Page 6

“I like it.” East nods, grinning. “I’d be an ice cream cone.”

Aiden chuckles, running his hand through his cropped brown hair. “You would answer with something like that.”

“An ice cream cone?” Harloe’s eyebrows pinch.

She shifts closer to me, and I don’t mind the warm brush of her arm or the whiff of her shampoo. Eucalyptus and mint. Earthy and crisp.

East leans back in his chair, smiling wide. “Who doesn’t want to be licked until they’re finished?”

Harloe’s head tilts, her eyebrows pinching. Sometimes I swear East says things just to see what kind of reaction he’s going to get. But Harloe doesn’t seem put off. More curious than anything.

“Huh.” Her face pinches.

“Fucking hell, East,” I grumble. “A simple hello would have sufficed.”

He smiles even bigger. “Hello, Harloe.”

“Feel free to pretend East isn’t even here.” I drag my fingers through my hair. “Lawson is around here somewhere. He’s got a kid, so they stay in a cabin out back, but if you spot a four-year-old running around the ranch, that’s Max.”

“A kid lives out here with you guys?” Her eyebrows pinch.

“Yeah, we’re not that bad.”

“Speak for yourself.” East grins, shooting to his feet. “Aiden and I are headed into town, and I fully intend on making some very bad decisions tonight.”

“If you get arrested, I’m not bailing you out until morning.”

“I’ll drag him back here before we get arrested,” Aiden promises, following East out the door.

I appreciate Aiden looking out for him, except he’s just as likely as East to end up in cuffs if a fight breaks out in town. That’s the problem with all of us coming from places where we didn’t have to worry about the consequences of our actions. Our club’s influence protected us, and in Aiden’s case, his father is the president of the Denver chapter, so the Twisted Kings run that city.

Here, we don’t have the same luxury. The cops aren’t in our pockets. There are no strings we can pull. The town downright hates us. They’ll do anything to push us out. All they need is an excuse.

I’m still staring at the closed door when the rumble of Aiden’s and East’s motorcycles shakes the walls as they peel away. Hinges rattle, and I wonder how the last storm didn’t blow the bunkhouse over. The roof leaks. The floor is rotting. It’s on the brink of falling apart.

With them gone, it’s just me and Harloe, so I walk over to a window, cracking it. Between the heat and humidity, it’s nearly unbearable in here. Then there are her eyes watching me, doing nothing to help the situation.

Harloe circles the table in the center of the kitchen, snatching the bottle of whiskey and claiming East’s chair.

“So what’s with the name on the patch?” She angles her chin at my cut, kicking her white, sparkly cowgirl boots up onto the table as she unscrews the cap. “Venom.”

I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. “It’s what the guys call me back in Vegas.”

“Biker names?”

“Road names.” I drag my hair off my forehead. “We’ve all got ‘em. But around here, we’ve found it works better not to use them.”

“Hence, Shane no-last-name.”

“Donovan.” I drop my chin and chuckle.

She pops the cap off the whiskey, not taking her eyes off me as she downs a sip. “Bit of advice, Shane Donovan. You want to blend in; you might want to consider ditching all that leather.”

“But the ladies love the leather.”

The laugh that bursts out of her is damn beautiful. Even if it almost has whiskey shooting out of her nose. “Is that so?”

“You tell me.” I drop into the chair across from her, lacing my fingers around the back of my head and watching her openly look me over.