Page 9 of Playboy’s Purgatory

When my daughter’s eyes meet mine, I can see her trust in me there. She knows I’ll protect her. That I’ll stand in front of her.

Lola shouldn’t even be here. But she is.

Why am I even surprised at this point?

“Hi, Rumble,” Opal greets a man as he approaches us.

He’s older, the generation who seems to enjoy riding more than leading now that their kids are in their seats. His road name is displayed on his cut, and I smile at him since his eyes are filled with curiosity as he looks at me. It’s a damn good thing because he’s a big guy with broad shoulders and obvious signs he’s kept up with a workout routine.

“Have you met Lara Chapman before?” Opal offers, “She’s the owner of Bunz Out. If you saw Vanessa around, this is her mom.”

“Miss Lara,” the man’s voice matches his road name and the smile on my face grows without me realizing it, “it’s nice to finally meet you. I should have come into your bakery sooner, seeing as I’m willing to sniff out just about every crumb whenever the ladies bring your treats back to the clubhouse.”

“Thank you.” I hope he can hear the sincerity in my voice. I lean toward him slightly and lower my voice, “There might be some cookies in the kitchen. I only hope I brought enough.”

The man’s face, a little weathered around the edges, but strong and sure, lights up. “I’ll go investigate that little tidbit in a moment.”

“Oh?” I start to smirk as I look into his eyes again. Something clicks and I know where I’ve seen those eyes before. My stomach sinks. He’s looking at me almost expectantly and I find myself asking, “Was there something on your mind?”

“Well,” he rubs his jaw and I swear the tips of his ears go red, “I was wondering about your thoughts and feelings about sourdough? I stumbled upon some sourdough influencers,” I barely keep my face neutral and he’s not fairing much better, “and it’s become a hobby of mine.”

I blink a few times and Opal snickers before slipping away somewhere. For a moment, I’m too surprised to even form one coherent thought.

“It’s not my favorite bread, taste wise,” I admit and the smile on his face dims slightly. “But,” I quickly add, “I do love to make it. It’s very intensive and you can mix things in, and I like scoring them a lot.”

“You make them and don’t eat them?” He asks, his voice slightly dazed and disbelieving.

“I make a lot of things and don’t eat them,” I tease.

Rumble barks out a laugh and the smile on my face brightens without feeling forced since the moment I walked into the clubhouse. That’s when I feel eyes boring into me.

I look out of the corner of my eye to find Playboy looking between the man who must be his father and me. Lola is saying something, her voice low and her face twisted into something sour and resentful.

Playboy’s eyes flash with something I can’t name.

All I know is that whatever is about to happen isn’t going to be good.

CHAPTER 2

PLAYBOY

I push down my annoyance when I see Lola walking toward me with a sway to her hips. She shouldn’t be here and she knows it. There’s a glint in her eyes, almost a challenge, as if she’s waiting to see if I’ll call her out on breaking the rules or end up letting her stay.

At least she’s wearing clothes with a little bit of coverage today, which isn’t the norm for her or any of the club whores. It’s the only reason I don’t throw her out immediately.

Since today’s BBQ is a family day, the club whores aren’t supposed to be out and about before night fall. We might not have a lot of kids around the club, but that’s always been the rule. It didn’t hide everything from the club kids.

Kids like me.

I knew early on about the club whores and how the hierarchy is structured. I watched as the moods and actions of people shifted the leadership and the ground where people stood, both for the brothers and all the women who find a home here. That’s when I decided I wouldn’t write anyone off once they entered our gates seeking some kind of place in this world.

When Lola wraps an arm around my waist and leans into me, I don’t push her away. I should. I’m aware she wants me and is determined to get me into her bed.

It’s a line I’ve never crossed with her, even if my road name might lead one to believe I’m not very discerning when it comes to spending time with women. Normally, that would be true.

But Lola reminds me of someone, someone I never knew well enough to really remember. After hearing so many stories about my mother, a woman who wanted desperately to rise above her place as a club whore, it’s the impression of her which stays with me. Her place in the club wasn’t the only demon that haunted her.

She had her problems, but she was still my mom. Seeing as how I never got the chance to know her in any way that mattered before she left and, ultimately, ended up overdosing, I never had the chance to hear her side of the story. Maybe that makes me soft when it comes to women like Lola.