“What?” I asked as I pulled off my helmet and shook out my hair, catching Colter staring at me.
“That’s hot as fuck,” he said, climbing off his bike like the comment meant nothing.
Meanwhile, my belly felt all wobbly.
“Don’t the women in your club ride?”
“Not by themselves, no.”
“Why not?”
“I never asked,” he admitted, hanging his helmet from the handlebar as Saint and Syn pulled up and cut their engines.
“Alright, you’re up, babe,” Saint said, double-checking that his phone volume was off before he tucked it away again.
Right.
I was the lead in this.
It should have felt natural.
But there was a sloshing in my stomach as I turned and started walking.
Maybe I didn’t feel it.
But I could fake it.
So I forced my shoulders back, kept my pace purposeful, and tried not to show any of the uncertainty I was feeling.
It was a solid half-hour walk, most of it off the beaten path, since the clubhouse was situated in a densely (for California) wooded area. It existed in a gully between several mountains.
“You sure about this?” Syn asked as the trees just seemed to close in tighter as we went.
I was sure.
I could walk this area in my sleep.
I practically knew all the trees and bushes.
“I’m sure.”
We walked past a large rock that used to serve as my place to sit and cry as a little girl—since doing so at the clubhouse itself would have me relentlessly picked on.
Eventually, I learned to suppress the tears.
But as I looked at the rock, my heart hurt for the younger version of me that learned that the only safe emotion was anger.
It was no wonder I defaulted to being a bitch whenever I was feeling weak or vulnerable.
“Right past those trees,” I whispered when everyone came to a stop at my side, “you’re going to see the clubhouse. It’s painted to kind of blend in. You should be able to get some cameras up while still behind the trees.”
“Front or back?” Saint asked.
“Front. There are thicker trees behind the clubhouse that, if you’re careful, you can walk behind to hang more or get to the other side to put up more. The far side is where the garage and driveway are.”
“Got it,” Saint said, tapping his brother.
The two of them crept forward ahead of us.
