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We were about to head out of the kitchen when the doors swung open, and the man who I dreamed about at night stood there in front of us.
His eyes met Jagger’s, then, out of nowhere, he granted me his attention. Fender Loveless—yes, that’s his last name which I had always found ironic—stood there, looking, no, glaring at me.
This was the first time he actually laid eyes on me, and he was staring me down as if I had just stolen his favorite toy from him. That toy being his gun, of course.
Fender was intimidating. He was huge, and those muscles didn’t help. He was the VP, one below Woodrow, but deadlier, and I couldn’t stop looking at him.
I had often secretly watched him but I could never figure out what color his eyes were. They were dark blue sometimes, and other days, like today, they were lighter. A kind of gray. Indescribable. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and wavy. He ran his hands through it so often that they stayed pushed back, with his tips touching the back of his neck.
He didn’t have a beard, and though he could definitely grow one, he never did. Not with those scars all over his jaw and neck.
He had once been attacked by a guy with a knife, leaving him with multiple scars and the memory of his almost-death.
Women at the club talked about his battle scars non-stop, and when one of them mentioned how patchy his beard would be if he did grow one, she was quickly shut down by the other women, saying how he’d look handsome with a patchy beard regardless.
I didn’t engage in those conversations.
We stood there, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, but in a split second, that moment was gone.
Fender moved, and Jagger pulled me aside so I wouldn’t get knocked over by him.
“Come,” Jagger urged, nodding his head toward the door.
I blinked, wondering how long we actually stood there before we moved. My gaze went back to Fender one last time, then I followed Jagger into the dining room and sat down with him where I was sitting before. Some guys had left the table so there was more space now.
“Did you restock the cooler?” Woodrow asked, and I gave him a nod.
“Yes.”
I watched Jagger fill his plate, and when he started eating, he pressed his knee against mine. “You okay?” he asked, his mouth full of steak.
I smiled up at him and nodded, then rested my hand on his thigh. I wanted to be as close to him as possible. His presence helped me to be calm. I needed that to survive this place.
Although it was my home and all I’ve ever known, without Jagger by my side, I wasn’t sure I would still be here.
Chapter 3
REMEDY
“Sure you want to leave already?” Agnes asked. Myra was sleeping in her arms, and I knew she wouldn’t be in her crib before midnight.
That had been me when I was a baby. There were photos of me sleeping in my father’s arms while he smoked a cigarette and drank beer, with all his brothers sitting around him doing the same.
There were countless photos of me surrounded by these big, bad bikers, and even some where I was wearing a helmet that was too big for me while sitting on a Harley.
That went on until I was old enough to talk and say no when I didn’t feel like being in a picture. Myra was in just as many photos, but instead of being held by the men, she was always in Agnes’ arms.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m tired and I promised Alistair to be in early tomorrow morning to help stock the shelves.”
I had been working at Alistair’s grocery store for over three years now, and I loved it. It took my mind off the club and let me be normal for a few hours a day. I worked there five days a week, and sometimes went in on the weekends if Alistair needed me.
I liked my job, and I was saving up to get my own apartment someday. Even if Woodrow would hate for me to leave the house.
I just needed space. A place of my own where I could spend some alone time with just my thoughts and books. God, I loved books. But I didn’t get to read as often as I liked to.
“Is Jagger driving you home?” Agnes asked, and I nodded.
“He’s waiting outside.”
