance, they were fucking awe-inspiring. More than anything, I wanted to join them, and it made me feel like shit that I couldn’t.
“That’s something else,” Mila said, joining me as I watched the last of the bikes file out.
Like before, her presence put my entire body on alert. Turning to study her profile as she kept her gaze on the road, I got the chance to really take her in. Wearing a fitted pink blouse that hung barely beneath her ass and dark grey leggings tucked into black boots she looked comfortable, but still sexy as hell. Her shiny brown hair was up in a messy bun with a few loose curls framing her face. God, she was gorgeous. I thought about tucking one tendril behind her ear just for an excuse touch her, but stopped myself. This girl was way out of my league, and I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. I’d been so captivated by the bikes I hadn’t even seen her approach, but now I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
