“I hate when women pretend not to know they’re gorgeous,” Ransom mutters, turning away.
“Hey!” Storm barks, turning to face him. “She’s not fucking pretending. Leave her be. Marie, it’s a little flash of leg. If anything, your tits make me want to motorboat them.”
His words manage to do what nothing else has, and I laugh. It’s loud and tinkly, a stark difference to the dark clouds above us.
“This is what happens when this is your only black dress,” I say, threading my arms into the sleeves of the jacket. “My belongings are still pretty slim.”
“Are you a retail therapy kind of girl?” Storm asks, dropping his head back to get closer to me.
If this bike wasn’t so heavy, he’d topple us over. Instead, I sit primly behind him as I shrug.
“Wait. What happened to your stuff?” Ransom asks, taking a half step back toward us.
“Bikers happened,” I reply, dropping the visor on my helmet in my own form of a mic drop.
“Cryptic. That’s perfect,” he grumbles, walking away. He’s a big guy, so it’s more of a swagger than a walk.
“Have I been mean to you recently, Kitty? Are you trying to get my ass kicked?” Storm asks.
“You haven’t been mean today,” I purr, enjoying the way Storm makes a face at me before sitting up.
The sounds of engines grow louder as people get ready to leave, and I wrap my arms tighter around Storm as he walks the bike into position. There’s an assortment of half helmets and face coverings around me. The hearse in this instance is behind all the bikes, and I realize there’s not a police escort. I suppose they may not want to be involved with this, even if it is a funeral procession.
Devon and Wilder are at the front, with everyone else following behind. As promised, it’s a short ride, and the warmth of Ransom’s body left behind inside of his jacket keeps me warm.There’s an odd feeling that says he’s important, and I wonder if Storm can feel it too.
I hope the universe can find a way to throw less surprises at me, because I’m about at my limit.
Even though the procession moves slowly through the busier roads, the wind still tears at my clothes. I’m frozen by the time we get to the cemetery, a victim of Minnesota’s tumultuous weather. Fall is raising her head up and reminding me that soon, the last of summer will be gone.
Wilder is waiting to help me up from the back of Storm’s bike, and he frowns as he sees my teeth chattering when I pull off my helmet.
“I’ll thaw out,” I tease him, despite feeling a bit miserable.
“Fix her dress for me, Prez?” Storm asks, turning off of the bike and taking my helmet.
Wilder squats down to untie my dress, making sure to shake the material out so it’ll drape appropriately. Standing, he frowns harder when he sees the unfamiliar jacket.
“I’d take it off, but I may turn into a popsicle,” I warn him.
“That’s not necessary, this is just…confusing,” he mutters.
He threads his fingers through mine before tugging me into walking beside him. Storm falls in line on the other side of me, and we walk up the hill to where the funeral plots wait for us.
The clubs stand together as we watch the caskets get lowered down, and as luck would have it, the sky decides to open up again. My previously curled hair begins to get plastered with rain, and the only thing I have going for me is my waterproof makeup.
Wilder pulls me tighter against his body, but I’m shivering pretty hard by the end of the funerals.
“We’d usually invite everyone back to the club house to get drunk, but that’s not going to happen today,” Storm says softly against the shell of my ear. I nod weakly, shuddering as a fullbody shiver hits me. “We’re going home. Everyone’s paid their respects, and Wilder has given our men their marching orders.”
“O…kkkay,” I chatter.
“Goddamnit, baby,” Storm grunts, pulling me away from Wilder to lift me into a bridal carry. “Next time, you can ride in the fucking cage.”
Burying my face in his neck for comfort and warmth, I don’t bother to tell him that it was kind of nice to ride with him. If it wasn’t raining, I’d have enjoyed the camaraderie of the procession more.
“Can I speak to the princess before you whisk her away?” Devon asks, striding up to us.
Gazing at him from underneath wet lashes as I lay my head on Storm’s shoulder, I purse my lips with disgust.
