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“You can decide what you want to bring up to your new spot,” Armor says as he walks outside with Goose.
That’s the moment when I realize I’m supposed to sleep here every night. Before I can panic over my life changing, I take Xenia’s hand and direct her to the stairwell.
Upstairs in the corner suite once occupied by Eagle, I open the drapes to let in the woodland view.
“I’m sorry,” Xenia says, seeming tired now. “I don’t like inconveniencing people.”
“You can cook them something nice to make you even,” I explain and wave her over to the windows. “Is this place okay?”
“It’s beautiful and big and full of good people.”
When I cock my eyebrow at the “good people” part, Xenia shrugs. “A nice, old lady hit me in the face today and called me a whore. A bunch of bikers just offered a sanctuary to me and my stray cat along with her babies. I think it’s clear who the good people are.”
I try to see the club from Xenia’s viewpoint. They drop by her shop and spend money. They took turns trying to coax Rose the Cat inside the carrier. I bet watching all those tough guys and Goose whining about their scratched hands likely made her think we’re softies.
Maybe one day she’ll suffer a rude awakening to the reason the Steel Berserkers Motorcycle Club runs McMurdo Valley. We didn’t win by being the smartest or kindest. We were just more brutal and stubborn than the opposition.
That might be a dealbreaker for this tame chick swept up in the notion of loving an untamable man like me. Somehow, I doubt it. Xenia ignored a lot of shit about her parents to keep believing in them. I can imagine her doing the same for me.
If she can remain blind to the club’s ugly side, I just might manage to keep my ass from fleeing into the woods.
XENIA
I’m on autopilot duringmy first day at the Pigsty. Overwhelmed and embarrassed, I can’t remember how to turn on my carefree side. The whole “warrior princess” thing went out the window as soon as I got taken down by an old lady.
Now, I only want to get through the day, do whatever needs to be done, and hide away. Like every bad day in Vegas, I crave to be alone with my dreams.
Except the best part of my life isn’t in my head. Hobo’s right next to me, keeping close throughout the entire day. Even when I make chicken fajitas in the industrial kitchen, he plays sous chef.
His friends go wild over dinner. I don’t think it takes much to impress them food-wise.
Sitting outside after dinner, I try my first blunt and hope to relax. I don’t feel a damn thing for the longest time. I think maybe I’m inhaling wrong. Hobo seems chill after he smokes most of the blunt, but I can’t settle down.
At some point, I get really into the stars. That’s probably when the pot hits my system.
“I’m going to buy the property where your shop is at,” Hobo says as we strip down in his new room.
