“Didn’t hear that one,” Seth said, brows raising.
“But no,” Finn said, smirking. “It’s way better than that.”
“Does it have something to do with that car over there?” I asked, pointing toward the black Mustang toward the front of the lot.
“It does,” Seth confirmed.
“Why are you out here?”
“Waiting for a couple of the guys to get here.”
“Are we having Church?” I asked, thinking of Dezi and how I needed him at the hotel to watch Abigail.
“Not officially. But we called most of us next-generation guys in,” Finn said. “My brother included.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Yeah,” Seth said.
“And no,” Finn agreed.
“Depends on how this all plays out,” Seth clarified.
“Is that why I was called back here?” I asked.
“No,” Brooks said, appearing out of nowhere. “We have a lot of guys off on a run for a couple days. I needed some extra hands around here,” he said, shrugging. “And, honestly, Dezi was fucking useless, so he’s better off covering for you with your girl for a while, so we can get some shit done. There’s a new shipment we need to sort through.”
“Alright.”
“It can wait until after,” Finn insisted.
When my gaze slid to Brooks, I saw a rare light in his eyes.
And, quite frankly, if it was something that had Brooks looking amused, then I sure as hell had my curiosity piqued.
We all stayed outside, waiting for Voss and Fallon who got there pretty quickly.
“Valen is a few behind me,” Voss said as we all moved inside.
And as soon as we did, I saw the owner of the Mustang.
I had no idea who to expect, but I found myself surprised to see a woman standing there.
She was average height and thick of thigh with curves in her hips and breasts as well. Thick in a fit way.
She was standing in the middle of the living space with her arms crossed over her brown tank top. Her jeans were skinny and black, ripped in places. But if I had to put money on it, I would say they didn’t come that way, that this woman had damaged them in a more interesting way. There were stories in those rips.
She was gorgeous with her wavy black hair, her sharp features, and her keen, dark eyes.
I couldn’t tell if her lashes were naturally so thick, or if she’d piled on mascara, but there was no mistaking her bright red lipstick.
Tough and strong, but also feminine.
That was the vibe I was getting.
I had no idea who she was, or why she was causing so much amusement among my brothers.
But before anyone could tell me anything, the door was opening, and walking in was Valen.
Who did not look quite so delighted at the sight of our little visitor.
No.
In fact, he looked absolutely horrified.
“Louana.” Valen breathed out her name, like all his air had been kicked out of him.
Louana.
I had to dig a bit to bring up what I knew about her.
Daughter of a vigilante serial killer.
Former girlfriend of Jase Mallick.
Who Valen stole her from.
And then he’d skipped town on her without saying a word to her about leaving.
I was starting to understand everyone’s interest in her presence at the clubhouse.
“What are you doing here?” Valen asked as he looked at the woman. He’d wronged in a way that had all of us bracing for whatever she was about to say, sure words were about to fly like shrapnel, and we were all going to get some damage.
But it was right then, right that moment, as I watched a wicked smile start to tug at Louana’s lips, as I saw her eyes fill with dark delight as she formed the words that I finally got it.
“I’m prospecting.”
“The fuck you are,” Valen said, looking like he’d been slapped. “The fuck she is,” he added, gaze going toward Fallon who was trying hard to keep his lips from twitching. “We don’t have female members,” he insisted. “Aunt Maze is proof of that,” he said, and I remembered the story about Maze once prospecting to the club, but ultimately not being allowed to join, despite being just as capable as the men she’d prospected with.
“Yeah, man, but that was a long time ago,” Seth, Maze’s son, insisted. “Things have changed. I mean, Fallon is with a former MC president. Equality and all that shit.”
“You’re not going to allow this,” Valen insisted, refusing to even look at Louana.
“You know what?” Fallon said, and I could tell from the light in his eyes that he’d already made up his mind. “I think I am. Just because it’s going to amuse the shit out of me,” he added, finally letting that smile break free. “Valen, Voss, meet our new prospect—and your new roommate—Louana,” Fallon said, waving toward her. “I trust you’ll make her feel real welcome.”
Oh, it was going to be an interesting few months.
In more ways than one.
CHAPTER NINE
Abigail
Maybe it was kind of pathetic of me, but having three days in the hotel with Cary had been like heaven on Earth to me.
It was the first time in my entire life that I got to make all my own decisions, when I didn’t have to worry about some man being angry with me for staying in my pajamas, or eating unhealthy food.
In fact, Cary kept encouraging me to order food. I knew for certain that he was lying when he claimed he “could eat” each time too.
I was even more sure of that when Dezi spent fifteen minutes telling me about how healthfully Cary ate in his daily life. So he was shoveling grease and processed crap into his “temple”—Dezi’s words, I suspected, not Cary’s—because he wanted me to feel comfortable eating whatever I wanted.
I’d only spent three days with the man, but I felt pretty confident saying he was very likely the best man I’d ever met.
I didn’t care what he did, you know, for work. That didn’t define him.
Maybe he did bad things, but he wasn’t a bad man.
I would know. I’d met many bad men in my life.
He wasn’t one of them.
And as odd as Dezi was, I was pretty sure he might have been one of the good ones too. Even if he did, apparently, have a violent streak.
“Oh, that thing is hopeless,” I told Dezi he grabbed the loom and started messing with it.
“Hm,” he said, flipping it around for a second, then dropping off the edge of the bed and starting to wrap the yarn around the spokes.
And, I kid you not, within five minutes, he’d calmly made more of a scarf coming through the bottom of a loom than I had in hours of frustrated trying.
“You are a man of unusual talents,” I declared, shaking my head at him.
“Never did crafty shit growing up,” he admitted. “Maybe if I had, I’d have been a fucking seamster or some shit.”
“That’s an interesting mental image,” I said, getting a smirk from him.
“But I imagine they’d frown on me decking rude customers.”
“Wouldn’t be great for your reviews,” I agreed, getting a smirk out of him.