Page 39 of The Price of Love

All eyes are on Storm as she dismounts and pulls off her helmet. The rest of the Thorns follow suit. When she turns and digs in her saddlebag, I check out her back patch, which is so different from the Steel Graces’ pink and black patch. Their three-piece rocker features a dark red rose with ominous thorns overlaid across a gear. The image and colors are so much heavier than our patch.

I watch with curiosity as the Thorns extract various-sized packages from their side bags. Storm glances at the others, waiting for the last Thorn to finish before she leads the group toward the table.

She’s several feet ahead of the rest as they fall into line. Dimples fades back as another woman with a white-blond streak in her dark hair slides in behind Storm. I assume it’s Frost, their VP.

As Storm comes closer, the first thing I notice is her presence. It would fill a room without her even trying. From what I’ve heard of her, it was expected, but what catches me by surprise is that her energy doesn’t feel dangerous the way Margot’s does. Strange that the president of an outlaw club seems less volatile than my attorney ex-wife. Perhaps it’s the adorable blue teddy bear in her arms that softens her energy.

When Storm approaches the table, she says, “We come bearing gifts.”

I give her a smile and glance behind her at the line of women, all with their hands full. I nod to the pile beside the table. “Everyone has been generous today. Thank you so much.” And I mean it. I’m touched that these badass women came with so many gifts.

Storm looks over her shoulder. “You heard the lady. The donations belong over there.”

The women file out of line, and the heap becomes a mountain.

Storm grins at me, still holding the teddy bear. She hands it across the table. “I’d hate to see this little guy get crushed.”

I take the bear from her, and without thinking, I hug it to my chest. Isn’t that what teddy bears are for?

Her smile grows.

When I realize what I’ve done, my face heats, and I struggle for words. “Uh…huggable…I mean, it passes the hug test, so the kids will love it.” I hurry from behind the table and place the teddy bear on top as if I’m putting a star on the Christmas tree.

I feel Storm’s gaze on me, but I don’t look at her as I hurry back behind the table. Once standing with the barrier between us, I resume my official pose. “Would you like to register?”

She smirks. “That’s what usually happens at the registration table.”

“Uh…yeah.” I pick up the clipboard and scan the list of Iron Thorn names. Only twenty on the list, but there’s definitely more in line.

Before I can say anything, Storm says, “Jax?”

Shit. I’d assumed this was Storm. She sure looked like the picture Wiz had given me. I scan the list, but I don’t see the name Jax. I look up at her, confused. My gaze goes to her name patch, which reads Storm.

She points at the ground. “Your shoes. Are you a fan of Jax?”

What is she talking about?

“Sons of Anarchy, you know, the TV show. Jax always wore white sneakers.”

“Oh. No. I mean, yeah, I watched the show. I wouldn’t say I was a fan of Jax. It’s not why I wear them.” I smile. “Everyone wears boots, so I wanted to make a fashion statement.”

Storm lifts her leg so I can see her well-worn boots. “Maybe I should trade these in.”

I laugh. “I think those suit you.”

She gives me another of her crooked smiles. “Old and worn out?”

I laugh. “Worn in and rugged. Those boots have character.” Knowing it was my job to make a connection, I continue. “If boots could talk, I bet those could tell a story.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I guess it’s a good thing they can’t talk then.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” I pick up a registration packet. “Do you want to register your group?”

Storm shakes her head. “Nope. I’ll let them register themselves, so you have all the information you need.” She pulls an envelope from her back pocket. “Here’s the registration fees for everyone, plus a little extra.” She grins and motions behind her with her head. “Um…I’m sure you probably noticed I brought a few extras. Their fees are in here, too.” She thrusts the envelope toward me.

As I reach for it, I jump when Wiz’s loud voice comes from behind me. “Storm. I’m so glad you and your club could make it.” Wiz pushes between me and the prospect and sticks out her hand. The charge in the air is palpable.

Storm shakes it. “Hey, Wiz. We’re happy to help such a great cause.”