Page 97 of Healed

“This place is pretty huge. Are you sure you’re up for it?” I asked, looking him up and down.

Vienna was a warrior, that had always been the case. But I was also painfully aware that he had been at death’s door only a few nights ago, and he hadn’t exactly taken it easy since then.

The bruises on his face were fading to yellow rather than the angry blues and blacks they had been, but they were still very prominent.

“I’m a big boy,” he winked at me. “I’ll survive.”

Get a fucking grip of yourself, Gabriella! I immediately hissed at myself, barely able to stop my eyes from drifting down his body and remembering all the ways he was big—very big in fact.

What did I tell you, hormones?

“Come on,” he chuckled, as though he knew my every thought. He held the door open for me, placing his hand on the small of my back as he guided me out.

“You know the clubhouse, and the bike shed is where it’s always been—though it’s not really used much. We tend to park up outside for easier access. There are a couple of bikes in there, and you’re welcome to take your pick of whatever takes your fancy.”

“I can’t just take someone else’s bike, Vienna.”

“Sure you can,” he shrugged. “They were purchased with club funds, and they don’t have a set owner. It’s a crime for them to be sitting in there gathering dust when they deserve to be on the road.”

“But… won’t Dante mind?”

“I’m the vice president?” he replied with a frown, as though that explained everything.

It didn’t.

My dad would have disembowelled any old lady who assumed she could ride a bike solo. He would also have punished his vice for thinking he could give things away. It didn’t matter that his vice was his own son. You didn’t just let old ladies have a say, a voice, or a bike.

And Nico?

I shuddered.

I didn’t even want to think about what Nico would have done.

We continued walking down the cobbled path and through the wall that surrounded the clubhouse. On the outside, directly next to the wall, was the garage, and in front of that, on the other side of the road, was a small seating area with a fountain in the middle and benches circling it.

“Rachel once filled that with washing-up liquid. Ten bottles of the stuff,” Vienna told me, pointing at the fountain.

“What? Why?” I laughed.

“Someone had complained about the state of the kitchen—”

“Please tell me it wasn’t Dante.”

“Nah,” Vienna shrugged.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “Maybe.”

“So what happened next?”

“Rachel took offence, and, of course, had to take it too far. She filled the fountain with washing-up liquid, went around every house in the compound, collecting all the cups and dishes she could find and threw them in. She then spent the next three days cleaning them as slowly as she could. Whenever someone tried to get their stuff back, she practically bit them.”

“Did you learn your lesson?”

He smirked at me and pulled his hair back, showing me a small scar under his ear. “She threw a plate at me after I picked her up and threw her in.”

I shook my head and allowed him to continue showing me the sights.