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“Did someone hit you, sugar?” I pause at the question. “Who hit you?”
“Yes. Tyson, my boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s an asshole.”
“Fair enough. How long has it been going on?”
“Years.”
“Why did you stay?”
“Because I'm stupid.” He flinches at my answer.
“Why did you leave?”
“Because I finally smartened up.” He smiles at that.
“What did you tell your mother?”
I start to answer but a knock on the door stops me. “Yo, Sin, Cut wants you now.” A rugged voice barrels through the door.
“Got it.” Sin scoots off the bed. “Let’s go, sugar. It’s time for you to meet the club.”
“The club?”
“Yep.” He takes my hand in his. “The MC.”
Shit.
Now, I'm no prude. MC. I know what MC stands for. I know it's a motorcycle club. I’ve seen them on television, and read about them in books. I'm from Texas; I don’t live under a rock. But watching Hollywood’s version of it, or reading about it has no comparison to seeing it with my own eyes. “I need you to stay close to me, okay?” Sin tells me.
“Yeah, okay.”
He continues to hold my hand as we make our way down the hall entering a larger room. It looks like the main room of the clubhouse. He pulls me along with him, the catcalls and whistles making me feel like I'm on display. Keeping my head down I follow wherever Sin is taking me. He stops, which suddenly makes me stop, and my face hits his back. “Shit, sorry.” I whisper.
“Close the door.” A voice at my left says, followed by a loud slam. “Sin, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“Cut, seriously?” Sin asks as I lift my eyes up taking in the scene before me.
A group of men, huge, scary looking men, is before me. Each one of them wearing black leather vests. They’re all completely different and beautiful in their own way. Holy, shitballs. They’re gathered around a long table and from what I know; this is what they might call, ‘Church’.
The entire sight is very intimidating. There’s a lot of strength and testosterone in such a confined space. It should make me feel uneasy, but it doesn’t. I’ve lived and survived enough over the past four years that I’ll never let another man make me feel weak or frightened. I straighten my back and set my shoulders, ready for whatever this group of men is willing to throw at me. I’ll no longer allow myself to be pushed around by another man. Ever.
“Very.” The voice belongs to a man seated at the end of the table. He has the same dark hair as Sin.
“This is—”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself, “Savannah.” I finish for him. I step out from behind Sin and make myself known. “My name is Savannah Ray, I’m–”
“Yeah, Savannah Ray from Fort Worth. We already know this, baby.” This comes from a mountain of a man. There isn’t a trace of any hair on his head. From where I stand, he looks intimidating and somewhat pissed off with a deep scowl on his face. His muscles are trapped in the tightness of the cotton of his t-shirt. His sleeves are rolled up over the bulging fullness of his biceps. One thing that stands out from him compared to the other guys, is that he is completely ink free. His skin is clean and untouched.
“Fuck off, Lick.”
“I’d like to lick her, whatcha say, Sin, brother?”
I ignore him. I'm not about to play into intimidation tactics. I know Sin won’t allow him to hurt me. The fact that he is still holding my hand, squeezing it, tells me that he's going to protect me. I glance to the head of the table, addressing the man who Sin called Cut.
