“Q?”
“Barbeque, baby. Everyone’ll be here. It’s the best part of the month because I’m included and not treated like an outsider.”
“Who is everyone?” My heart rate picks up as I ponder my escape plan. If I can slip into someone else’s car, maybe I can ride on out of here.
“Family and friends. The Tulsa Royal Bastards chapter is small. Probably one of the smallest. Koyn is super fucking paranoid and doesn’t let just anyone patch in. It’s also why this joint’s not overrun by club whores. Not sure why I got the free pass, but I’ll take it.” She waggles her brows. “Must be all the anal.”
I snort. “I wouldn’t brag about that.”
“Why not?” she asks, clearly offended.
“You want them to keep you around because you let Filter put it up your ass?”
She shrugs. “It’s my claim to fame.”
A giggle erupts from me and she smiles happily at my response. “Fine. I’m ready to get out of these clothes anyway. And if I’m going to be a prisoner, at least I can be a hot one.”
“Then, maybe Prez can get laid for once.”
I scowl. “I’m not fucking that psycho. Besides, I remind him of his daughter. That’s what I gathered anyway.”
Her head cocks to the side. “How old are you, hon?”
“Eighteen.”
“Too young, baby.”
“So I’ve been told by Dragon. But don’t worry, I’m not planning on sleeping with anyone, especially Koyn. He’s old.”
Stormy cackles. “Oh my God, bitch, don’t let him hear you say that!”
“He acts like he’s my damn dad, so I’m sure he already knows. How old is he anyway?”
“Late forties, I think.” She stretches out on the bed, her boobs nearly falling out of her tank. “He’s a tough nut to crack. I flirt with him every chance I get. Since Filter doesn’t want to claim me as his old lady, I figure maybe it might do Prez some good to get laid. He never bites, though. Maybe he’ll bite you.” She smirks. “Though that’s kind of a huge age gap and kinda weird.”
I don’t tell her just last night I sucked Magna’s dick and he’s hella old. I’m not a schoolgirl virgin. Age means nothing in the MC world.
“I’m not sleeping with him. Ever.”
“Just swear you won’t bone Bizzy. We so can’t be friends if you have sex with that idiot.”
“I’m not having sex with anyone here.”
“Not even me?” she purrs, waggling her brows.
“Especially not you. I don’t have a dick, anal girl. You’re on your own.”
Her giggles are infectious and I find myself feeling lighter for the first time in a long time, which makes zero sense considering my past twenty-four hours.
Turns out, Stormy isn’t their cook. She just pretends. If anyone is the cook, it’s Bermuda. He knows his way around the kitchen and doesn’t burn, spill, break anything in his path like she does. The girl tries, though.
I like Stormy.
It’s not her fault she’s in love with the VP of a murdering MC. I think of her as someone like me. Victims of our hearts. She’s bubbly and sassy and fearless. Unlike Juicy and some of the other girls back at my old clubhouse, she’s refreshing.
“It’s not that hard,” Bermuda says as he skins a potato. “Just like cutting the flesh off some asshole.”
I curl my lip up and he laughs.
“Bermuda is a softie,” Stormy tattles. “Look at those cheeks. A face only a momma could love.” She tries to pinch his cheeks and he swats her away.
“Do they always make you cook for the barbeques?” I ask, frowning.
“Nah. Prez says we could cater in sides and shit from Rib Crib, but I like cooking. Gibson’s brother Randy makes the best brisket. Nees’s momma will bring desserts because she’s a fucking baking queen. We all pitch in.”
It’s all so…cute.
They’re like a family.
I’m not sure why, but it ruffles my feathers. Irritates me. Makes me nervous.
I throw my attention into my tasks. The three of us make potato salad, pasta salad, a broccoli type salad with crunchy noodles in it, baked beans, and some fluffy fruit nonsense that I can’t seem to keep my fingers out of.
“Randy just pulled up,” Gibson calls out, peeking into the kitchen.
Bermuda flips his ball cap around and gives my bottom a pat on the way out. I frown and shoot a look Stormy’s way.
“These boys are ass grabbers. Get used to it. They’re affectionate in that sense and don’t mean nothin’ by it.”
I scowl as I stick the fluffy fruit bowl back into the fridge so I won’t eat any more of it. “It’s a good way to get their asses kicked.”
She puts her hands on her hips and lifts a brow. “You gonna kick their asses? Bermuda used to play football for OU right out of high school. He’s probably slapped every ass on that team the same way he slapped yours.”
It’s not like he made me suck his dick.
I guess I am being a bitch.
“Whatever,” I grumble.
“Now if Dragon grabs your ass, you gotta watch him. His hand will wander right into your pants.” She shrugs. “I mean, it’s not the worst thing to happen. You’ve seen the guy.”
My thighs clench. Ugh, ignore the hot bad guys. “I’ll cut his hand off if he tries.”
Her eyes flash with worry. “Don’t tell him that.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She frowns. “You should go home.”
I’m stung by her sudden change of heart toward me. “Why? Because I don’t want Dragon’s hand in my pants?”
“No,” she hisses. “Because you look like you might get off on taunting him and Dragon isn’t one you taunt. I don’t think he’d hurt a girl, but I don’t know. You’d do best going home. Don’t you have a family that’s worried about you?”
“I’m not going home.” I let out a sigh of defeat. “And I won’t taunt the dragon.”
Her shoulders relax. “Good girl. Now let’s go find something to drink. Momma’s thirsty.”
I follow her outside where “A Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams, Jr. plays on the outdoor speakers. People are milling about as several of the guys are setting up outdoor tables. I see a few women chatting it up as Bermuda, Gibson, and some guy who must be Randy unload big metal trays of food from the back of a Tahoe.
It’s all so…easy.
I don’t do easy.
Easy makes me uneasy.
My hackles rise and I search out the threats. What’s hiding behind the false sense of security? Dragon sits in a lawn chair, kicked back and talking to the guy named Katana. They’re both sharpening knives. Definitely the threat in this homey scene.
A little girl with brown pigtails runs over to Dragon and bounces into his lap. He grins at her, dropping his knife into the grass to tickle her.
He may look like an adoring uncle, but I’m not fooled.
Stormy prances over to Filter, who emerges from the garage, grease smeared on his bare chest. I rake my gaze down the golden god’s body, appreciating the view for a moment, before looking for him.