Page 23 of My Wild Biker

We shower separately because together would make us late and I'm already pushing it. I find clean jeans and a black tee while she gets dressed in last night's clothes. Her hair is still damp when we head out.

The ride to her rental takes ten minutes and I follow her inside while she changes. The place looks more temporary than it did Thursday night. Her suitcases are against the wall, mostly packed. The few items she'd spread around are gone now, put away, like she's already preparing to leave.

Sunday. Tomorrow.

I push the thought away.

She comes out of the bedroom in clean jeans that hug her curves and a dark green shirt that makes her eyes stand out. Hair pulled back, minimal makeup. She looks good and I tell her so.

"You clean up nice yourself," she says.

"I hope so.” I smirk, “Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

The clubhouse is busier when we arrive than it was yesterday. Bikes lined up out front, trucks parked in the gravel lot. Brothers and their women heading inside. I spot Clint's bike, Tate's, Cain's, Roan's, all the main brothers.

Isla's hand finds mine as we walk toward the building and I squeeze once before letting go. Inside we'll be visible, under observation, part of the club dynamic whether we're ready or not.

Inside it smells like coffee and motor oil same as always. The main room is filling up, brothers standing in groups talking, women gathered near the bar in back. Katherine sees us first and waves. Isla waves back and some of the tension in her shoulders eases.

Clint's leaning against the wall talking to Tate when he spots us. His eyes track from me to Isla and back. He doesn't say anything but he nods once. Approval. Or at least acknowledgment.

Tate follows Clint's gaze and grins. "Brought someone to church, Chuck. That's new."

"Trying new things."

"Good for you." Tate offers his hand to Isla. "Good to see you again."

"You too."

Katherine appears and pulls Isla away toward the other women. Sydney's there, Clint's woman, and she takes point on introductions. I watch Isla get absorbed into the group and feel something settle. The women in this club take care of their own. If Isla's here with me, she's under that umbrella now whether she fully understands it or not.

Cain materializes at my elbow with his laptop. "She stayed."

"Observant."

"It's my job." He looks at Isla across the room. "You bringing her means something. You know that."

"Yeah. I know."

"And Sunday?"

"We'll figure it out."

He doesn't push, just nods and moves off. Knox appears next, older brother I've known fifteen years. He doesn't say anything, just looks at Isla, then at me, then grins and claps me on the shoulder hard enough it hurts.

"About damn time," is all he says before walking away.

Church starts at ten sharp. Everyone gathers around the long table, brothers in their usual spots, women in chairs along the walls. Isla sits between Katherine and Sydney and looks more comfortable than I expected.

Clint runs the meeting efficient as always. Business first. Tate reports on street activity. I give an update on Marrow movements, including last night's incident. When I describe the kid with the knife, Clint's expression goes hard.

"They're probing," Clint says. "Testing our response time, our willingness to engage. That message about Crane being tired of playing defensive? That's not posturing. He's planning something."

"What do you want to do?" Roan asks.

"Double the watches. Two-man rotations on high-value targets. The Anchor, the school, main roads in and out of town. Nobody rides alone until we know what Crane's planning." Clint looks at me. "Chuck, keep working your contacts. I want to know where Crane is, what he's doing, who he's talking to."