Page 92 of Misadventures of a Biker

“Pretty sure,” she replied. “I heard Vinnie talking to Kate’s boyfriend. Why?”

“I was just…” I swallowed against the bile that rose into my throat. “Wondering.”

The thought of living without Devin was crippling. Just a day earlier, Britt had returned my money, along with a letter of apology admitting what he’d done wrong. I wanted to tell Devin in person but now wondered if it would even be possible.

Be it the spices in the air, the fact that Devin was with his MC, or that I didn’t have a single picture of us together, I’d never know. But I began to softly cry and had to excuse myself to the bathroom.

I stared in the mirror and wondered how I’d allowed myself to make such a mistake. No matter how many times I went over it in my head, I couldn’t force myself to believe anything I’d done should have been done differently. I had no regrets.

Only heartache.

After wiping my tears and fixing my makeup, I checked myself in the mirror. I looked like a blond raccoon. Frustrated that I’d be incapable of masquerading my sadness, I dabbed concealer under my eyes.

The wall-mounted mirror began to shake. The faucet followed. A horrendous thunder began to shake the floor beneath my feet.

The sky was clear when I showed up. It was only fitting that a hurricane would crop up out of nowhere and ruin the evening for everyone else.

I burst from the bathroom, certain the end was imminent.

The thunderous noise grew louder with each passing second. By the time I’d reached the living room, the entire group was gathered at the window, peering outside.

“What’s going on?” I asked, still standing in the hallway, petrified. “What’s happening?”

Vinnie stepped to the side, giving me a view of what they were gawking at. I wouldn’t have guessed it could get worse, but it did.

Instantly.

Motorcycles lined both sides of the street. Tattooed men in black vests dismounted their Harleys and hugged one another, slapped each other’s backs, and extinguished their cigarettes.

I watched with balled fists as dozens upon dozens of men filtered toward the door. In the middle of the crowd, one stood out above all the rest. I almost didn’t recognize him, as he was wearing his motorcycle gang’s leather vest.

Devin.

It was apparent his decision was made. Anger built within me until I shook.

The door opened. One by one, leather-clad bikers entered the home. The smell of cowhide, gasoline, and adrenaline wafted past me.

As soon as Devin cleared the doorway, I pushed my way through the crowd. When our eyes met, he looked away. If I learned nothing else from Devin, I learned to be myself. Biting my tongue wasn’t an option.

“Really?” I spat. “Really?”

Standing nervously beside two of his MC brethren, he pushed his hands into his pockets. Seeing the patches on the front of his vest—BONE and SERGEANT AT ARMS—made me want to vomit. The battle for his heart had been won, and it was clear I wasn’t the victor.

“Teddi, wait,” he said. “I can explain.”

“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” I snapped back. “I’m not interested in doing this.”

He pushed his way through the crowd. “Doing what?”

“These people. All these people.” My eyes welled with tears. “Is this necessary?”

He stepped in front of me. “I needed the men—”

“Fuck them,” I blurted. “What about me? I love you, Devin.”

Confusion washed over him. “I love you, too.”

“Then why?” I asked.