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"So are we having cookies for breakfast?" he asked, smiling at me.
"Hash browns and eggs. Then cookies," I told him.
If Shep was curious why I forewent my usual yoga pants and a tee that day, opting instead for a pair of my nicest skinny jeans and a lightweight yellow sweater, he said nothing.
He also said nothing about the cookies I'd packed in the car, because I'd had the foresight to pack an extra plate for him to bring into the physical therapy office with him. And just made sure he didn't see the much bigger container full of them that I was bringing with me to the Henchmen clubhouse.
I fretted with my decision to drop in. I mean, I didn't even know if he would be there. But every time I'd tried to send him a text, my mind went blank, and I couldn't think of anything to say.
The cookies would give me an opening line.
It wasn't until I was parking on the street outside of the clubhouse that I realized I maybe should have been nervous about going into a place full of strange men. Alone.
But Malcolm was an undeniably good man. The other guy from the night before had seemed a bit more unhinged, but decent enough too. I was just choosing to believe the rest of them were cut from the same cloth.
I chose not to check my reflection, knowing I wasn't going to see what I wanted to. I just got out of the car, grabbed my cookies, and made my way up the street, walking past the gates that were several feet higher than my head with barbed wire on top.
There was a rush of relief when I saw Malcolm's familiar truck parked out front.
And I'd barely gotten to the front gate when I saw the massive, wrinkly dogs lounging under a tree in the side yard.
Their giant heads lifted as I moved in front of the gate, curious, but in no way intending to charge the gate and intimidate me.
"Hey Tommy! Hey Chuckie!" I greeted in my obnoxious cute-dog-voice.
"You know them, but I don't know you," a voice declared, seeming to come out of nowhere at my side.
He looked to be around Malcolm's age with dark hair and light eyes. Lots of tattoos. Attractive. In a way that said he totally knew he was.
"Oh, hey. Yeah. I, um, I'm Holly," I told him, shuffling my feet under his intense gaze. "I was, ah, wondering if Malcolm is here."
"Oh," he said, smirk going a little devilish. "You're the girl worth getting locked up for, huh?" he asked.
"I, well, I don't know about all that. I just..."
"It's alright," the guy said, shaking his head, smile going a bit softer. "Yeah, Malc is here," he told me, unlocking the gate. "I'm Fallon," he added as he closed the gate behind me. "That," he said, gesturing toward my face, "looks too old to be the reason Malc was in cuffs last night."
"Oh, ah, right. Yeah, I was at work and someone... they snuck up on me," I told him, finding myself oddly embarrassed even though getting attacked was clearly not my fault.
"Was it the same guy?" Fallon asked. "The one who hurt you, and the one Malcolm beat the shit out of?"
"I... I don't know. I never saw him," I admitted as Malcolm's dogs finally decided to get up and wander over, but not until they made a big show of stretching and yawning first.
"Ferocious beasts," Fallon said, patting one of them on the head. "I have a cousin who has a dog the size of a rat who is scarier than these fuckers," he added, but was looking for the spot on one of the dog's belly to get his leg going as he said it, clearly having a spot for the bad guard dogs.
"Well, they look intimidating at least," I said, petting the giant wrinkly head of the other dog. Tommy, his collar told me.
"Yeah, in case the fence, barbed wire, trench, and the numerous bikers aren't scary enough," Fallon agreed. "You brought him cookies, huh?" he asked as he led me toward the front door.
"I wanted to, you know, thank him. And apologize."
"He's not going to want an apology, babe," Fallon declared, closing the door behind me.
The inside of the clubhouse was about what I expected with a full bar, a pool table, and a seating area with a giant TV and some gaming consoles. But it was a bit more upscale than I guessed. It almost had the appearance of a nice bar more so than a biker home base.
There were a lot of guys just hanging about, including the guy with no shirt from the night before. Only he had a white tee on now.
The weirdest part, though?
There wasn't a bad looking guy in the bunch.
