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I only chuckle in response, thankful he’s at least taking her indoors.
Despite the age difference, with Mags being only thirty—two years older than me—and Razor nearly sixty, their bond is unmistakable. Rarely have I witnessed a couple as deeply connected and openly affectionate as those two.
I take a look around the sweetbutts and hopefuls closer to the bonfire, some already consoling the club brothers with lap dances and blowjobs, and the others bent over tables or bouncing in laps. Yep, Mud Night’s started alright.
Home fucking sweet home.
I grab a solo cup from a stack next to one of the kegs with my good hand, fill it up, and then make my way across the yard to a bench as far away from the bonfire as possible.
I’m not a sweetbutt or old lady, so I know enough to stay well away from the men during Mud Night. Besides, my long dry spell, coupled with the feel of Nico’s body leaving me hungry for more, makes this the last place I should be.
Speaking of, I look back at the porch to see that Nico is no longer sitting with my dad and Grease. I wonder if he’s indulging in tonight’s excess. A knot twists in my gut before I remind myself that he wouldn’t disrespect me like that. We’re supposed to be an item. I ignore the relief rushing through me.
I had looked forward to the idea of bringing Nico here, out of his comfort zone, but he isn’t quite shaping up to be the asshole who needs to be taken down a peg now, which just makes this situation all kinds of confusing for me.
“So, how do you like being here?”
I start when I hear Nico’s voice but relax when he takes a seat on the bench beside me.
“Well, it’s Mud Night,” I say grudgingly. “All of a sudden, I’m the one who sticks out like a sore thumb. Even you seem to blend in well.”
“I don’t mean the orgy—which is fucking hot, by the way. I mean being back home. Your father is beyond happy to see you.” He takes a sip from a glass of vodka, which is surprisingly full. Beer is the traditional drink on Mud Night, not spirits.
Suddenly, it seems Nico is no longer my plus-one but an esteemed guest of the Reaper Druids MC. Dad must have somehow found out who Nico really is, which makes me wonder when I’ll get the third degree about who I’m choosing to date.
Nico continues, his voice soft, “He says it’s been four years since you last stepped into Harmony.”
Or maybe I won’t be getting that third degree after all. Rather, it seems like Dad approves of Nico, given that he’s been gossiping about me and breaking out the vodka for him on Mud Night, no less. I suppose I have myself to blame for making him think Nico and I are a thing.
I take a sip of my beer—which I’ve never particularly liked—and sigh as I look around at my home, my world, which outsiders don’t always understand.
“It’s good to be back, I suppose. Nothing’s changed. I’ve kept in contact with Dad and my closest friends all the while, I just haven’t been back here.”
Nico nods, then holds out his hand to me, “Let me see.”
Feeling more than a little sheepish that Nico witnessed my grief-driven show earlier, I show him my throbbing palm. I’d hastily wrapped it in a bandage and kept it fisted to staunch the bleeding. He starts to unwrap the bandage and I grit my teeth against the pain.
“What about your family, Nico?” I ask, turning the spotlight on him partly to distract myself from what he’s doing.
“What about them?” He doesn’t look up; instead, he takes out a roll of fresh bandages from his leather jacket.
“Do you fit in there?” I ask, watching him pour vodka on the wound. And I realize why he has vodka. He asked for it because of me.
Nico scoffs, then pins me with his bright blue gaze. “I am the family Sophie.”
He straightens slightly to explain, “There are only two kinds of people in my world: those who are family and those who aren’t. And to protect my family, the end will always justify the means. It’s not unlike the setup your father has got here.”
I recall Cade’s words again. “I’m sure. No wonder you seem to fit right in.”
He goes back to my hand, dabbing my palm dry with a clean white handkerchief. “Did you think I wouldn’t fit in, Sophie? Is that why you brought me here?” His tone is level, yet there’s… friction, an undercurrent of unease.
“You forced me to bring you, remember,” I retort, but I understand what he means. I could have warned him. I didn’t. Part of me wanted to unruffle him. To put him around dangerous men who have no allegiance to him. I wanted to see how the self-assured Nico would act when stripped of all his comfort. I should have known… cats always land on their feet.
Nico nods as he inspects the gash on my palm, which is no longer bleeding. “Very cleverly done, Sophie. Not the horror I was expecting.” For a moment, I think he’s referring to my motive behind bringing him home until he adds, “Who taught you how to use a knife?”
“A friend,” I respond with a smirk.
“I see.” He murmurs, “Did that friend also teach you how to shoot?”
