He wrung multiple orgasms out of her, leaving her limp and exhausted but happy, no longer capable of thinking. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she fell asleep. The soft sound of her cries of pleasure replayed in his mind, along with the sound of the waves crashing against the bluffs, allowing him to drift off with her.
“What do you mean the ladies have a birthday surprise for me?” Savage said. He looked out the clubhouse window warily. Sure enough, the parking lot had three cars in it filled with women and their absurd red-and-purple hats. “This is fucking not happening. I don’t have birthdays. I have no idea when my birthday is, so how would the ladies know?” He glared at Seychelle.
Seychelle put her hands up in the air in surrender, shrugging to show him she wasn’t involved in any way. He could tell by the look on her face that she was as shocked as he was. She wasn’t behind whatever was going on, which didn’t make him any happier. In the clubhouse there were tables set up with food, and a large cake was in the middle of one table. Paper plates and napkins were sitting there beside the cake. Some of the older women in the parking lot were carrying trays of cookies. That didn’t look too bad. He could live with that. The majority of them gathered outside, while Inez and Doris brought the trays of cookies in.
Inez beamed at him. “Happy birthday, Savage. Come outside and see your birthday present. We really had such a good time coming up with the perfect present for you.”
“But it’s not …”
Seychelle kicked him hard and then elbowed him in the ribs. Reaper grinned at him. Keys and Master sauntered right out the door. Storm lingered by the cake, but Mechanic and Ink caught him by the shoulders and marched him outside.
Destroyer jerked his chin toward the parking lot. “Mama Anat is out there, birthday boy. You’re not disappointing her.”
This was going to be bad. Savage was certain of it. Just about every old lady he’d helped at one time or another was out in the parking lot. Some of the older men were there. Most of his club was there. Cell phones were out to capture the moment when he opened his present.
“I’m hoping for a dog, Seychelle,” he whispered into her neck. “Otherwise, we’re heading out of the country. They’ve cooked up something really bad, I can feel it.” He held out his hand. She took it and he closed his fingers tightly around hers for courage. “A dog like Casimir has. We could use one of those.”
“Why do you think what they got you would be bad? They love you. They wouldn’t do anything bad to you,” Seychelle assured him.
“They won’t think it’s bad. They never think anything they do is bad, but trust me, baby, I need my reputation to stay intact.”
“I didn’t know you wanted one of those huge dogs. What are we going to do with a dog like that, Savage?” Now she glanced nervously out the window. “Do you think that’s what they got you? Did you mention you wanted one to them?”
He instantly wrapped his arm around her. “If they got us a dog, we’d get someone to help us train it.” He’d be so relieved if they got him a dog. He didn’t think he’d be that lucky.
He’d spent the morning worrying about Seychelle, taking care of his whips and other tools, knowing he was far too close to the end of his cycle, and the meeting with Plank tonight at the bar was bound to push him over the edge. He’d made plans. He was going to have everything ready at home, but he was going to go to the fight club first, try to burn off as much rage as possible before he went to Seychelle.
Mechanic texted him in the early afternoon and told him to come to the clubhouse, that there was a quick meeting before they would see the Diamondbacks, but to bring Seychelle as Alena had put together some new concoction she wanted them all to taste. Instead, it turned out, it was a big celebration of his “birthday” that wasn’t his birthday. He looked around the yard, his arms around Seychelle, holding on to her as if she was his safety net, which she was.
The entire Torpedo Ink club was there, which didn’t surprise him when there was food and cake involved. “Let’s just get this over with,” he whispered into Seychelle’s ear.
He didn’t like the way his brothers were grinning at him. Really grinning at him. That gave him a bad feeling. The little old ladies were beaming. That gave him a worse feeling. The brothers parted for him, allowing him to see his Harley. It was parked innocently enough just a little apart from the other bikes. It was clean and shiny. He loved that bike. He looked from Transporter to Mechanic. They’d had his most treasured possession in their garage these last few days, fine-tuning it. It was a road rocket already.
“Why the hell is everyone grinning like idiots, Seychelle?” His fingers bit into her hips. He gave the two men a look that told them he would fuckin’ pull them limb from limb if one little thing had happened to his bike.
The older women had crowded around it, all looking enormously pleased with themselves. Too pleased. He was beginning to sweat. His bike was set up exactly how he wanted it. Perfection. Something was really off here.
“I’m not sure.” Now she sounded wary. Her hand came down over his. She really didn’t know, he got that much, and she was becoming worried and reminding him that these women were important to both of them. “Man up, honey. Just face it. We’ll deal with whatever they’ve done after.”
“I might have to kill someone,” he whispered, his lips against her ear.
“So long as it isn’t one of the Red Hat ladies,” she whispered back.
Just the fact that Seychelle was agreeable to him killing someone boded ill for his birthday present. He manned up, stood up straight, stepped out from behind his woman, took her hand and walked into the middle of the Red Hat Society women. They fluttered around him instantly, laughing and giggling nervously like schoolgirls. That did something sweet to his insides, so he promised himself no matter how bad this was, he was going to be okay with it.
Doris Fendris stood in front of the left side of his Night Rod Special. It was painted all matte black with dull gunmetal-gray trim and blacked-out chrome. The only artistic touch was the image of a dripping gray skull and … Doris moved out of the way. And … His heart nearly stopped beating, then began to pound hard, accelerating madly. There was an addition to his bike that hadn’t been there before.
To hide his expression, Savage crouched low to study the new design. His mouth went dry. No one touched a man’s bike. That was a sacred rule. He had the right to beat the crap out of a man for touching his bike. Or pull out his gun and shoot him. But this—this deserved slow torture before death. Seychelle crowded close to him, her heat at his back, no doubt to remind him of the ladies all around so he wouldn’t erupt like a volcano.
He continued to stare at the new decoration welded onto his bike. It was a little broad-brimmed hat made of gems—real ones, bright red with a purple band, glittering every time the sun hit. There were feathers made of purple, green and blue gems coming up from the band. As hats went, it was quite charming and delicate. The entire thing was actually quite small, and there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that Ice had made it for the women. It looked like his work. He was certain the women weren’t happy it was so small, but on his bike with its black coloring, the red stood out vividly, and the blues, purples and greens stood out like a sore thumb.