If I bite my tongue any harder it’s gonna fall outta my mouth and flop around on the floor.
My righteous anger on Heather’s behalf is sort of pointless since she seems to accept her situation as normal. Maybe that’s the saddest part?
Not your business. Don’t be rude.
Her lips curve into a wobbly smile. “He’s a good provider. Takes care of me and our boys. I love him.”
Who you trying to convince, sweetheart? Me or yourself? “Well, they say love conquers all.” I force a smile to go with the lame response.
“So,” she blows out a breath and reaches over to slap my arm, “how’d you and Rooster meet again? You said, Texas?”
“Ah, well. I kinda fell into a river and he rescued me.”
“Shoot! White Knight is real? I thought that was all b.s. for the magazines.”
“Nope. True story.”
“Sounds like Rooster. He was always really protective when we were together. And not in the she’s my property way, you know?”
And here we go scooting back to uncomfortable territory. “Yeah.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised he’s lasted so long in the MC and moved up to VP. He always seemed a little…I mean this in the nicest way… on the softer side.” Her eyes widen and she holds out her hands as if she’s worried she’s offended me. “I’m not saying he’s soft. Just, you know…”
I shrug. “He’s plenty hard when and where he needs to be.”
She lets out a dirty chuckle and I wish I’d chosen my words more carefully. What I should’ve said is, if not walking around punching people for no reason and being faithful to me means he’s “too soft,” that’s fine in my world.
“So, how old are your boys?” What’s happening to me? Am I actually volunteering to hear about her kids?
“Seven, five, four, and two.”
Damn, my uterus hurts just doing the math. “Wow, all so close in age. That must be challenging.”
“Yeah, I wanted them all close together. Seemed easier—spoiler alert—it’s not!” She laughs. “Plus, I really, really wanted a girl.”
I suppose the next natural question might be are you planning to try again for a girl? But I can’t imagine wanting to procreate with a man who cheats, so I smile instead.
“My mom lives near us, so she’s a big help. They’re with her now, actually.”
“Oh, that’s nice to have family close by.”
“Yup. Well, the whole club helps everyone. We all watch each other’s kids and stuff.”
Does the mistress babysit too?
“Ah, yeah, New York seems that way. The ol’ ladies are all pretty tight.” And I don’t think a single one of them would put up with their men banging bunnies. Shoot, I can picture Heidi swinging her hammer straight into Murphy’s crotch if he cheated on her. And as much as Trinity seems to adore Wrath, I don’t picture her tolerating that either. Never mind, I never once saw Murphy or Wrath’s attention wander to other women when they were on the road with us.
Around them, the friendship and conversation flowed easily. None of this awkwardness and tongue-biting.
New York isn’t even my home and all of a sudden, I’m missing it something fierce.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rooster
This afternoon’s been extremely tedious.
Torturing these stupid motherfuckers was less than satisfying. They’re useless and too stupid to pay attention to whose territory they were riding through. No surprise they were pushed out of Texas.
“Don’t touch my cut, motherfucker!” the one who used to be president of the Texas charter says.
Jiggy slides his hunting knife out and jabs the tip into the Red Storm back patch. “You were supposed to give this up.”
“Fuck that pussy MC. Savage Dragons don’t get to tell us what to do.”
“Oh, but I think they did,” I say. “Apparently they didn’t drive the point home.” I nod to Jiggy. “So, we’ll help you out.”
“Be grateful we ain’t throwing your rag in a bonfire, asshole,” Pony says.
Jiggy shoves the tip of his blade under the bottom rocker, and slowly cuts the threads bonding it to the leather. After removing the Texas rocker, he tosses it my way.
“You’re gonna be visiting them, brother?” Pony asks me.
“Yeah, we’ll meet up when I’m in their neck of the woods.” I’m sure he’d rather take the credit but it’s my girl who noticed and I’m the one who’s actually met and hung out with Blaise.
Jiggy drapes the cut over the back of the guy’s chair and picks up another one. The owner of this one’s unconscious, so he doesn’t protest. With no audience, Jiggy slices the patch off quicker.
Once I’ve collected the Texas rockers, my role here is finished—at least far as I’m concerned. Pony’s still the president here, so I wait a minute.
“Thank you for your help.” Pony sweeps his hand through the air, indicating me and my crew. “Why don’t you head back to the clubhouse and relax. I know you’re ridin’ out early tomorrow. We can take it from here.”
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yup. You know the way back, right?”
“We got it,” Dex says, stepping up to shake Pony’s hand. “See you back at the clubhouse, Prez.”
We head outside, stopping at our bikes. “You sure you’re okay to ride?” I ask Pants.
He rubs his shoulder near the spot Doc had stitched and winces. “Yeah, I can make it there.”
“Let’s take it slow,” I say to everyone.
Jiggy and I lead the way since we’re the most familiar with the area. Dex rides at the back to keep an eye on Pants. It’s kind of nice traveling with two road captains who both know what the fuck they’re doing.
The clubhouse parking lot has more cars filling it up than when we left. Muffler bunnies, I’m sure. Almost like no one knows there was a situation and half the club’s not even here.
Sure enough, inside seems to be mostly club girls. I scan the main room and don’t see Shelby anywhere.
“Where’s she at?” Jiggy asks.
“Good question.” I pull out my phone to text her. “Half the time she doesn’t even pay attention to her phone,” I mutter.
“I’ll check the kitchen,” Jiggy offers.
Dana rushes over to offer Pants some “comfort” for his aching shoulder, treating him like he just returned from war. He gives me a smirk and fist bump before draping his arm over her shoulders and limping away. “You got shot in the shoulder,” I call after him. “Not the leg.”
He flips me off without turning around.
My phone buzzes.
Shelby: In our room.
Fuck yes. I need my own comfort with my girl.
First, I want to call Z and let him know what’s up.
Jiggy returns from the kitchen.
“She’s upstairs,” I tell him.
“Go get her.”
“I gotta call Z.” I jerk my head toward the black double doors of the clubhouse’s chapel, the only place I’ll have the privacy to make the phone call.