“Do you know anyone who might want to patch in?”
“Hopefully, some of the younger guys,” she replies, and I nod in agreement.
“We could definitely use some more eye candy around here,” I sigh.
“Oh, is sweet little Axel not doing it for you anymore?” she asks.
“I don’t watch Axel,” I lie.
“You were literally staring at his ass in those jeans when I came to sit down.”
“No, I just wanted to know what he and my brother were talking about,” I deflect.
“You and I both know they’re talking about you not being an option and for him to keep his grease-riddled hands to himself.”
I rest my elbows on the table and press my fists against my cheeks. “I don’t want him to keep his hands to himself.”
“Well, find a way to get him alone. He seems like he’d be willing to break club law for you,” she says, laughing, and I shove her arm.
But, truly, I’d do just about anything he said if he was willing to break the rules for me. To have a man willing to do anything to be with me would be the romantic gesture I’ve been craving. I want someone to be desperately all in when it comes to me, and I want them to be in this club.
“You’re bad. Who are you hanging around with these days?” I ask her.
She’s on a bit of a rotation. She’s also painted a lovely image of quite a few club members’ penises with all her escapades in the club. It’s information I’ve stored for a later date. Axel’s is, fortunately, not one of the said penises she has described in detail to me.
“Ambien,” she winces.
I smack her arm with my elbow. “Well, I definitely don’t want those details. You can absolutely keep that to yourself.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “I think…”
“What?” I ask, her pretty blonde hair falling to the side as she tucks it behind her ear.
“I think I want more with him,” she admits.
“You want to be my brother’s ol’ lady?” I ask
“Yeah, I think I do.”
“Well, if you want my blessing, you have it. I don’t know if he’s ready for a commitment though,” I warn, knowing how much my brother likes to play the field.
“It’s worth a shot, though, right?” she asks, and I’m about to answer when a cacophony of engines purring loudly distracts me. I watch as the possible new members of the MC arrive.
“Yeah, Shelby, it’s worth a shot,” I breathe out as I watch the line of motorcycles park in front of the clubhouse and the riders dismount. Most of them don’t even bother with helmets. So I recognize them immediately.
Sure enough, my favorite nomad is lighting a cigarette as he walks this way. It’s been years and maybe it’s the Omega designation I now hold, but damn, my stepbrother is looking good.
I don’t wanna fuckin’be here.
The Dead Palms Tallahassee Chapter was the last place I thought I’d find myself—again. I turn off my bike, running my hands through my windswept hair before lighting a cigarette. The cold burn of the nicotine makes its way down my throat as I scan the place where I grew up.
Things haven’t changed much. Sure, a few things have been updated, but the layout is still the same. I’ve parked my bike in front of the clubhouse along the rows of other members, who are riding in for the party. Well, they’re riding in for a fuckin’ hell of a lot more than that. But today is supposed to be a celebration before we get down to real business.
The other chapters have all fucked up in one way or another, and they’re all migrating here for salvation. I guess I’m a part of it as well. I’ve been a nomad for nearly eight years now, traveling between each chapter. I spent the most time in Miami, for obvious reasons.
But Tallahassee? I haven’t been here in at least four years, and there’s a reason for that. I stay seated on my baby, pulling another cigarette from my pocket as I contemplate my next move. Maybe I should cut my losses, burn off or cover my tattoos, toss my cut in a bonfire, and start all over.
I inhale the smoke deeply and sigh. As much as I don’t want to fuckin’ be here, there’s no other club for me. I was made to be in this club. Fuck, I was born to lead this club one day.
