“You’re good,” Snake says to her as she sidles past him. His hard eyes are on me.
“Get in the shower.” Moving to the sink, he leans against it, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Heart thudding hard in my chest, I do as he bids. Questions ravage my brain to the point where my fingers are trembling when I step into the shower area to turn on the spigot.
“Shower cap, there’s no time for your hair to dry.” He calls over to me, prompting me to step back from the spray and grab a cap that’s already there waiting for me to put on.
Tucking my locs into the oversized, satin-lined material, I instantly recognize as Summer Love’s needlework — not to mention she’s stitched her initials into the custom design.
The spray is hotter, and the pressure is far greater than the shower in my little room.
“Umm,” I moan at the intensity. Seeing him shift, I know he heard me. Deliberately, I turn away from him, taking my net sponge. Taking the soap that smells of vanilla-rose and is obviously meant for me. Working up a lather, I get the net sponge frothy and begin to wash my body.
I don’t know what he has in store for me. I feel like a lamb being dressed for the slaughter. My instincts tell me this is el Diablo related. MC business never goes untended for long. He won’t let anyone claim me. That much I know for sure. Aside from that, I don’t know what to expect.
Snake kept me from most of the darker sides of the club as I grew up, and until the night Easy stumbled in, I’d only heard about claiming, never witnessed one.
By the time I wash my face and step out, he’s pulled away from the counter, muscles taunt, his jaw working like he’s grinding glass.
His eyes smolder with desire and hatred.
“You’re going to get enough playing games, ti touman mwen.” His eyes follow me as I walk over to the side opposite him, where the moisturizers are.
“Then don’t tangle with a big dog.” I shrug, not letting him know I was so worried about what was about to happen to me that I wasn’t even conscious of trying to tease him. However, his letting me know I can draw out that type of response lets me know I still have a semblance of power.
“The clothes are on the bed. I’ll be downstairs. Don’t do anything stupid.” He warns, leaving me to finish getting ready on my own.
Going over to the bed, I look down at the clothes. Jeans, a long-sleeved black Henley, long tube socks and some shit-kickers sitting on the floor by the bed. All the clothes are new. I see a bra but no panties. That’s fine. I don’t wear them, anyway.
First, on go the socks, then the rest quickly follow. He got the clothes a couple of sizes smaller than what I used to wear before I left for South Africa.
I dress and have my hair pulled back in a low ponytail. I plaited it for good measure, knowing from the clothing he put out that we are riding.
My assumption is proven true when he rises from where he’s sitting on one of the suede sofas in the living area. There are two helmets on the table. His and my old ones. For a minute I wonder where my chopper is. Knowing without asking that I’m riding with him. He wouldn’t trust me to ride my own bike.
After swirling bourbon in a glass, he tosses it back, grabbing the helmets. “Let’s go.” He hands mine to me, brushing past me.
I follow stomping down the questions threatening to spill forth.
He slithers onto the seat, and I wonder if that’s how he got his moniker of Snake. He’s never told me how he came by that name. All I know is the moment we crossed over and joined the el Diablo, he was called “La Serpiente, your legend precedes you,” Angel acknowledged with a nod the moment he laid eyes on him. The entire MC roared with approval after thathe blinded seamlessly into the role of enforcer and then later el Presidente’s primo.
It’s the el Diablo’s primo I see when he pulls on his cut. “Here, I kept it oiled and treated when you left it behind.” He holds up the supple, well-worn leather jacket I loathed to leave behind when I got on the plane with Ezekiel-Jane that fateful day. His stare tracks my every movement, and I pull the jacket on. Zipping it up, I notice there are no cracks in the leather. He took care of it like he expected or hoped I’d come back any day. I push those feelings aside. That kind of thinking gives rise to hope buried far down in the deepest recesses of my heart. It does nothing to stop my body’s response when I wrap my arms around his waist when he starts the bike. He tugs me closer, making me lace my fingers around his narrow waist.
“Don’t fall off, ti dezód,” he says as he revs the engine. I feel the vibration all the way to my sugarcake.
The “Damn.” is muffled as I press my face into the leather of his cut.
He cocks his head in my direction but says nothing — just shifts the chopper into gear and we set off.
My heart sinks when we arrive at the el Diablo clubhouse just as the evening sun is setting on the east side of Shelby-Love.
Setting the kickstand down, Snake gets off his bike. My mouth dries out when he lifts me off, setting my feet on the ground. Holding onto him and the sensation the bike caused has my sugarcake one touch from a mind-blowing orgasm. It would take one stroke from this mean motherfucker to make my knees buckle.
From the look of the rows upon rows of bikes filling the parking lot, it seems like every member of el Diablo is present.
“Aight?” Looking down at me, his eyes search mine with concern.
“You tell me, La Serpiente. What’s going to happen once I enter the el Diablo stronghold?” I search his hard gaze.
