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Then she moved.
All the air he’d been holding rushed from him as she hurried to the waiting skoolie and disappeared inside.
Not even a minute later, black smoke bellowed from the rear of the bus as whoever was driving hit the accelerator and the piece of shit moved forward.
Heading out of Manning Grove and taking Syn with it.
Chapter Fourteen
As soon as Dodge opened the door to The Barn, the music hit him. Above that, he could hear the shouts of his brothers drinking, playing darts, pool and just fucking around with each other.
Smoke, both of the tobacco variety and the good shit, hovered in the air.
No ol’ ladies, sweet butts or prospects were in sight since none were allowed in the clubhouse during a church meeting.
As he drove his Power Wagon down the farm’s lane, his eyes had automatically bounced to where The Synners’ skoolie had been parked.
Of course, the spot was empty.
She was gone.
For the hundredth time over the past two days, he told himself that was for the best.
In a way, he was glad she didn’t give him her number because he would’ve been tempted to call or text her every time he thought of her.
Possibly to even tell her to come back.
That alone was fucking ridiculous. She was aggravating and stubborn. Not to mention, way too fucking young.
Also for the hundredth time since early Saturday morning, he reminded himself that he preferred women his age. Sometimes, even older.
Shade had it right hooking up with Chelle who was eleven years older than him. The man was happy as fuck. Well, as happy as the man could be.
Even so…
Dodge couldn’t get her out of his head. He never should’ve fucked her. It only made things worse for him. Only burrowed her more deeply under his damn skin.
Maybe he just needed to flay off his skin, scrape her clean, and find someone else to concentrate on. Get his mind focused on something or someone else.
Anyone but her.
He could even get in a session with Billie. A session where she’d push him hard enough that he’d actually consider using his safe word. He’d never had to use it before, but maybe that would make his brain switch gears.
Do a whole reset.
He could do that later after the meeting and after he talked to Sig.
That was his other issue. What if by some crazy act of fate, the Fury’s VP was actually the same Sig she mentioned?
How many people in the world had that name? Probably very few. And what were the odds that the Sig he knew was the same person as her brother?
With his fucking luck, the odds were damn good.
He headed directly to the bar and ducked behind it to grab the tequila and poured himself a double. On second thought… He tipped the bottle again and made it a triple.
He’d need it to talk to Sig.
But first, they had club business to discuss, along with patching in Tater and Possum.
The two prospects weren’t around even though they were given the night off from Crazy Pete’s since he had Micah and Scar working the bar. Most likely one of the officers had told them to go back in the bunkhouse with the excuse that prospects weren’t allowed to participate in club meetings.
This way they could be surprised.
Trip sidled up to Deacon. “You got their patches?”
The club’s treasurer nodded. “Yeah, under the bar. I can hand them to you when you’re ready.”
Trip clapped his hands sharply together once. His signature signal for everyone to pay attention.
When that didn’t work, Judge bellowed out a, “Yo, fucknuts, pay attention. Your prez is about to speak.”
That worked more effectively to quiet everyone’s running mouth and get their attention turned toward Trip, who stepped up onto his “box” to raise him above the rest of them.
Dodge moved from behind the bar and shrugged out of his cut for a second to remove his leather jacket. A fire was roaring in the center fireplace and The Barn was warm as fuck.
He tossed his jacket on the end of the bar and slipped his colors back on since he felt naked without them. As soon as he turned, a hand grabbed his arm.
That hand, which belonged to Sig, tugged the neckline of his thermal shirt away from his neck. “Fuck, brother. You get into a fight with a fuckin’ cat? Those are some hellacious claw marks.”
Shit. “Somethin’ like that,” he muttered. He had no way to cover the scratches that still marked up his neck. Not without using women’s makeup and fuck if he was doing that. Excuses were easier.
Dodge jerked free, pulling his neckline back in place and tugging it up a little higher.
With a knowing grin, Sig then spotted Dodge’s exposed forearms, where he had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He yanked them back down until they covered him to his wrists.
