Dax’s body language softens beside me. “Relax, I’m teasing you. Anyway, yeah. I come here anytime I get away from the clubhouse without someone giving me a job to do.”
“What kind of jobs do they give you?”
Dax shuffles further back on the rocky seat. “Mmm. Never mind that.”
I turn my face away from him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s not that,” Dax says. “You just wouldn’t want to know.”
I rest my hands in my lap and kick my feet out, letting them dangle below. “It couldn’t be as mind-numbing as the tasks my family has me doing. Planning parties is all I’m good for.”
“You’re not a party person?”
“I just don’t want to be doing it for my whole life.”
“Does that mean you won’t be taking over the family business one day?”
I scoff indignantly. “Like I have a choice. I’m the first born, but I was born the wrong gender.”
Dax rears back. “What does that mean?”
I take a moment before admitting what I’m not supposed to say aloud. “My dad has no interest in taking me under his wing because I’m a girl.”
“Geez, what is this, the stone age?”
“My mom had a little bit to do with it too,” I say with a shrug. “She wants me as her pet and to continue her legacy. Either way, I don’t have a choice in my own future.”
“So, your brother will get taught the business stuff?”
“My brother tells me I’m lucky not to be included,” I reply. “He’s so uninterested in the family business. But at least he has options.”
“Well, you could have it a lot worse than planning parties,” Dax says, hiking a leg up and resting his elbow on his knee. “You wouldn’t want to be a woman in my neighborhood.”
“Why? Are girls not allowed to ride motorcycles?” I tease.
Dax’s expression grows stony. “No, they can ride. They’re also used as punching bags.”
Breath hitches in my throat, turning my voice raspy. “What?”
Dax gives a slight nod, running his fingers over the pendant hanging from his neck. “That’s why I wanted you to leave the clubhouse right away. It’s no place for women.”
I pick at my manicure, thinking about the bruises I saw on Dax at the hospital. “They treat women worse than they treat the men?”
Dax shifts uncomfortably, anger heating his face. “Women are treated like they’re worthless.”
My heart aches. This sounds personal.
“Did…” I stammer. “Did someone close to you…?”
Dax huffs, kicking his leg down. “It’s nothing.”
He lifts his cigarette to his mouth, and flicks on the lighter.
“Don’t,” I blurt, placing my hand over his. My fingertips touch the red rose running below his thumb.
He sighs, taking the cigarette from his lips. “Vanessa.”
“Can’t you go a little longer before lighting it?” I ask, swallowing the bulge of my leaping heart.
