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Complete utter hell.
She foolishly wanted him when she was young. She wasn’t so young or foolish now.
“Why you here, Stella?”
Her nipples pebbled at him saying her name. The same way they had when he’d picked up her “S” pendant and held it in his palm. When he’d done that, she swore an electric current had run from his hand through the leather cord and right into her chest. Like being struck by lightning.
She needed to mentally break free of the hold he held her in, the one quickly resurfacing from twenty years ago.
She needed to remember the last time she saw him. The day he shoved her away and cracked her head open on the wall. Her fingers automatically went to the back of her scalp where she could still feel the raised scar from where she had to get stitches. While it was hidden in her hair, she’d never forget it was there.
Oh yeah, that was a good reminder of how he was bad news. “Dutch stopped in for a beer last night and gave me the complete low-down on the latest town gossip. Couldn’t stop talking about you. The club. And your new repo business. Got my curiosity piqued.”
“Sounds like he was there for more than one beer.”
She shrugged. “Yeah. It took about four beers to tell me everything.” Four beers and three shots of whiskey. She kept telling Dutch she really didn’t care about any of it, but he kept talking and there wasn’t a lot of business at the bar to warrant escaping him.
She also loved Dutch like a grandfather, so she hadn’t wanted to be rude.
“So now you’re out here bein’ nosy.”
She tilted her head and studied the man before her. He didn’t look away when her eyes hit his. In fact, he held them for so long it almost felt like a challenge.
One she knew how to win. “He told me Cage is your new Road Captain.”
His brown eyes narrowed. “Know him?”
“Of course. How could I not? He’s Dutch’s son.”
“How well you know him?”
Ah, there it was. He was a typical man, wondering if she and Cage had sex. “Well enough.”
His jaw worked a couple of times. “Seems to be a dick.”
“He can be. Which means he’ll be a perfect addition to the Fury.”
“So, you came out here to tell me that Dutch was out runnin’ his mouth. That it?”
“No.”
“Then why else are you here, Stella?”
Right. Why else was she there? She could’ve given Dutch the item she wanted to give Trip and not come out here at all. She could’ve stayed away and minded her own fucking business.
She needed to concentrate on the bar, forget the past and ignore whatever Trip was trying to do with it. But for some reason she couldn’t.
For some reason she couldn’t leave well enough alone.
He jerked slightly when she finally pushed off the counter and moved toward the stack of boxes.
She didn’t ask him to follow her, but he did. She snagged the item as she passed the boxes and kept moving, out of the swinging door, into the barn and then stopped.
It was fucking awesome.
Completely awesome. And would make a great tasting room for a winery.
She could see it now. Blood Fury Red.
Red wine would be better than spilled blood.
She took a few more steps deeper into the barn and then spun on her heels causing him to almost run into her. She shoved her father’s BFMC cut into his stomach and he grabbed it out of instinct, but she didn’t let go.
Their fingers brushed and his thumb slid over her knuckles. Probably by accident...
She quickly released the leather vest and stepped back. “Figured you can hang it on the wall. Or give it to someone who might need one. Not doing me any good where it was.”
It took forever for him to drop his eyes from hers to the cut in his hands. His nostrils flared just slightly as he checked out the back and then the four rectangular patches on the front. Crazy Pete. Treasurer. Manning Grove. Original.
His jaw worked and an emotion she couldn’t identify crossed his stoic features, but quickly disappeared. He was still staring at the worn cut when he asked, “Don’t wanna keep it for sentimental value?”
“No.” Just one more reminder she didn’t need. When she donated all her father’s clothes after she moved in and cleaned out the apartment, it was one thing she couldn’t rid herself of. She knew how much pride was in those colors. She also knew the cut needed to be handled properly.
Now she could leave that to Trip.
“He shoulda been buried in it.”
His rough whisper raced through her, causing her to shiver. “Yes. He should’ve. But he wasn’t wearing it when he died, and I wasn’t here when he was buried. Plus, he hadn’t been a member for twenty years.”
