He taps his fists together in front of him. “They serve as biker brass knuckles. Legal in all fifty states.”
“They’re certainly heavy enough.” I stroke my fingers over one ring, studying the intricate detail of the two crossed pistols in front. One side of the thick band depicts a skull and on the other side the metal has been blackened to spell out the word outlaw in tattoo-like lettering.
“A lot of meaning there,” I say.
He glances at it as if noticing it for the first time in a long time. “The gentleman outlaw’s guide to justice.” His lips quirk into a smile full of fond memories. “My uncle left it to me.”
“Was he in the club too?”
“No, but he was friends with lots of different bikers.” He shrugs. “Spent a lot of time around them.”
I move to the one on his index finger. A crowned skull engraved into the flat front. On one side, an hourglass, on the other what looks like an artist’s representation of wind. I tap the skull. “Club ring, right?” That’s what I’ve always assumed.
“Sort of. Jigsaw and I bought them when we patched-in.”
“Aw, like those half-a-heart best friends necklaces?”
He huffs out a quick laugh. “I guess.” He traces his fingers from the skull to the wind. “Brothers to the end.” He taps the hourglass. “Life is finite.”
“Oh,” I breathe out, feeling a little dumb for making a joke about it now. “No wonder you can interpret my tarot cards better than I can.”
The faint smile on his face flattens. “I wouldn’t say that. You haven’t touched them since…leaving the hospital. You want me to get them for you?”
While I appreciate the offer, a foolish feeling invades my chest at the thought. “I think I’m done doing readings. They couldn’t help me figure out someone was after me, so obviously it’s stupid.”
He strokes his thumb over my cheek. “That’s not true. You couldn’t have known. Don’t let this ruin something you like.”
I shrug and look away.
“Maybe do a reading for the girls if you don’t want to do one for yourself. Trinity would probably be into it.”
“Maybe.” Uncomfortable talking about it anymore, I grab his left hand to inspect his final ring. A large oval turquoise set in an elaborate band of woven silver. “Turquoise is supposed to be the protective talisman for kings and warriors. Some people thought it could protect riders from falls. I see why a biker would want that.”
He stares at it with a blank expression as if it’s the first time he’s heard any of that. “Shit, an old girlfriend gave it to me.”
Well, doesn’t that suck all the oxygen out of the room.
I don’t want to be the girl who gets annoyed about stuff like that, but hoo-boy, the fact that he regularly wears a ring some ex gave him is not landing well.
“Fuck.” He tugs the ring off. “I just like the design. I totally forgot where it came from.” He stalks into the bedroom, opens the nightstand drawer, and drops the ring inside. It lands with a harsh clink. He slides the drawer closed.
Huh.
I didn’t even have to ask.
I’m not even sure I would have.
“You don’t have to,” I protest as he returns to the bathroom. “It’s just a piece of jewelry.”
He cups the back of my head and drags me closer for a quick kiss. “Nah, it’s fine.”
Thank you doesn’t seem quite right but I’m so stunned, I’m not sure what else to say.
I give him another quick peck on the lips and scurry into the bedroom. After finding a clean tank top and pair of panties to sleep in, I pick up our scattered clothes. I set everything on the desk and stop to touch Rooster’s cut that he left draped over the chair before we took our shower.
Besides the three-piece patch on the back, his vice president patch, and his Lost Kings MC patch, he has a few others. A worn “Route 66” patch that I’m a little jealous of. I’ve always wanted to drive Route 66 and the few times we were close on the tour, there was no time for detours. Blood Makes You Related, Loyalty Makes You Family. I’ve seen similar phrases on the patches worn by other Lost Kings. I’m pretty sure Jigsaw has one exactly like it. A couple pairs of angel wings, ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ—ah, the classic slogan of defiance, not really a surprise there—a rooster with a crown, a rising phoenix, a broken heart, an hourglass with a skull and scythe, and a few others.
“Why aren’t you naked?” Rooster’s low, smoldering question interrupts my inspection.
“I’ve never really studied all your patches before.” I peer at him over my shoulder. “Am I allowed to ask about them?”
One corner of his mouth curls up. “Ask away, chickadee. I’ll answer what I can.”
That’s not ominous or anything.
I notice a pink square on the floor and bend down to grab it.
Pussy Patch 30 Day Challenge. Right. We were supposed to talk about this before getting carried away.
I hold up the card. “You were going to tell me about this?”
He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair, then levels me with one of his panty-melting smiles. “Come naked-cuddle with me and I’ll give you all the details.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m howling with laughter and clutching my stomach. “Your club’s giving out cunnilingus achievement awards?”
Rooster grumble-laughs along with me. “Not my club. This charter of my club.” He stops for a second. “Ah, shit. Sway probably did something similar when he was president. Christ, I hope Z doesn’t get any bright ideas when he hears about it.”
“So,” I tap the card with my finger, “I take it you’re allowed to participate since they gave you a scoreboard.”
“Yup.” He lets out a devious chuckle. “I’m not ashamed to admit, I encouraged Murphy to partake in the challenge just because I know it’ll annoy the shit out of Heidi’s brother every time he sees that patch.”
“You’re terrible.”
“I know.” He grins. “I’m okay with it.”
I grab the card and study it again. “The calendar runs for thirty-five days not thirty.”
I swear he almost blushes. “There was some lengthy debate about adding five free days, uh, for the monogamous brothers…just in case.”
After a second or two, his meaning sinks in and now my cheeks warm. “Oh, well, my time of the month is usually light and short thanks to the IUD. My cranky days and food-cravings not so much—like I warned you about earlier.”
He chuckles. “Is that what you were trying to get at with the steak and ice cream thing?”
“Yes,” I huff. Why is this so weird and embarrassing to talk about when the man’s inspected me inside and out every which way?
While I might be embarrassed, Rooster’s clearly aroused by the discussion. He shoves the sheet away from my body and slides his hand over my ribs, down into the dip of my waist and over the curve of my hip and back. The whole time staring at my body like he’s the big, bad wolf about to gobble me up.
After a few seconds, he meets my eyes. “That wasn’t why I said what I did in Ice’s office. Just so you know.”