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"Jesus Christ, Billie, get the fuck out," Niro demanded, reaching for the blanket over the back of the couch, draping it over my body since I was mostly draped over him. He was still very exposed, but I was covering his important parts.
"Gee. Excuse us for trying to make sure everyone was safe and accounted for," Hope grumbled. "So, what am I supposed to report back to the parentals?" she asked. "Oh, they're fine. They were just playing a few rounds of hide the salami, that's why they weren't answering the phone."
"Shit," Niro hissed, folding forward to grab his pants, fishing his cell out of the pocket. Before he swiped it open, I saw the notifications. Twenty missed calls.
"Can I suggest some, you know, clothing?" Hope asked. "Since like our cousins and uncles and shit are downstairs and if we are up here too long, they're all going to burst in and this is going to get even more awkward."
"There is nothing awkward about this," Billie insisted. "Hope needs to work through some of her more prudish thought blocks instilled upon her by the patriarchal society that shuns women who fully embrace our sexuality and makes—"
"Yes, yes. We get it, Billie. You're the hippie sex goddess," Hope declared, shoving her sideways toward the door, nearly falling over my shoes I'd kicked off earlier. "We will be outside the door. Pack a bag," she added.
"A bag, why?" I asked.
"Because they decided to push the red button. So all our asses are at Hailstorm or locked down at the clubhouse and shit."
And with that, we were alone again.
"How long until everyone knows we were naked in here together?" Niro asked, sounding pained.
"Depends on how successful Hope is in negotiating Billie's silence."
"Let's put our money on Hope then," he decided, sliding out from under me, reaching for his boxers and pants, jumping into them. "Hey," he said as he reached to grab his shirt, looking at me with pinched brows. "I'm not trying to keep it a secret," he said, reading me too well. "I just don't think that is the best way for anyone to find out."
That was fair.
I really, really didn't want my parents and aunts and uncles knowing that during a pretty high-stress situation, we'd taken some time to pursue mutual orgasms.
"Okay," I agreed, accepting my panties when he held them out to me, lips twitching. "What am I going to do about my neck?" I asked as I got up to grab my pants.
"Say you got bit at work," he suggested, chuckling.
"It's not funny. And human bite marks and animal ones are different," I informed him. "I will go find a turtleneck, I guess."
"And pack a bag."
"And pack a bag," I agreed. "Can you grab Nugget's stuff?"
Ten minutes later, I was shoving my toothbrush into my weekender bag when Fallon's voice filled my apartment.
"The fuck is taking so long? Billie is saying something about Niro needing to fix some plumbing issue, but I'm starting to think she's bullshitting me."
I said a silent thank you to the universe that I was in the bathroom because I would never have been able to stop the laughing snort that escaped me at that.
"Yeah, no. The pipes are all fixed," Niro insisted convincingly. "What's going on with everyone?"
"Church," Fallon said as I moved into the living room, paranoia making me gather my hair toward the side of my neck where the bite was even though my shirt was covering the mark. "And you need to be there to fill us all in," he added, giving me a hard look, one that said there would be lectures in my future.
I hated lectures.
I had this awful habit of crying when I thought people were disappointed in me.
But as I passed Niro to fall in step behind Fallon, Niro's hand rose to grab mine and give it a reassuring squeeze.
And all the tension slipped away.
It was silly and likely naive of me, but somehow, with Niro back in my life, I was sure everything was going to be okay.
Chapter Fifteen
Niro
To an outsider, the level of activity going on with the Henchmen, their women, and their children would border on extreme paranoia, even overkill.
That said, the club had been through so much shit through the years, their knee-jerk reaction to a new threat was to shut it all down.
The wives and underage kids headed up to Hailstorm where they would be safe behind electric fences manned by armed militia members and dogs, settled comfortably inside the giant maze of shipping container lodgings that could withstand all sorts of attacks should they ever show up at the door.
The patched members and several of the second-generation adults like Andi, Billie, Hope, and Gracie, and others who didn't want to go up to Hailstorm, descended upon the clubhouse instead with a sort of resigned acceptance that this would always be a part of their lives. They trickled in with their weekender-sized bags that held home and work clothes, basic self-care items, and every electronic device they might need to bunker down with if this went on longer than any of us wanted it to.
