“I think so,” I said haltingly, aware that information gleaned from my favorite motorcycle club romance novels might not jibe with reality. In the books, when a biker offered his girlfriend a vest emblazoned with “Property of,” she invariably huffed with indignation and declared that no man owned her. The very idea was insulting and repugnant. Until it wasn’t. Until she understood what the words meant in biker culture. Then she proudly wore the “property of” patch, and the couple lived their happily ever after.
Ripper grinned. “You’re wondering if it means the same thing in real life that it does in your romance books, aren’t you?”
I nodded. One of these days, I needed to wring Kyle’s neck for showing Ripper my ebook library and for telling him that I had a thing for bad-boy bikers. I’d caught Ripper reading Property of Mayhem once, and his smirk when he glanced up to meet my mortified eyes still made me blush.
His expression grew serious, and his hands tightened on my shoulders. “It means that you’re mine. That I’ve claimed you as my old lady. That I trust and respect you. That I’ll protect you with my last breath. Before the pandemic, it would have meant that you could count on any Janissary to stand between you and harm, but now...” His voice trailed off and pain flashed in his eyes.
I touched the necklace, running a fingertip over the letters, before lifting my eyes to his once again. “I love it. I’m proud to be yours.”
A smile erased the tension in his face.
“As long as you realize it cuts both ways,” I added. “You’re mine, too, Mr. Solis.”
“Think I’ve been yours since you blasted me in the face with pepper spray,” he said.
I bit my lower lip, suppressing a laugh. “The classic meet cute.”
When we emerged into the living room, Kyle greeted the new necklace with raised brows. If he had offered me a “property of” necklace, I would have clobbered him. Levi and Hannah exchanged a wide-eyed glance, but said nothing.
Now, with Tuck’s unwelcome gaze raking over my body, I couldn’t resist touching the beads, drawing his eyes to the necklace that declared me off limits. He winked at me, and I forced myself to smile.
Tuck glanced at the Road King, then at Ripper. “Where’s your Shovelhead?”
“Laid it down when an elk jumped onto the road. Bent the frame. The Road King belonged to Chimney. Chim and his family were staying at their cabin near Mt. Hood. Flu got him and his boys. His old lady was immune. She gave me his bike.”
“We lost too many brothers to the fucking flu,” Tuck said, shaking his head.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Ripper agreed, not a hint of deception in his voice. “What are you doing out here, Tuck? Any of the other Sabers survive?”
“Nah. I’m hanging with a bunch of new friends.” Tuck scratched his belly, eyeing me again. “You gonna introduce me to your old lady?”
“Yeah. This is Mac. We met back in Portland during the early days of the flu.”
“Nice to meet you, sweet thang,” he drawled. My back stiffened, and Ripper’s arm tightened around my waist. Not sure if he was offering me reassurance or warning me to stay in role.
“Nice to meet you, too, Tuck,” I lied, doing my best to maintain a pleasant expression on my face.
Tuck turned his attention from me to the bike. “Something happen to the Road King?”
Ripper sighed. “When I took Chim’s bike, I didn’t know that the damn fuel light was on the fritz. I lost track of the miles on the odometer, and we ran out of gas.”
Tuck snorted. “Rookie mistake, son.”
It was Ripper’s turn to stiffen, and when he responded his voice was icy and his eyes hard. “You think?”
In the old world, a Satan’s Saber wouldn’t mouth off to a Janissary. Did the habit of deference still hold?
“Sorry, man.” Tuck offered what Uncle Mel used to call a shit-eating grin. “So you guys are looking for a place to hole up?”
“Yeah. It’s been a month since we heard of anybody coming down with the flu. Figure anybody still alive is immune.” A bald-faced lie—we lost Miles only two and a half weeks ago—but important information to convey to the out-of-the-loop Wilcox Brigade. We needed them to invite us in, not keep us at a distance out of fear of the contagion. “We’re not worried about the flu anymore. It’s the buck-wild survivors roaming in packs you gotta look out for.”
“Strength in numbers, right brother?” Tuck said.
“Amen to that.”
Tuck tilted his head, squinting while he looked us over. “Me and my new friends, we could use a man with your skills.” He glanced at me again. “And we can always use another pretty girl.”
Just how the creep intended to use a pretty girl was something I absolutely didn’t want to think about.
Bristling internally, I tittered, as if thrilled by the compliment. I turned doe eyes up to Ripper. “What do you want to do, baby?”
“Depends.” He squeezed my ass. “Get me a bottle of water, then get lost while I talk to Tuck.”
Before setting out on our mission, Ripper instructed me on how to play the part of his old lady. Act deferential in front of the other men, especially Tuck, who didn’t like assertive women. Let them underestimate me, see me as an agreeable, nonthreatening appendage to Ripper. Fly under their radar so I could snoop around the house, looking for Sahdev and Bear. And if the shit hit the fan inside of Valhalla, it wouldn’t occur to them to be on guard against me.
I could do that.
“Okay.” I fetched the water then sat on a large boulder, swinging my legs back and forth and examining my cuticles while the men conversed.
Five minutes later, Ripper summoned me over. “We’re going to Valhalla.”
“Is that a town?” I asked.
“No, honey,” Tuck answered. “It’s a ranch. We got lots of room. Good people. Cattle. Horses. Food. Water. We’re sitting pretty.”
I squealed with excitement and clutched Ripper’s arm. “I love horses. Do you think I could learn how to ride one?”
“Dunno,” Ripper said. “Never been on a horse, so I couldn’t teach you.”
“We got a cowboy at the ranch,” Tuck said. “He’s not exactly a willing member of our crew, but I bet we could make him teach you, if you like.”
“That would be so cool.” I bounced on my toes, as if I could barely contain my excitement and didn’t mind at all that they held a cowboy against his will. See! I was as morally bankrupt as any of them.
With a short length of hose, the men siphoned some gas from Tuck’s fuel tank and transferred it to Ripper’s.
Ripper handed me my helmet and swung onto the bike. “Get on the back.”
Ten minutes later, Tuck unlocked the gate to Valhalla, and we rode up the long driveway to the ranch house. The sound of two engines must have attracted attention. Jerrilyn and Boyd stepped out onto the porch. Boyd carried a shotgun. We dismounted, and Tuck led the way to the porch. Jerrilyn crossed her arms over her chest and squinted suspiciously at our approach.
“I ran into an old friend of mine. His bike ran out of fuel a couple of miles from here,” Tuck said by way of introduction. “Ripper’s a Janissary out of Portland, and this is his old lady, Mac.”