Everyone starts moving, chairs scraping against the floor as brothers and a few old ladies head for the door. The energy in the room shifts—excitement and anticipation crackling in the air.
I lead Pinky outside into the warm Florida sunshine. It’s a perfect day for a ride—blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and the temperature is perfect.
“Where are you parked?”
“This way,” I say, leading her over to where my Bagger sits next to Klutch’s bike.
She stops beside my ride, running her hand over the seat. “She’s beautiful.”
“She treats me right.” I wink.
Pinky laughs. “I bet she does.”
I climb on first and start her up, then I hold out my hand to Pinky.
“Thanks.” She grins, grabbing hold as she puts her foot on the peg, then throws her leg over the fender.
“Comfortable?” I ask over my shoulder.
She nods, sliding her helmet on. “Mmhmm.”
“Good. Hold on tight, butterfly.”
Her arms go around my middle, and her tits press against my back.
Chief takes point at the front of the pack with Cora on the back of his bike. Morpheus pulls up beside him. Then the rest of us fall into formation.
Chief raises his fist, then drops it.
With my butterfly wrapped around my back, we’re off.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I don’t get it.”I wrinkle my nose at the cards Rambler’s holding. “So like, we just ride around collecting these random cards, and then whoever has the best poker hand at the end wins?” This is the fourth stop we’ve made this afternoon.
Rambler nods, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners as he glances down at me. “That’s it, butterfly. Nothing complicated about it.”
“Huh. That’s pretty cool.”
Rambler tucks his fourth card—a seven of hearts—into his cut, and we rejoin the others who are waiting by the bikes.
“I don’t know about y’all,” Crazy Train says as we approach, “but I’m starving. Wanna head over to the diner across the street?”
I glance over my shoulder at the greasy spoon.
“Food sounds amazing right now,” Cleo agrees, linking her arm through her ol’ man’s.
“I’m in, too,” Klutch nods, his arm slung around Demi’s shoulders.
“Let me tell Chief. I’m sure the rest of these degenerates are hungry too.” Morph heads over to where the prez and his ol’ lady are talking with some of the local brothers.
“We’re gonna head on over,” Rambler calls after him.
Morph lifts a hand in acknowledgment.
“Cmon’, butterfly.” Feeling bold, I thread my fingers through Rambler’s, enjoying how my small hand disappears in his larger one.
He gives me a gentle squeeze as we cross the street to the small diner with a neon sign that reads “Sunny’s.”
