Page 78 of Coveted By Cupid

I wrinkle my nose. “Is that a good thing? Or is it going to piss off some club members?”

Flustered, Cookie throws his hands in the air. “Jesus, woman. You’re fine. You’ll fit right in.”

“Oh, good,” I say, pleased, my nerves settling somewhat.

Cookie smirks, pointing at my face. “You’re perfect, minus the unicorn horn protruding from your forehead. That shit is terrifying.”

I slug him in the bicep, making him laugh. “Asshole. Leave my horn out of this. It’s nearly gone.”

Cookie takes me by the shoulders, turns me around and guides me into the restaurant. “Come on. No one is going to start shit with you. You’re Cupid’s woman. They all know what happened to the last bastard who messed with you, and they want none of it. They prefer to keep all their parts attached.”

My feet falter. There’s no way I heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm? Oh, um, that came out wrong,” Cookie says with a nervous laugh, guiding me forward again. “Smile. Everyone is looking at you.”

Swallowing down my nerves, I square my shoulders and address the crew members with polite hellos as I make my way to an open table with Cookie trailing behind me. “Morning, everyone. Don’t let me stop you from enjoying your meal.”

A few of the bikers nod in greeting or wave hello as I pass them. Taking a seat at the open table, I do my best to school my features into looking unbothered. Yet, it’s hard not to feel self-conscious when most of the crew continues to watch me like I’m some sort of curiosity.

Cookie takes the seat next to me, cool as a cucumber. “The kitchen ladies make a mean biscuits and gravy. You should try it.”

“Sounds delicious.”

Cookie waves over one of the wait staff and places our order. Marlene winks at me with a big smile when she exits the kitchen to bring a club member his food. I wave back to her, happy to know one familiar face. I scan the room, looking for Cupid in the mix of bodies, and smiling politely at anyone I inadvertently make eye contact with. My biker is nowhere to be found, as well as Oaks. Guessing the two are probably still together working, I relax a tad. If Marlene seems chill with her man’s absence, I should be too. The VP’s ole lady doesn’t seem like the type of woman to tolerate her man stepping out on her, at least not without her running him through a brick wall first.

As far as what the two bikers are up to is still a mystery.

The chair across from me scrapes against the wood floor as it’s pulled out. A man nearly as big as Oaks plops into it. As big as he is, that’s not what catches my attention, nor is it his hair covering his eyes in deep shadows or the head-to-toe black clothing. It’s the skull and corpse tattoos covering his arms that are startling graphic in their macabre state, giving him a very unsettling vibe.

The scary-looking biker barely makes eye contact with me before saying, “Hi, Vanessa. I mean, I should probably call you Psyche, unless you like Vanessa more.”

As intimidating as he appears, the biker seems okay enough, if not a little awkward in his communication. I get the impression he’s not used to talking with people.

“Hi. Either is fine…” I squint to get a better look at the name patch on his cut, “…Crypt.” Fitting name for a man covered in death, but I’m definitely not asking how he earned his club name. Learned my lesson with Cookie.

“You probably don’t remember, but I met you the night we moved you in with Prez.”

“Ah. Sorry. I can’t recall much from the move,” I say, pointing at the bruise on my forehead, as if it needs to be pointed out any more than it already does on its own. “This certainly hasn’t helped my recollection of our encounter.”

“Looks pretty good to me,” another equally large biker with shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a red bandana says, taking the seat on my other side. “The swelling has gone way down.” He holds his massive, calloused hand out to me. “Nice to finally meet you while you’re awake. I’m Drift.”

He seems friendly. I take a quick glance at his Road Captain patch under his name as I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Drift.”

At least he thinks my unicorn horn is no longer dominating my forehead.

Crypt’s brows knit together, leaning forward to examine my injury. “Good? Are you blind? It’s still pretty gnarly, if you ask me. The yellow is worse than the purple.”

Ouch. No sparing anyone’s feelings here.

“Crypt, buddy,” Drift says, shifting in his seat to face his club brother. “That’s one of those inside thoughts you don’t share out loud.”

“But it’s true. Look at it,” he says, waving his hand at my head and drawing everyone’s attention to it. “The purple was better. Yellow is not her color.”

Wow. Nothing like being humbled.

“Ignore him,” Drift says to me. “Crypt sometimes fixates on odd things and puts his foot in his mouth. He does it with everyone.”

“He’s sorry,” Cookie says before addressing Crypt. “Aren’t you, Crypt?”