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Boy, he really hated Nate.
“Will you tell me why you dislike him so much?”
Dog shook his head as he stabbed at his grits again. “No. Not my story to tell. But there’s a good reason. You just have to trust me on that.”
They ate in silence with only the occasional comment about the food. It felt awkward, but Charley didn’t know how to get back to how it had been. Lois refilled their coffee and placed the check on the table, but the diner was full now and she didn’t linger.
Dog emptied his mug and glanced at Charley. “You ready to go?”
“Yes.” Charley put her fork on her empty plate.
Dog pulled his wallet from his vest and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table. He grabbed the check and heaved himself from the booth. She followed him to the register.
Lois smiled. “Everything good?”
“Yep,” Dog replied tersely and handed her the bill and a twenty.
Lois gave him a troubled look. His good mood was definitely gone.
“It was delicious as always,” Charley said, trying to fill the silence. “Please give your family my best.”
“I will. And you take care. Don’t be a stranger. You either, handsome.”
Dog grunted something unintelligible, and Charley’s face got hot. Lois didn’t deserve rudeness.
Dog grabbed Charley’s hand and, with a fast walk, pulled her toward the exit. Once outside, she dug in her rubber sneaker heels and ripped her hand from his. “What the heck is going on? You were rude to Lois and now you’re about to rip my arm out of its socket. Is this about Nate or was that phone call about something else?”
Dog’s face creased into a scowl. “The phone call was club business. I don’t discuss club business with outsiders.”
Charley sucked in a gasp. “Is that what I am? An outsider?”
Dog scrubbed his hand over his face. “That came out wrong. I meant to say I don’t discuss club business with anyone outside the club. Look. Something is going on, and I need to get to the clubhouse to sort it out. Can we just go?”
Charley stomped to the bike and slammed on her helmet. Once she was settled behind him, Dog took off faster than he should while in town. They got on Highway 25 for a few minutes, then exited onto a small mountain road that wound toward the French Broad River.
They passed the occasional home until even those disappeared. Dog slowed the motorcycle and turned onto a dirt road. The only thing distinguishing this road from all the others they had passed was an old, wooden sign with bullet holes in it that said. ‘God’s country. Don’t drive like hell.’
The dirt road dead ended at a gate attached to a chain link fence with barbed wire scrolling the top. Dog tapped a code into a keypad and placed his middle finger on a scanner. It lit up, bathing his hand in an eerie glow. The gate pinged and rolled open.
A bead of sweat trickled down Charley’s back, one not generated by the heat. It was quite a lot of security.
Dog maneuvered the motorcycle into a gravel lot in front of the oddest building she’d ever seen. The white, one-story structure stretched longer than a football field with tall, narrow windows at regular intervals. But what made the building unique were the arched eave supports and ornate gables breaking the roofline, giving the building an oddly feminine appearance. Not at all what she had expected a motorcycle clubhouse to look like.
Dog backed his bike into a line of motorcycles near the end of the building. It was a close formation and almost like his space was reserved.
He killed the engine and threw his leg over the front of the bike. He helped her dismount and placed his hands on her cheeks. His gaze was soft. “You didn’t deserve my shit earlier. I know that. I just got a lot on my mind today.” He placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Okay?”
The tension eased in Charley’s shoulders. This sounded like as close to an apology as he could give. He had been so good to her, and now that they had become betteracquainted, she didn’t want to hold on to her anger.
“Okay,” she whispered and glanced over his shoulder. “This building is your clubhouse? Seems like an odd choice.”
He released his hold on her and surveyed the building. “Old train station from the late 1800s. Track still lies out back, though everything’s grown up around it. The narrow-gauge line went to the mine originally but also carried passengers till the ’40s when people shifted to cages. The building was abandoned in the ’50s, and our club founders bought it cheap. Each generation adds something needed. Electrical and plumbing had to be updated and expanded. We have a brother with a security background, so we got the keypad for the fence. But the founders redid the inside and added rooms for brothers who live here, like me.”
“It’s a beautiful building, but you don’t want a home of your own?”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “This is a place of my own. Club owns it, so it’s partly mine. And I live with my brothers, my family. That makes it a home. Don’t need anything else.”
“But men who have wives or children, they don’t live here, do they?”
