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Punk looks alarmed, his eyes widening to comic proportions. “Oh, no. Don’t do that shit. I don’t do well with crying.”
I swipe at my tears as the dam opens down my face, dropping half my trash in the process. “That’s seriously the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a long time. And I can’t believe it came from you, of all people.”
He sighs, pulling me into a hug. “You’re going to be okay, Simone. I promise.”
Simone?He must really feel sorry for me if he’s not calling me “Priss.”
“I’ve been such a bitch to you,” I snivel.
He barks a laugh. “You said it. If it makes you feel better, I’ll still refer to you as ‘Priss.’”
“Yeah, well, you’re still a moron.”
Punk pulls away with a cocky grin. “Glad we’ve got that established. Let’s clean up your pigpen. Then you can accompany me and Hades on a walk around the property. But first, you need to shower—you reek.”
“Hey, I don’t stink!” I turn my back on him to take a quick sniff of my shirt. Hell, if he ain’t telling the truth. I’m foul.
Ignoring my complaint, Punk picks up my room. He’s not half-bad for an unfiltered moron.
* * *
Walking in Colorado would be enjoyable if I liked being in nature. I’m a city girl. Nature and I don’t mix, like oil and vinegar. It may be early October, but it’s a stifling fall afternoon. So far, I’ve swallowed a bug, stubbed my toe on a rock, and I’m roasting in the sun. Punk doesn’t seem to fare any better. He struggles to get my sister’s Cane Corso moving.
Hades is being exceptionally stubborn, throwing a barking tantrum at Punk. It’s almost like he’s telling him to “kick rocks.” Since his mama has been gone, he’s been depressed and refuses to move. He prefers to stay by Chase in the tech room. Can’t say I blame the dog—I’d prefer to be in an air-conditioned room next to that handsome biker, too. But the longer we fight with the dog, the more I melt in the heat.
“Are we there yet?”
“Stop whining,” Punk chides. “We haven’t even gone a full lap around the property.”
His words have me worried. “Exactly how many laps are we doing?”
“Three,” Red huffs next to me, sweat beading on her freckled brow. Red is one of the MC women in the Mercy Ravens crew. Tall and lithe, she has the body most supermodels would kill for. She’s super sweet—quiet, but friendly. Her sleek, long copper-colored locks earned her the club name “Red.”
Ebony hustles beside Red, pumping her arms like she’s power walking for the gold medal. Even at this slow of a pace, she’s struggling to keep up with Red’s long strides—we all are. Eb is another biker chick in the MC. She’s a hoot, always up for a party or girl time, but she’s less thrilled to be on this adventure. Her gorgeous, wavy black hair is why the MC calls her Ebony.
“When Punk said we were going to do something fun, I assumed he meant actual fun, not walkin’ hand-in-hand with Mother Nature. This field trip sucks, Punk. I want a refund.”
He looks over his shoulder at Ebony as he play-fights Hades in a game of tug of war with his leash. “For what?”
“For my chipped toenails. I just did them for the wedding, and look at them. Ruined! Now that would have been a fun outing, going to get our nails done.”
“You wore sandals, Eb,” Punk counters. “You knew the plan included walking.”
“We didn’t think it would require this much effort,” Candy retorts, coming to Ebony’s defense.
Candy—named for her dyed cotton-candy pink hair—was the first woman to join the Mercy Ravens MC. She has a reputation for being a hardass, but she’s not a bad person—she’s just misunderstood
“I hate exercise,” Ebony gripes, pulling her tank top away from her chest. “My boobs are sweating.”
“My butt’s sweating,” I add, stopping in my tracks to catch my breath. I don’t mind exercise, but I prefer laps in a cool pool as opposed to walking on a hot blacktop surface.
Sighing, Candy plants her ass on the paved trail. “Then what the hell is wrong with me? Boobs or butt? I’m sweating everywhere.”
Punk’s lips thin. “Candy, get up.”
Irritated with Punk’s pushy attitude, I plant my ass on the ground next to Candy. Red and Ebony sit next to us in a show of solidarity. We snort with amusement, giving each other knuckles. Us women stick together. None of us has any intention of moving anytime soon.
“Ladies,” Punk tries to placate. “I’ll drop you off at headquarters, but we have to get there first.”
