“I’ll go,” I volunteered quickly. Way, way too quickly. “Wanna be part of making them pay for trying to kill me,” I added, hoping everyone accepted that as the explanation and didn’t dig any deeper. Because the fact of the matter was, I didn’t give a fuck about someone trying to kill me. People had been trying to kill me since I was eighteen years old. You get a little numb to that after a while.
Obviously, the real reason I wanted to go was because of Dylan. I could try to say it was to make sure she was safe. But that would be a lie. I was intrigued by her. I wanted to know more about her. I wanted more than that, if I were being completely honest.
It was just then that the door opened and in walked Detroit and Everleigh with that silly little smush-faced pile of fur Pekingese dog of theirs.
“Oh, hey!” Everleigh, ever a ray of sunshine, beamed at Dylan. “Oh, sweet baby!” she added, spotting Sugar.
“Ev, this is Dylan and Sugar. Dylan, this is Everleigh. And Sugar, that is Betty,” I introduced as Betty came running over toward Sugar, letting out playful little yips.
“She’s great with other dogs if Sugar is,” Everleigh explained. “And she’s used to big dogs. Sway and Murphy have two big German Shepherds.”
“You wanna play?” Dylan asked Sugar, who was doing happy little taps with her front feet. “Okay. Go ahead,” she cooed at the dog as she unclasped her leash.
The two dogs took off like a shot, running around, dropping down on their front legs, asses in the air, then tearing across the common area.
“I brought steak,” Detroit declared.
“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m getting sick of steak,” Raff grumbled.
“Yeah, well, you need the iron, so deal,” Detroit shot back.
“Let me guess. You’re also going to force spinach down my throat too.”
“It’s in the bag.”
“I guess that’s better than that chard,” Raff said.
“You staying for dinner?” Slash asked.
It took Dylan a moment to realize he was speaking to her.
“Oh, uh—”
“I can cook it however you need for it to be healthy for you,” Detroit offered.
“That’s… that’s not really necessary. I just need to know what’s in everything so I can dose my insulin,” Dylan said.
“Wanna watch over my shoulder?” Detroit invited, waving to the kitchen.
“Sure. Fair warning, I’m not a cook.”
“Good thing I just expect you to keep me company then,” Detroit said with a shrug.
Dylan moved to follow him.
And I suddenly decided I really fucking needed to learn how to cook.
CHAPTER TEN
Dylan
“I thought I made it clear that this is completely unnecessary,” I told him as he followed me out the door of the clubhouse many hours later.
It seemed that Everleigh put the word out that there was a new girl at the club. Then a bunch of the old ladies descended on the clubhouse to check me out.
Except they weren’t jealous or possessive like I’d expected. If anything, they were just curious and welcoming. And even thankful.
Apparently, all of the women had a soft spot for Colter. Even Sway’s woman, Murphy, who was a little on the standoffish side. Which, naturally, made me gravitate a little more toward her at first. And she was genuinely interesting, too, being a weapons designer. I didn’t even know that kind of thing existed. But it seemed like her designs were pretty highly sought after. The club made a fortune shipping them down to the sister clubs, who sold them directly or offloaded them to international arms dealers.
