“Everyone, say hi to Marie,” Storm yells, making me flinch as all the attention is placed on me.
It’s not my favorite place to be, but I raise myself to my full, though modest, height as I say hello. I don’t cower, refuse to hide next to Storm, and raise my head high. Introductions are made so quickly, it’s difficult to remember everyone, but I make an effort to try.
“Want to get drunk and talk?” Arsenal asks, grinning.
“I think I deserve the day off,” I agree, pulling my phone from the pocket in my dress to quickly text HR that I’m not coming in today. “Now I’m free as a bird.”
“Beer or something stronger? I have a good Irish whiskey in my bike compartment,” he offers.
“I’m Irish. I’ll never say no to whiskey,” I reply.
“Fuck yeah,” Burner says, watching as Arsenal leaves to grab the whiskey. “We were just talking about pot, Marie. Do you partake?”
My lips twitch, not sure his words are true.
“They drug test at work,” I say apologetically. “I can’t.”
“Booze is safer,” he says sagely, making me grin as I nod. “Come sit with us. We’re telling stories that would make Lore want to kick our asses.”
Storm’s warmth is behind me as his hand presses against the small of my back, and I take strength from that and the stun gun I put in my pocket. Anyone who says that pockets in a dress shouldn’t be functional, is a liar.
Walking to the large couch, I find a spot to sit.
“Let’s see how those steaks are coming,” Wilder says, heading toward the back door.
Storm takes a spot holding up the wall, his eyes on me as men make themselves comfortable around me.
“Storm, remember when you were just a prospect in Callous’ club?” a man with long black hair asks. His hair is up in a hair tie, and I have a feeling he’s getting ready to run if necessary from his seat. You know, in case he pisses Storm off. His name escapes me, and it pisses me off.
“Ah fuck,” Storm sighs. “I thought this was about Lore? Yes, I remember.”
“Lore’s father was Callous,” Burner murmurs, sipping his beer. “He was retired with a bullet between the eyes, and Lore took a portion of the men who didn’t want to stay tethered to a stationary location. Devon is still struggling to get his internal house settled with the old guard left in the club.”
Taking a breath as I attempt to get over how easily life and death are dealt with in the club. I hold all life to be important, even if the person doing the living is a demonic asshole. I incline my head in thanks to Burner, glad that someone is willing to give me a crash course in club history.
“Prospects are at the bottom of the club,” Storm adds. “They’re not patched in until it’s known they can hack club life.”
“You can’t get out of this life once you’re in,” Burner says. “Death is the only way out, though that’s not true of the women who are sweet butts or old ladies.”
“Do not explain what a sweet butt is,” Storm growls. “We don’t have any of those in our club due to being nomadic. I was running from my past, and figured a motorcycle club would be the perfect way to get lost.”
“For a lot of us, it is,” Arsenal says, coming back inside. “Would you like ice, Marie?”
“No, thank you. It just dilutes the whiskey,” I reply.
“Huh,” Burner says. “You don’t look like the kind of girl who likes when her alcohol bites back.”
“And you don’t know me,” I say, shrugging. I accept the drink as Arsenal gives me the glass, surprised he managed to find one.
It’s been a busy week, and while the guys have been trying their best to buy things for the house, it takes time to get essentials.
“Fair.” I glance at the man whose name I can’t remember, and he chuckles. “You’re trying to place names and faces, aren’t you?”
“I’m usually better at this, and I hate not being able to keep everything straight. There’s a doctor at the hospital who keeps getting my name wrong, and it irritates the hell out of me,” I admit.
“I get it. My road name is not something flattering. Just call me Nick,” he says. Storm’s cheeks heat, and I raise my eyebrowsat him as he chuckles under his breath. God, it has to be a sex thing. Gross. “Now, Storm was watching the gate, and he swears he saw a ghost that night.”
“A wraith! His eyes were white and glowing,” Storm interrupts. “Ugh, not this fucking story.”
