My throat goes tight, but I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
The breeze shifts, rustling the tall grass near the edge of the pond.
Onyx reaches for me and pulls me into his lap. Tucking my head under his chin, he murmurs, “We can take our time. There’s no rush. As long as we’re both still breathin’ we’ve got all the time in the world.”
We stay like that for what seems like a long time. When he whispers, “Are you ready to head back to the clubhouse?” I scramble out of his lap and walk back to his bike hand-in-hand.
Onyx swings his leg over the seat of his bike like he’s done it a thousand times. To be fair, he probably has. The motion is smooth, confident, and completely unbothered by the weight of the world he carries around on a regular basis. I watch the leather of his cut shift across his back as he settles in.
I pull the helmet on, adjust the strap under my chin, and step up beside the bike. It’s sleek and powerful and louder than anything I’ve ever ridden. But I don’t hesitate. I swing my leg over and settle onto the seat behind him. My knees brush the outside of his legs as I settle into place.
My arms go around his waist automatically, and the moment I lock them in place, my entire world tilts back into alignment. I’m starting to feel like I belong at his side.
The bike eases onto the road, and the wind picks up slowly, brushing over my clothes. I hold on tighter because I realize there is no place I’d rather be.
When the road opens up, he opens the throttle a little more, and I press in a little closer, resting against the strength of his back. As we crest a hill, the road curves towards familiar territory, and I know we’re almost home.
Seeing the clubhouse from this angle, it looks magnificent. The building rises out of the land, two stories of thick concrete with reinforced walls that look more military than motorcycle club. Or it would, if the stucco didn’t soften the general appearance. The California sun glints off the tinted windows, making the place look like a virtual fortress.
The gates are already swinging open as we approach, a prospect I don’t know waving us through. He’s armed, and my pulse increases at the reminder of how seriously they take securing their property. The guns and show of force should rattle me, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel protected and safe. We pass a few more prospects stationed along the wall, some watching, some nodding.
Inside the compound, we glide into the inner lot where only patched members park, and I realize I’m not an outsider anymore. Not with this cut on my back and his name stitched into the leather. I finally feel like nothing can touch me.
We park beside the other bikes. I pull off the helmet, still buzzed from the ride. When we head inside, I notice the clubhouse is quieter now. We bypass it all, moving towards the hallway that leads to the back offices. In the office, he unlocks the door and pushes it open, flipping on the lights. I drop my messenger bag near the desk I use and hang up my jacket beforepulling out the next set of files from the box I left half-finished yesterday.
As we work, Onyx tells me one fascinating story after another about his family’s colorful history. “Did Queenie ever tell you about the wedding brawl in Modesto?” he asks, casual as he drops down in his chair and fires up his computer.
I blink at him, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “You mean on your parents’ wedding day?”
“Yep. Some rival club crashed it trying to stir shit. My mom wore white with a switchblade hidden in her cleavage.” He grins, eyes distant with memory.
“Wait, weren’t your parents already married by the time she had her kids?”
He snorts a laugh. “Hell no, we were all half grown by the time they tied the knot. For the longest time my old man said he didn’t need a fuckin’ wedding band to remind him that he had an old lady.”
“Wow, I did not know any of that. What happened?”
“I was ten. I got sent under a table with a piece of cake and a pocketknife in case anyone made it that far. They didn’t.”
I laugh, more startled than anything, and he just shrugs. To him, his family’s antics are perfectly normal. He was born into the chaos of the Sons of Rage. And somehow, despite all of it, he turned out to be a decent man.
He glances over, mouth quirking. “Are you surprised by that story?”
“No,” I say, sliding a folder towards me. “Not even a little. It seems like par for the course around here.”
We settle in and begin plowing through work.
Chapter 13
Onyx
It’s been a couple of days since we talked to the PA. Me and Emily have found our groove. We run in the morning to get our blood circulating, grab a shower, and eat breakfast at the clubhouse before heading to the office. She works on organizing and archiving the club’s paperwork and managing our three club businesses. Then in the evening, we either cook in my suite, have dinner with my folks at the family table, or grab some food at the bar. I can’t wait to put this whole mess with Brennan behind us so we can go out more. There are a million things I like to do with Emily that I know she would love.
This evening, we’re having drinks in the bar. I just finished teaching Emily how to shoot pool. She’s a fast learner. Right now, she’s sitting beside me, sipping her drink like a lady. Her shoulders brush mine every so often when she leans close to make a point. It has been a long day, and my Emily deserves to have a relaxing evening.
Mica comes in through the side door. He catches sight of us and comes straight towards us. The expression on his face tells me he’s not joining us to socialize. He gestures to the bartender to bring him a drink and drops down in the chair directly across from us.
He looks at me, then at Emily, then back to me again. “They took that stupid fucker, Brennan, off house arrest.”
