“And let her sit there and look pretty behind glass? Not a chance. On my way to help her out.”
“Such a gentleman, don’t let me keep you. Go on, get your girl.”
Your girl. Yeah, mine.
Wrong place and wrong fucking time, Kaleb. Get Nadia and get this shit over with, the riders wouldn’t have pulled us this way if they didn’t want us here. Rounding the front of the car, I reach her door and hear the locks disengage when I grab the handle. Popping it free, she twists in her seat. Converse meeting dirt at her exit, she clears the open door and instantly takes hold of my hand, wrapping one around it as the other laces our fingers together—my heart leaps into my throat.
Fuck me.
Em joins us a few seconds later, his inquisitive gaze sliding across Nadia a little too long before a playful smirk pulls at his mouth.
“Emmett Carver. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” He introduces himself, attempting to be a charming devil, extending his hand for her to shake.
“I didn’t give it.” She bites back, tone even and dry. Nadia didn’t look away or back down. Shifting slightly, I focus on her, seeing how she’s going to handle the situation and if I’ll have to fight my way out of this or if Em will accept her smart mouth as a greeting. To my relief, he laughs and pushes his hand forward abit more, shoulders relaxing, his stance shifting into more of an unintimidating lean that you see between friends.
“Nice to meet you, Smartass. Go on, shake it, let’s see if that attitude matches your grip.”
Nadia doesn’t hesitate, she lets go and slaps her hand in his where he feigns the power of her strength when she squeezes his palm. He grabs his shoulder and hollers, hissing when his boys rush up thinking she’s doing real damage but he waves them off; delicately shaking her hand after his dramatics. Em claps his free one on the back of hers and brings it up, kissing the faint scars on her knuckles. A wave of jealousy rushes through me, settling in my jaw between my gritted teeth—dickhead.
“Alright, death grip, what’s your name?”
“Nadia.”
“Pretty. You Rey’s girl? Or you here to shop? I’m sure any of my boys would love to have a cute thing like you hanging on their arm.”
“If I was in the market for a fast track to the penitentiary, sure.”
A few lurkers hanging behind Em crack up at that, the sounds of their varying laughs mix with their clapping hands and hooting. Em doesn’t say anything for a moment. You can see the wave of intrigue and a slight bit of annoyance pass over his features but he schools them and smiles at her. His tongue moves in his mouth like he’s tasting something he has to swallow a few times to get down—pride.
“That’s enough, Nadia.” I chime in. Em snaps his gaze to mine and the mask comes down, covering the violence behind it.
“Come in, we’re about to throw some food on the grill. Celebration, successful run and because we fucking can. Nadia, join us, please. Let me introduce you to some of the other girls and show you that we’re just a big ass chosen-family here.”
“She won’t be leaving my side.” My tone is uncompromising and color me fucking grateful she doesn’t say anything as I speak boldly for her. She can rip me for it later, right now we have an appearance to make.
“Fine, fine, food and good vibes it is!” He relents, both hands lifting in that all too familiar hands up-don’t shoot pose, smirking at my girl. Cocky asshole. I hope his siblings don’t turn out like him, one Em is enough on this fucking rock. Reluctantly, we follow him; flanked by riders who are reaching for women as we move across the drive to the open garage-style door. Grills are lined up on both sides, billowing heat, buffet style and my damn stomach growls when the scent of charred meat hits my nose.
Nadia quietly looks around, taking inventory of our surroundings for reasons I hate as we move deeper inside. Four feet in front of the grills are folding tables loaded with fixings: tomatoes, lettuce, condiments, cheese, chips, grilled corn, tortillas, plates & napkins too. Beneath them, coolers loaded with ice and drinks so high they remain propped open. To the untrained eye, this looks like a normal gathering of families but I know better.
“Rey—“ Nadia whispers at my side. Pulling my attention away from the set up my gaze follows her eyesight to several more people huddled around another table. As if they knew she was watching, they leaned over with fingers pressed to their noses, sweeping across the metal finish. I know exactly what the hell they’re doing, which they confirm as they stand straight and start sniffing hard. Nadia is tense at my side, probably the first time she’s ever seen someone snort a line of blow.
“Don’t look at them. Come on, let’s sit.” Urging her away, we manage to find a single seat available on a couch that has seen better days. The faux leather is cracking with peekaboos of fabric beneath, some of the damage has been patched but notsuccessfully. Not to mention the cat scratches on the arm rests, and gnaw marks on the feet where dogs spend too much time being bored rather than useful.
Squeezing between two people, I drag Nadia onto my lap. This might have not been the plan, bringing her into the den, but we will make do. She doesn’t fight me, thankfully. My hands find her hip and thigh almost immediately when someone begins to pass out plated hamburger patties and hot dogs. I rather she didn’t eat here, if she’s hungry we can go somewhere else; to my relief she declines and relaxes back into me as much as she can. Her back pressing against my chest, trying to look like she might belong here, even if it’s only for a moment. Leaning in, my nose grazes the side of her neck before I speak only where she can hear.
“Sorry, I’ll get us out of here as soon as I can. Em must want me for something or the riders wouldn’t have escorted us in.”
“Whatever,” she clips quickly.
Yeah, sassy pants. I know that tone.
“Rey, we need to talk.” Em states on cue, finding his place on the coffee table before us, too damn close to Nadia. There are paper plates with food littering the top, beer cans, cups of alcohol, and soda. I have a feeling he’s trying to intimidate her, ugly for him, he’s barked up the wrong damn tree.
“I thought you might, what you got?”
“Your sister’s boy.”
“Yeah, what about him?”
