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“Are you ready?” Grayson asks when I’m close enough for him to touch.
Which he does by winding his arm around my middle. He moves his lips to my neck where they hover just above my skin.
“How was it?” he asks in a low tone.
I pull back so I can look at his face. There’s a heaviness in his eyes that I’m sure mirrors my own. Being with those kids is life affirming. Seeing what they’ve been through shifts your perspective on a fundamental level. And as I look at him, I know he gets it.
Licking my lips, I clear my throat. “It was definitely something,” I whisper, unable to fully explain myself.
As he moves his hand and squeezes my hip, his touch sends bolts of electricity through me. His touch makes my skin burn, and I almost feel like I’m being suffocated by his mere presence.
Without saying another word, I accept the helmet he hands me. Then I wordlessly get on the bike, once again molding my body to his as I hold on to him while he drives us back to the clubhouse.
The delicious smell of BBQ hits me before the noise of all the bikers and Cruz Cunts having fun. I allow Grayson to take my hand as we walk around the building. While I can’t claim to have paid a lot of attention to their property, I’m still surprised that I’ve somehow failed at noticing the back. There’s an entire garden, filled with benches, chairs, and sun loungers.
All the guys have removed their cuts and tees, opting to be bare-chested as the unrelenting July sun bakes down on us. Most of the Cruz Cunts are sauntering around in white bikinis with the American flag covering their nipples. Though Alana and a few others are only wearing white thongs and nipple tassels.
“Zoe,” Alana squeals when her eyes land on me. “Welcome back.”
She surprises the fuck out of me by pulling me into an embrace. I fully expect her to warn me, not to mention her involvement in my short escape, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just holds me.
“Good to see you,” I mutter when I feel awkward that she’s still holding me.
“And you me… no, wait. That didn’t come out right,” she giggles.
Her breath reeks of alcohol, which I’m pretty sure is the reason for her display. But I’m forced to reconsider when her eyes land on Grayson.
“You,” she seethes. “Stay away from my girl.”
With those words, she links her arm with mine and drags me with her toward the BBQs. She’s like a waterfall of words as we fill our plates. Then she drags me over to one of the bench-tables where we sit down next to some of the other Cruz Cunts.
“Hey Zoe,” they greet.
My jaw becomes slack as I take in their genuine smiles and relaxed postures. What the fuck is going on? It’s like I’ve landed in some kind of bizarro world where everything is opposite.
“Do you want a drink?” Rose asks.
Remembering what happened the last time I drank around any of the people from the club, I vehemently shake my head.
“Come on, you need to drink something,” she insists.
Rather than allowing anyone to get me anything, I get up and follow Rose to the bar. While she’s generous with the vodka, I snatch a few bottles of water from the fridge. There’s no way I’m indulging in alcohol. Once bitten, twice suspicious and all that.
On our way back, I notice some of the Cruz Cunts practically crawling over the men. So far, the entire thing has been way more tame than I anticipated. Apart from the usual drugs and drinking, it’s been like any other BBQ I’ve been to before.
Except for Munroe, who seems to make it his mission to keep his hand attached to the ass of a very uncomfortable-looking Cruz Cunt.
Noticing what’s caught my attention, Rose whispers, “He gets very handsy when he mixes his alcohol. Most of them do.”
“Why doesn’t she just tell him to stop touching her?” I ask incredulously.
Rose snort-laughs. “Because they’re the Kings and we’re the Cunts,” she says as a way of explanation. When I open my mouth to say something, she continues. “Don’t feel sorry for us, Zoe. We don’t feel sorry for ourselves, so we sure as fuck don’t want you to. Most of the Kings treat us well, Munroe included. He isn’t a bad guy, he just—”
“He just doesn’t know when to keep his hands to himself,” I seethe, fisting my own hands so I don’t march over there and slap him like I really want to.
“Get real,” Rose snaps. “These are not good men, and we’re not good either. None of us are. But we have an understanding, and in our own fucked up way we care about each other. Don’t go making up bullshit in that pretty head of yours, Zoe. We can handle them getting handsy. It’s the other stuff that’s… never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Try as I might, I can’t get her to elaborate on what she almost said. But as I look around, I’m forced to realize she’s right. Even though there’s some unwelcome groping, no one looks like they’re scared. Uncomfortable, maybe—but not fearful or disgusted.
