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“Don’t be cute. You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Are you so naïve to think you are the only one,” she held her hands up, giving her hand quotes, “‘dating him’? Come on, Chey, you gotta know he’s banging other girls. Is that what you want? To be one of his girls.”
Cheyenne was taken aback. Was it necessary for Macy to make assumptions and shit all over her relationship she knew nothing about?
“You don’t even know him, Mace. Judgmental, much?”
“No judgment here. He can do whatever he wants as long as he doesn’t hurt you.” She pointed at Cheyenne, and her face softened, the corner of her mouth curling. “I know you, Chey, you’re too good to be one of his girls. You should be the only one for whatever guy you choose.”
Cheyenne sighed, resting her head against the cushion. It was coming from a good place, which was why it was hard for her to be mad at Macy.
“He’s not seeing anyone else, Mace.”
She slowly sauntered to the couch, taking a seat next to Chey. “So, what, you date, have fun, then what? Gonna marry the biker and have little biker babies?”
“Shut up.” Cheyenne snorted. Kids were so far from her mind it was comical. But her question wasn’t so off. Cheyenne had always wanted to get married and have a family. She bit her lip, tearing her gaze from her friend. The club didn’t seem family friendly, though she’d only been there three times. All disastrous.
“I’m serious. Can’t count the times you told me what your end game looks like—husband, kids, vacations at the beach, house with a two-car garage and two-and-a-half baths.” She cocked her brow. “Those are your words. Now what? You think he can give you the life you want? And even if he could, you want to spend your life with a man like him? Their lifestyle, how they make their money, Chey, it’s fucking shady gangster shit. The things they do could land their asses in jail.”
Cheyenne lost all traces of humor. She may not like it, but everything Macy had said held an ounce of truth. Trax made no secret that some of what they did was illegal, and while kids weren’t on her brain now, they were in her future, along with a house and a husband who was not incarcerated. Her body sank into the couch as she released a deep breath.
“In this dream of yours, can you see yourself traipsing the kiddies to the prison for visiting hours to see Daddy? Look, banging a biker for a night? That’s one thing, but making a life with him? Are you crazy? It’s absurd. You really want a lifetime with a dirty thug and to spend your weekends schlepping his little biker babies to the prison to visit their dad, who is probably spending his time making drug deals or dropping the soap?”
Macy’s rant was slightly ridiculous but not all of it. She couldn’t even imagine something so horrible. Children at a jail, visiting their dad? What kind of life would she have with him? Certainly not the one she envisioned for herself. She clasped her hands together and stared at her chipped nail polish.
Macy wrapped her arm around her shoulders, tugging her into her side. “I’m not trying to shit in your Cheerios here, just wanna lay it out for you, Chey. I get it, ya like him, and this whole thing is new and wild, but eventually, the thrill of dating him will wear off. Then what? You deserve to get everything you want, and I just don’t think Trax can give it to you.”
She’d had enough. She pushed off the couch. “Let’s get the orders done, all right?”
“Chey.”
She’d had it and wasn’t going to listen to any more. Her brain couldn’t handle it. Neither could her heart. Through all Macy’s ranting, some things rang true. It bothered her more than she wanted to admit. She spun around and held up her hand.
“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Let’s just get this done.”
It seemed Macy would let it go, for now. It would come up again, Cheyenne knew.
****
The only sound pounding in his eardrums was the deep, hard breaths from his chest. He kept his focus on the corner wall and grasped his beer tightly just to remain in some sense of control. If he lost it, the bottle would be smashing against the wall in seconds flat. Then he would be hell on wheels, driving to her place to set her little fucking friend straight. Fucking bitch.
“Hey, Trax, man?”
He slowly turned to Gage, who had been sitting at the opposite end of the table. His eyes crinkled, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m thinking the best friend isn’t a fan.” He grinned and snickered.
“Yeah, well, the feeling is fucking mutual.” Trax dropped his beer to the table, sending a thundering clank through the room. The last thing he needed was Macy in Chey’s ear, telling her he was no good for her. He knew exactly where he wanted this thing to go with Cheyenne, but knew it would be a struggle. They were different—their lifestyles, their families, and obviously, their friends. With the odds all stacked against them already, he sure as hell didn’t need doubt of him put into her head. Especially from someone she trusted.
The audio installed a few weeks ago in their apartment was mainly for informational purposes. At the time, the club didn’t know how honest Cheyenne was willing to be, and they needed the information on the guy who’d attacked Mick. He didn’t agree with it and made it known to Kase and the other members. He was outnumbered with the decision. They viewed it as a logical move.
Now, it seemed they were getting more than they’d bargained for, and eventually, he would have to tell Cheyenne. He had no illusions of her accepting it without an argument. But with Macy, he knew it would be an all-out brawl and something that could potentially ruin a future with Cheyenne.
He stood, knocking his chair back, and circled the table. This was fucked. He was fucked. He paced around the room, trying to batten down his fury. He turned to the prospect manning the tap.
“You get anything else besides the bitch trash talking me?”
“Nothing about the driver. Mostly girl shit. And uhh…” When Trax followed his stare, Gage grinned back at him.
