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Chapter Seven
Grinder
I’ve had plenty to keep me occupied since my therapy appointment. But for some reason, my thoughts have returned to Serena like clockwork. My brain recognizes it’s probably because she’s the first woman to touch or comfort me in so long. The rest of me doesn’t give a fuck about logic.
I met with my parole officer and, as the guys predicted, he didn’t seem to give a shit. Told him about the job and apartment. Hell, I even told him about going to physical therapy—although I didn’t mention the part about my obsession with my beautiful therapist.
As heated as I’d gotten with Z about Rose’s address, I haven’t gone to see her. That’s probably why I’m fixated on Serena. Avoidance or some shit.
“Jesus, you’re gonna scare every girl away with that mean mug you’re wearing,” Steer says as he plops a can of Coke on the table in front of me.
I snarl at him in response. He laughs and unfortunately doesn’t go away.
Music—at least I think it’s music, there are no discernible instruments or lyrics, just a lot of noise and repeated phrases—throbs through the clubhouse.
The party’s supposed to be in my honor, but no one consulted me on the activities or the soundtrack. Otherwise, things would be a lot quieter.
Earlier, I scared Sparky out of the corner seat of the couch and stationed myself there, with the intention of having a prime view of everyone coming and going.
“You all right, Gray?” Rock asks, dropping down next to me. He pulls Hope into his lap, locking his arms around her waist.
“I’m fine,” I answer without taking my eyes off the front door.
“He’s trying to scare all the females away,” Steer says.
I scowl at him but don’t bother with a response.
Wrath motions for Steer to move over so he can plop down next to me. He leans in. “I’ll take you over to Sully’s place Monday if that works for you?”
“Who?” Slowly, I turn and stare at him. “Oh, right. The job. Yeah, that’d be good.” I roll my shoulder. “I’m hoping therapy works, so I can be of some use.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Wrath assures me. “Go easy. Don’t overdo it at PT.”
I blast him with the full force of my fuck off frown. “Who the fuck you think you’re talking to, son? I ain’t dead yet. You think I was busy taking sewing classes in prison? Stretches and—”
“Easy.” Wrath raises his hands but doesn’t back down. “I know how it is to want to get back to normal.” He pats his thigh. “I’ve been there.”
Now I feel shitty for snapping at him. “Thanks.”
A flash of pale gold hair pulls my attention to the left. It’s not her. It can’t be. There must be thirty blondes in the clubhouse tonight. I’m seeing things.
I pick out Rooster’s big frame over by the bar. He shifts and my gaze lands on two girls.
I sit up straighter.
One of the girls moves to the side, giving me a glimpse of her friend.
Serena.
“Grinder?” Wrath’s voice is distant noise.
Jigsaw leans down and wraps his arms around Serena.
Another brother’s touching my woman.
I jump off the couch.
What’s she doing here, of all places? Is that really her? Or has she been on my mind so much, I’m imagining her? Picturing her somewhere she has no business visiting.
Like a freight train, I barrel through the room, headed straight for Serena. Her hand’s on Jigsaw’s arm. A smile curves her dark red lips.
They seem awfully friendly.
I like Jigsaw. Too bad I’m gonna have to dismember him tonight.
For whatever reason, she’s here. In my clubhouse.
That means she’s mine.
“You two know each other?” Jigsaw asks me.
Wait a second. Is she his woman?
Tough shit.
“Yeah, we know each other.” I slip my arm around her shoulders and do a good impression of a lion warning the other males away from his mate. “She’s with me.”
Rooster and Jigsaw share a raised-eyebrow, what-the-fuck look. But then Jiggy backs away, hands raised in surrender. A smug little smirk stretches across his face. Punk.
“All right then.” He dips his chin. “Glad I got to see you, Serena.”
“You too.”
“Jiggy, wait.” The girl Serena was standing with grabs onto his sleeve and follows him down the hall.
I pull Serena closer. “What are you doing here?”
The clubhouse is in the middle of nowhere. There’s no way she wound up here by accident.
Her wide, confused eyes stare up at me. “I, uh.” Her lips part, her gaze trailing after her friend. “Amanda…”
Serena’s a physical therapist. A professional. She’s got no business hanging around with bikers.
Who cares? I’ve been aching to see her for days, and like fucking magic, she’s here. Why question the reason? It doesn’t matter.
“You need something to drink?” I turn toward the bar.
“I’m okay.” Her body trembles against mine.
Now that we’re up close and personal, I take her in. Heavy makeup tonight. A whole perfect airbrushed face full. Dramatic eyes. Like a model headed to a photo shoot. Stunning.
