CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Brick
After the meal,the women gather in the kitchen to clean up and church starts. Eagle takes his place at the head of the table and I sit to his left, wrestling with my conscience on what to do with Starlet.
At dinner, she proved her skills as a president’s old lady. I didn’t know what to do with myself, because she fit in so naturally here. The women liked her immediately, and most of the brothers warmed up to her right away, too. For a brief moment, I could picture her as my old lady and liked it. Good thing I cleared my head—there’s no room in my life for her—not beyond my bedroom.
Eagle calls us to attention and the room quiets down. “The first thing I want to say is Starlet deserves a chance to explain her situation before we take a vote. If any of you have already made up your minds, I can only ask that you try your best to remain neutral. The fact that she cooperated with Brick and showed up here without any resistance demonstrates respect for our patch.”
There’s a murmur of agreeance and I settle back in my chair.
“Invite Starlet inside,” Eagle directs.
Johnny-Be-Bad, our newest member, jumps up and opens the double doors. “Starlet.”
I hold my breath until she steps inside. Everything about the woman entices me, tempts me to break all of my own rules and maybe a couple bylaws. The first thing I’d do… take her to the best ink artist in town and cover up her dead husband’s name and that fucking DC royalty tat. The rest of her ink—beautiful.
Women aren’t permitted at the table, so she sits on a stool along the wall, patiently waiting. Our gazes meet, and I want nothing more than to go stand next to her and show her I’m not the enemy. But she needs to do this on her own, prove that she has a valid reason for leaving the Devil’s Crusaders. I’d only hurt her case, knowing how some of the brothers feel about my involvement with her. The idea that things were going to be easier in the south is the biggest load of bullshit I could have ever believed.
“You understand why I invited you here, Starlet?” Eagle asks.
“I do.”
“I need you to be completely honest with us. The last thing we want is a war, especially with an MC we have no relationship with.”
“I don’t want a war either,” she says. “But I want my freedom, from the Devil’s Crusadersandyou.”
I don’t like where she’s going with this or that tight, judgmental tone.
“My father, Daniel Worthington, aka Heartless, cofounded the Devil’s Crusaders after he separated from the Army. He was thirty years old, addicted to drugs, and probably suffering from PTSD. The original charter was established in Huntsville, where I lived until a few weeks ago.”
“I’ve heard of your father,” Eagle offers.
“Yeah,” Starlet says, swiping at a tear. “A lot of people have.”
“Why’d you leave, sweetheart?” Shorty asks.
“How many reasons do you want? The life isn’t for me. Do you know what it feels like being forced to marry someone eighteen years older than you? To swallow your pain and rage every time he fucks you? I was sixteen when my father chose Sammy as my husband. I didn’t know better—I just wanted to keep the peace. My father wasn’t the kind of man you wanted to piss off.”
“Sixteen? Jesus Christ,” Tango says with disgust. “My daughter, Mary Jane, is only sixteen.”
“I did what I was expected to do.” She looks at me, her eyes wide. “At first, Sammy ignored me. I cooked, cleaned, and didn’t talk much. But after the first year, once I started realizing I wasn’t happy, and asked for a chance to really get to know him, that’s when he changed.”
“How?” Tango asks.
“The humiliation tactics. Talking down to me in front of the brothers and their old ladies. Making me eat in the corner on the floor or tearing my clothes off and making me cook for the club in my underwear. If I covered my breasts, he’d tie my hands behind my back and make me stand in the middle of the clubhouse for hours. If I tried to hide in the kitchen, he’d drag me into the dining room by the hair. I called him sir in front of everyone, even my father. It seemed the older he got, the more violent he grew.”
“Tell us about your wedding night, Starlet,” I say.
Her shoulders droop a little and she takes a deep breath. “Does it matter?”
“Does to me,” Eagle answers.
“I-I don’t like to talk about it. Use your imagination—a sixteen-year-old-virgin and a drunk biker.”
“Got something against us, sweetie?” Axe asks.
I’d like to punch the smirk off his fucking face.
