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“Ready?” Charlie’s voice pulled me from my thoughts and I nodded absently, scanning the downtown street lined with cafes, bistros and boutiques that kept later business hours to keep up with Vegas shops.
“Yeah.” I said and turned to him. “You know, I was just think—oh shit, is that Sadie?” I pointed to the Italian bistro across the street with the burgundy awning and the kitschy Chianti bottle candles.
Charlie leaned in close, too close, and followed my finger across the street. “Fuck, it is,” he said, “and isn’t that the pedo priest in your father’s pocket?”
I squinted and looked closer, realizing it was Father Mueller but without his collar, dressed in a dark blazer and jeans like a civilian.
“Fuck, that is him. He helped Brendan and the Crusaders find girls, among other things.” I turned back to him and sucked in a breath at his nearness. This close up, I could see threads of green in Charlie’s gaze.
“What do you think they’re doing?”
Charlie’s eyes darkened as he continued to stare across the street, at Sadie smiling at Father Mueller, her toasting with him like they were old friends, possibly even lovers. “No idea, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
Not good for the Reckless Bastards, that much was sure, which meant I might have an ally in Charlie after all. “It’s never good when that man is around.”
He gave a short, distracted nod and grabbed my hand. “Come on.”
We walked back to his bike in silence and this time when I hopped on back and slid my arms around his waist, I felt a little more hopeful. A little brighter, like maybe there was life after the shitstorm, after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Charlie
“Who knew bikers did lazy Sundays?” Savannah wore an uncharacteristic smile that gave me a glimpse of the beauty she’d been before life had fucked her up. Her hair was thick and bouncy, shining brightly from all angles as the sun filtered in through the half-open blinds. Her blue eyes sparkled. Life had come back to her, on the outside anyway.
I smiled at her from my recliner, kicked back with a bag of chips on my lap. “Who doesn’t love a lazy Sunday?”
“Agreed,” she said and handed me another beer before she stretched her long legs out on the sofa, crossing them at the ankles in the comically large wool socks Ma had brought her.
“Sunday is a day of relaxation. If the Good Lord above could rest on Sunday, so can I.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Recovery is hard goddamn work.”
She eyed me cautiously. “Speaking from experience?”
“You could say that. I know how hard it is to get that monkey off your back. It ain’t easy and every damn day is a fight to stay sober.”
“Yeah, it fucking sucks. But I’ll never go there again.”
The determination in her voice and that steely look that flashed in her clear blue eyes told me she meant it, and I believed her, or maybe I just wanted to believe her.
“You’ve proven to be stubborn as fuck, so I have confidence in you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Seriously, Charlie, thank you. For picking me up at that convenience store and helping me get straightened out, even though I’ve been a pain in the ass.”
I shrugged. “At least you’re pretty to look at.” The more Savannah came to life, the harder it was to ignore that she was beautiful. Her smart-ass mouth and nonstop sarcasm only made her more appealing, not to mention the proximity. And the fact that, now that she had put on a few pounds, her body was banging hot.
She had perfect tits that shook and jiggled every time she laughed or bounced around the house. She had a narrow waist that gave her a fantastic bombshell hourglass shape, and yeah, I could admit to fantasizing about fucking her.
“Thanks to you,” she shot back with a smile. “And the wonderful face cream your mother dropped off. And the body moisturizer,” she groaned. “My skin hasn’t been this soft in ages.”
My hands itched to touch her; my fingertips longed to travel the length of those legs to see just how soft they were. “Good,” I grunted. “I’m glad.”
Savannah stared at me a beat and tossed her head back with a husky laugh that shot straight to my cock. “Oh, don’t be such a guy, Charlie. Skin care is important, and I know you know that because despite your smoking and drinking, you’ve got that whole hot biker thing going on. Straight out of central casting.”
Hot? “Did you just fuckin’ call me hot?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know you’re hot, Charlie. Every one of those Bitches at the clubhouse are praying you’ll promote one of them to Old Lady status.”
I shook my head and pushed down the footrest, leaning in close with a playful smile. “Yeah, but we’re not talking about them. We’re talking about you, and you think I’m hot.”
