“Wait, this isn’t my room?”
“Shit, no. You and Lyric share quarters on the other side of the clubhouse.”
I take another look around, grateful to learn this isn’tmyspace. It was making me think I’m the most boring person on the planet with its lack of personality.
“Can you take me there?” I ask her.
“I… Well, yeah, but I’ll have to get Lyric’s okay on that.”
“No, you don’t,” I blurt, the words and harsh tone feeling natural. “He’s busy with club business.”
How the hell do I know that?
Zombie mentioned church, and it’s now beginning to sink in that I didn’t question him about it because I knew not to.
Peach stiffens but quickly forces herself to relax as she nods. “Right. Fine. Follow me.”
She drops the bag to the floor, leaving me to pick it up as I trudge after her. We walk down the hall and through what Zombie called the common room, only to enter another hallway. The ceilings are unusually high, but I suppose that makes sense considering what the building used to be.
“Here,” Peach says when we come to a stop at a door.
Wanting to get away from her as soon as possible, I reach for the knob, but it doesn’t turn. “It’s locked,” I say unnecessarily.
She smirks. “Of course, it is,” she confirms, pointing to a scanner on the wall. “Biometric locks. Just press your palm to that, and it’ll open.”
I do as she says, and the click of a lock disengaging has me trying the knob again. Pushing the door open, I freeze.
Flashes scroll through my mind like a movie reel: Lyric and me dancing around the room, us lying in bed and listening to music, him playing a guitar while I watch from the couch. On and on, different scenes play out, and I don’t know whether they’re actual memories or my brain filling in gaps with what it feels should be there.
“Well, go on,” Peach cajoles when I make no move to enter the quarters.
I step inside and grip the bag tighter. Familiarity wraps around me, and the need to analyze the feeling is intense.
“I’m good,” I say, not looking at Peach. “You can go now.”
She huffs out a breath behind me. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my room.”
I glance over my shoulder in time to see her spin around and disappear from view. Even if I wanted to go to her for something, I couldn’t because I have no clue where her room is.
“Bitch,” I mutter, pushing the door closed.
Unlike the room Zombie took me to, this space is homier. The walls are black, but framed photos hang everywhere, and I walk around to look at them. Some are of me and Lyric, while others contain candid pictures of Lyric and with whom I assume are club brothers because they’re all wearing cuts.
When I reach a picture of Lyric, me, and an older man, recognition slams into me like a freight train.
Hank.
The three of us are seated on a log by a bonfire, the flames illuminating our faces. Lyric’s arm is draped around my shoulders, and I’m resting my head on him. Hank is on my other side, his hand up as if he were trying to block the photo. The smiles on our faces tell me we were laughing about something. I try to remember that night, but another time pops into my head instead.
“Please tell me you’re almost done.”
I grin at Lyric, who’s leaning against the headboard while I go through pictures that I want to hang on the walls. It’s been a week since I moved into the clubhouse with him, and he gave me the green light to put my own special touches on the space we now share.
“It would go a lot faster if you got off your ass and helped,” I tease.
“C’mon, Mellie,” he whines, but there’s laughter in his tone. “I have to ride out in the morning, and all I wanna do is bury myself in your perfect pussy.”
“And you will. But first, I want to finish this.”
