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Just how flipped is their world from mine? I let my gaze rover over Tyke again, the way the muscles in his arm cord with his stance, the breadth of his strong shoulders clear. He assures ease and compliance with his casual pose, but the rigidity of his spine and the constant roll and flex of his forearm as he squeezes the bar over his head say he’s primed and ready to engage should the occasion call for it.
I take stock of Digger’s defensive stance again—legs wide, arms folded, jaw slowly working a knot side-to-side—and then Connor’s agitated pacing behind the officer as he quietly converses with Tyke.
One wrong move, one wrong word, and it feels as though this whole thing could explode.
As though to prove my point, Barker steps back with a shake of his head, trading places with Connor as my ex strides to the gates. "No!" He grabs the bars and jerks hard enough to rattle the seemingly immovable blockade. “You fucking let me talk with her. Now.”
Digger takes a step forward, the movement shifting his T-shirt across his back. I catch the outline of something tucked into his waistband at the rear. They're serious as all get out today.I've never seen him carry a gun while at the clubhouse before.Unless I've been too busy staring at other parts of him.He squares up to my ex, uttering something low enough that only they can hear.
Connor lifts his frantic gaze over Digger's shoulder, connecting with mine. I feel the hurt in those gray eyes deep in my soul.They told him.They did what they said they would, and they told him.
They claimed me.
I swallow, thighs clenching where I stand. I've been owned by a man before—by the man on the other side of those gates most of all—but I've never been claimed. Never had a man stake his intentions on me out of anything other than ignorant greed.
Now I have two.
"Mads," I utter through the restriction of my throat. "We need to talk about something."
“We need to get you out of here, more like.” She tugs on my arm in a way that turns me toward the garage. “Come on.”
I glance behind me to the men and find Digger looking my way as we retreat. The unfair fucker winks before he turns back to Connor. A promise my traitorous va-jay-jay hums at in response.Shit, shit, shit.Kane spins, having caught the gesture, and glares at me where I stumble along behind his sister, cheeks on fire and brain a veritable scrambled egg.
I need a hole, somewhere, to hide in. Preferably with a goddamn lid and a week's supply of rations, so I don't have to come out until this is all over. Maybe a month.
"What's wrong?" Maddie turns back to see what had me trip. Her gaze drags up from my feet to her brother, confusion clear in the crinkle of her brow. "You okay?”
“Yeah. Let’s just get out of here.”
"I got you." She slides her arm down, takes my hand in hers, and resumes our trek toward the garage.
I frown a little, wondering why she chose where the bikes are parked instead of perhaps her room or mine upstairs in the clubhouse. Maddie weaves us through the machines, all leaning to the left in their respective spots. I note the slightly more ordered line-up from the last time we were in here and wonder who had something to do with that—Digger or Rigs? She passes by where Digger organized the parts the other day, through a door tucked behind the last row of shelving, and leads me through to a small office-style room I never knew was here. Two desks sit jammed against one wall, littered with paperwork and parts—new and used. The walls are covered with photos and memorabilia, not a clear inch to be found.
I feel as though I walked into someone's mind, straight to the heart of their memories. "Wow."
"Welcome to the hub." She pulls a worn office chair out from one of the desks and clears the two enormous paperback books off it. Parts manuals by the titles on the spines. "Sit."
I do as instructed, gaze still glued to the various objects on the walls as she finds a wooden stool for herself.
She doesn't sit.
"I haven't been in here in a couple of years," she muses, attention fixed on one particular grouping of photos on the wall. "I used to come in here a lot for a while there."
"There's so much to look at." I spin, chair creaking as I do, and eye a line-up of bunting flags pinned in a waterfall above the desk.
"There is." She steps away from me, causing me to spin back around to see where she goes. Maddie lifts her hand to one gold-framed photo, palm resting on the edge as she taps one of the occupants with her pointer finger. "This is my aunt. Her real name was Clarissa, but everyone in the club called her Bluebell."
I cling to the key word in that sentence—was. "What happened to her?"
"Accident." She draws a deep breath and moves away, seemingly searching the pictures until she finds the one that she wants. Shifting the corner of a poster off the frame, she points to another woman. "This is my mother. Charlene."
I rise from the seat and join her, taking in the woman with big blonde hair who once had Tyke's heart. "She's still around, though, right?"
"Not that she should be." Maddie's expression grows hard, true emotions on lockdown. "Oh." A smile returns to her face as she shifts up and across to another un-framed picture. "Here's Daddy and Uncle West when they were younger." She gigglesas though the sight of her father and uncle as young men is a strange concept.
I lean toward the 4x6 image, a strange fluttering expanding through my chest and down my arms, my fingers tingling to touch the glossy surface. Digger's no different than he is now, maybe just a little skinnier. But Tyke looks more like Kane than I'd expected—a sun-kissed, happier Kane. Or should I say Kane looks a lot like his old man as a young guy? No salt in Tyke's hair and no beard, which seems the strangest concept of all. His lips are split in a huge grin that tells me he was laughing when the photo was taken, Digger's eyes turned up as though he can't believe the bullshit that's just gone down.
I smile, aware Maddie watches me study her relatives. "They're different people, huh?" she says.
