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Marx scrubs his beard, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Fine. Ask her. In the meantime, I need the Computas to find out as much as you can on the Quarter Mile MC. Savage, get with dad and Rider, they wanna know the Death Riders compound. That’s where these assholes been camping out, right?” Marx looks at me and Rider, we both nod. We have a baby shower to get to and I got a woman to very respectfully protect. “If there’s nothing else to bring to the table then we gotta ride out. Before the Ol Ladies get on our asses,” Marx mumbles the last part but we all feel it.
As someone without an Ol Lady, I’m about to throw a spanner in the works, “Before we go, I’m gonna need a little help…”
Willa
“Oh, let me get that for you.” Judge smiles as he not only opens the door for me, but follows me to the car.
I smile up at him, although I’m sure it probably looks like a weird grimace. Everyone has been extremely helpful with both the setup of the baby shower and pretty much everything else that’s going on. Which is nice. But a little too nice perhaps?
“You know, I can probably get this myself if you wanna head back in?” I say, waving a hand at my car and the selection of beakers and crap.
He looks like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment before standing there silently. He’s one of the quieter brothers so I assume this is his normal behaviour.
“Ok then,” I whisper under my breath, leaning into my car and carefully lifting the box.
“Let me,” he grunts, taking all my crap from me and then standing there.
I look between him, and my car, then shrug and press the key fob to lock my car before heading back into the diner. Judge plods along behind me and Rider swings the diner door open for us to walk in.
“Allow me,” he says, bowing low and I know something is up.
Don’t get me wrong, the men from the DRMC are nothing like my ex-husband’s MC. These men are well mannered. Ish.
“Is it me, or are the men acting weird?” I mutter to Mira as Judge follows behind me, placing my box of stuff on the counter next to where I’m standing.
Mira looks thoughtful for a moment. “On a scale of Tank to Pops, how weird?”
“That is, wow, that’s one hell of a scale,” I reply.
“Well, I mean, Tyson is super normal. Like, totally normal. And Pops is, well,” Mira waves in Pops’ direction.
He’s dressed like a medieval knight with a gator on his shield. He’s also in the corner threatening Mad Dog with some type of spiked ball thing.
“Mad Dog’s been hiding from Pops,” Joy murmurs.
“Why?”
Joy’s eyes go all huge and her cheeks turn pink before she scuttles away to Switch who quickly darts his gaze. What the fuck is going on?
“OK, everyone is like, Pops level weird today.”
“Could it be the medieval alligator baby shower? And you’re about to start serving brightly colored teas in science equipment?” Blanche asks, drolly.
Looking around the room, I get it. Chewy sits on a weird throne that I’m certain has dicks carved into it. Chomper, her funny little gator is on a miniature version beside her and Rhodie is perched on a bar stool behind her massaging her shoulders using the technique I showed him earlier. Half the MC is dressed in a weird hybrid of medieval peasant outfits with biker boots and leather vests and almost all the men have a sword or an axe hanging from their belts. There are inflatable gators hanging from the ceiling and me and the old ladies have been brewing up colored fruit teas to look like chemicals that are being served in beakers because why not?
“Willa, we got any more of that bright green looking stuff?” Kaia asks from behind the counter.
Looking around I spot her kids Annie-Bella and Jax are collecting the empty beakers while the Big Littles and some loud ginger kid are busying themselves in the corner booth.
“Coming right up,” I reply, knocking twice on the counter.
I grab my box of supplies and carry it to the kitchen where we made some concoctions earlier. Mira very helpfully renamed them all to match the theme, so the one that needs topping up is somewhat questionably called “Spermicide.”
I pull the giant jug of iced green tea from the cooler along with bottles of apple juice, lime juice and soda water.
“Need any help?” Mad Dog asks, leaning his big, solid body in the doorway. His arms are crossed over his chest, his bicep popping in his white tee. My god the man is hot with a capital Haytch.
“Um, yeah, lemme just mix this up and if you could take it out to the table?” I try to avoid eye contact with him because I’m sure he’ll be able to see through my tough ”friend” facade.
