He forced himself to breathe and opened his eyes. She was staring at him strangely, her expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”
He shook his head. “Ain’t a thing.” Which was a goddamn lie since his chest had tightened painfully under her touch and his heart had tried to escape.
Trying to hide the tremor in his fingers, he dug into his front pocket and pulled out an elastic band, collecting the length of his hair and wrapping it into a tight knot at the back of his head. It would keep it from catching in the paint and making a complete mess.
He wanted to make sure he didn’t go back to the farm with paint on him. That would raise questions.
This morning he’d dug out his oldest pair of jeans and a T-shirt that should’ve been thrown in a rag pile a couple of years ago. He figured he’d find a place after leaving Chelle’s house to change into the clean jeans and tee he had tucked in one of his saddlebags, and keep the clothes he used for this job hidden. Once he was done painting whatever rooms she wanted completed, he could burn the evidence.
Nobody needed to know where he was or what he was doing. Or for who.
This shit was his business and not club business.
And, anyway, he didn’t need his brothers riding his ass. If any of them knew where he was and what he was doing, his ass would be sore and his patience thin.
Unlike some of his brothers, he wasn’t one who crowed about who he stuck his dick into. He wasn’t one who talked crudely about pussy, not only behind their back but sometimes in front of them, too.
None of the women who came to The Barn on a regular basis, or even on occasion by special invite, needed to be disrespected.
Yeah, it was their choice to put out. It was their choice how kinky they wanted to take it. It was their choice whether to do it out in the open or privately in one of the rooms, or wherever. It was their choice whether to take one or more brothers at the same time or same night.
But that was the most important thing...
Choice.
No one would stop any of the women who stepped foot on the farm, sweet butts or not, from leaving. If they’d had enough of his brothers’ bullshit, they could walk away at any time.
Most of the women took everything in stride and actually loved the attention, the free food, the free booze and their choice of dick.
The only thing they had to agree to was keeping their mouth shut. They could not discuss what happened on the farm with anyone outside of the club. That was an important rule. Along with not shacking up in the bunkhouse.
Trip didn’t want to see any women besides the ol’ ladies in the morning. Come sunrise, all sweet butts and hang-arounds, male or female, better be gone.
Shade agreed with those rules.
He respected Trip a lot. That was why he was willing to head up that mountain and try to help control the threat to their brotherhood.
If the Shirleys would’ve let shit go after Sig got Red back, none of this shit would’ve been necessary. It would be a case of live and let live.
But they didn’t.
They fucking dared to take club property. A baby belonging to the Fury.
They used Dyna, an innocent child, in an attempt to ambush his brothers.
That shit was beyond unacceptable.
The Shirleys had to be aware by now that someone was going up there quietly and surgically removing their men. That meant the Fury needed to expect blowback resulting from those actions.
The clan wasn’t going to sit back and take it quietly.
But Shade needed to reduce their numbers as much as possible before they did that, before they could rally and do damage to his club.
Shade had found proof one night of them making their own ammo, which didn’t surprise him. They might not be smart, but they were resourceful. Most likely they were stockpiling it for another clash between the clan and the club.
That discovery was something he needed to discuss with Trip and Judge. The sooner, the better. Maybe he’d pull them aside tomorrow after the club run. Give them a rundown on current numbers and any new info he’d discovered.
But that was tomorrow. Today, at that very minute, he was standing in a school librarian’s home. Someone who was unaware of the possible upcoming war between two groups of people in her town, which she assumed the local pigs kept safe.
None of Manning Grove’s residents suspected the turmoil brewing. Especially the pigs. Both sides needed to keep it that way. Otherwise, investigations would begin and Shade could end up doing a bid in a state or federal prison. And that bid wouldn’t be a short one.
No, he’d find himself confined, not unlike when he was younger. But he couldn’t escape an actual prison with armed guards, steel bars and razor wire like he might be able to with a makeshift one. He also felt really strongly about not letting anyone control his life like that again.
He would die first.
He glanced at his left wrist. Today he’d wrapped it with a blue bandana instead of his leather cuff. He had plenty of bandanas and didn’t mind having to toss one if it got fucked up from paint.
“I had the girls help me move the furniture to the center of the room and then cover it. The floors are covered, too,” Chelle said as he followed her into the room directly to the left off the foyer. “I hate the stark white. Everything was painted that color when I bought this place and, like I said the other day, now that the girls are mostly grown, it’s time to paint it in colors of my choosing. Warm and welcoming.”
Warm and welcoming.
“Gonna do the whole house?”
“Eventually, yes. But like I also said, I can’t afford to do it at once. I figured we’d start in this room and work our way through the first floor.”
He nodded and walked around the room. All the furniture had been shoved to the center and covered. Sheets of plastic were laid down over the wood floor and secured with more tape. But the windows and molding still needed to be prepped. That was going to suck. It looked like tedious work in the videos and he was sure it was worse when actually doing it. “Where are the girls?”
“They won’t get in your way, don’t worry.”
He wasn’t worried about that. But, in truth, they should be helping their mom out more than what they had. Any time a kid could spend with a loving parent, they should. One never knew when that time would get cut short.
He couldn’t tell her that since it might open the conversation up to questions he didn’t want to answer. Or even think about.
“They’re both at work.”
He could accept that answer.
“They both have a great work ethic.”
That answer was even better. “Raised them right,” he murmured.
She pushed an escapee from her loose bun, or whatever it was, out of her face and blew out a breath. “I hope so. I did my best.”
He still wondered where that man in the photo was. He wanted to ask but she had gotten visibly upset when he asked the other day, so it was best to curb his curiosity. For now. That question might be answered while he worked side-by-side with her.
She went to the corner of the room and fiddled with her cell phone which was plugged into a speaker. “I hope you don’t mind classic rock.”
Slow Ride from Foghat filled the space between them.
“Won’t complain.”
She smiled and planted a hand on her hip. “Good. But if it begins to bother you, I have plenty of other playlists. You pulling up on that motorcycle the other day, and again this morning, made me in the mood for some good ol’ rock.”