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“The garage has a great view?” Reese had assumed the shop was in town.
“Yeah. Can’t get a better one than four hot guys who look great wearing jeans and grease.”
Reese rolled her eyes. “Reilly...”
Her sister raised a palm. “Don’t worry. My panties might get a bit damp, but they haven’t fallen off yet.”
“Yet,” Reese murmured. “Well, the job’s only temporary.”
“Sure it is,” Reilly answered, then downed half the juice.
They heard a horn beep.
“Fuck, that’s my ride.” Reilly downed the rest of the OJ and fed the last bite of the Pop Tart to Justice.
“I don’t like you being on the back of a motorcycle so much. It’s dangerous.”
“I do,” Reilly said as she passed Reese, then paused with one hand on the knob. “You seemed to enjoy the run yesterday. Especially when Deke took you on that little detour.”
“He had something he wanted to show me.”
“Sure he did. Same thing he showed you just a little while ago.”
“Reilly...”
“Sis... It’s okay to get laid. No one around here cares if you’re boning Deke. Well, Deke probably does. He’s not beating you off with a stick, right? You’re not forcing that handsome Viking stud to do all kinds of naughty things to you against his will?”
“We’re not discussing this.”
“See? The only person it bothers is you.”
Reese’s mouth gaped as Reilly jerked open the door. Justice pushed past them, ran down the steps to do his business.
“Look at you, big sis, getting fucked by a bad boy.” Reilly wiggled her eyebrows. “And it bothers you that you like it so much.” She grinned and planted a peck on an unbruised spot on Reese’s cheek.
Reese followed her sister outside and stood on the landing as Reilly jogged down the steps to the awaiting bike. A spring was noticeable in her sister’s step that she did not have while at Reese’s house in Mansfield.
“Sweetheart, your chariot awaits,” the biker shouted over the loud, rumbling exhaust.
Reese tried to remember the name of the biker who Reilly settled behind and wrapped her arms tightly around. She was normally good with names, she had to be in her line of work. Nothing worse than forgetting a judge or client’s name. Or getting it wrong.
His name was some sort of chess piece.
Rook. That was it.
If she remembered correctly, he was Dutch’s oldest son. The one that had been in and out of jail in the past few years.
He was as tattooed up as the rest of them. This morning he wore jeans, a T-shirt and his Fury cut.
As she stared down at Rook, he stared back up at her. Even with the distance between them, she could feel his eyes inspect her bruised face and saw his jaw shift sharply.
After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder. “Ready?”
“Yep.” Reilly called up to her on the landing. “I love you, sis. Don’t worry.”
Reese would always worry about her. That would never change.
And right now, seeing her sister slide so easily into the club life and onto an ex-con’s bike worried the hell out of her.
Deacon could say there was more beneath the surface of his club and brothers than met the eye, but she wasn’t sure if she believed that yet. She needed to see it for herself.
Reese lifted the red Solo cup to her lips and let the red wine slide down her throat to join the rest of the wine already filling her gut. The evening was perfect. The breeze light. The sun still up but fading. And good company surrounded her.
The Blood Fury’s executive committee was upstairs in the barn having their meeting about taking the next step in capturing Billy Warren.
She wasn’t sure how this whole situation turned from Deacon trying to capture a skip to suddenly a whole MC getting involved in finding the man.
It probably went back to the loyalty Deacon talked about. Having his brothers at his back. If he needed their help, they all stepped in.
Maybe with all of them involved the curtains would soon be closing on the Billy Warren Shit Show.
She could only hope.
But right now, she was drowning her worries in wine. Lots and lots of wine since Deacon insisted she stop working at five and forced her to leave his office.
She still had so much work to do and she’d spent three hours of her day in Judge Thomas’s courtroom this morning. Three whole hours on a case that should’ve been settled weeks ago.
Some clients were just too stubborn for their own good.
Her snort of irony echoed inside her plastic cup as she tipped it once more to her lips.
“What do they do in these meetings?” Reese asked her dwindling cup of boxed wine.
“Measure their dicks, probably,” Stella answered after taking a long swig off her beer bottle.
Reese glanced up. “Has anyone actually witnessed what they do?”
“None of us,” Autumn answered. “Women aren’t allowed.”
