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Closing the curtain, I grab Wicked’s discarded T-shirt off the floor and slip it over my head. It sits around my thighs and has the Wolf Pack MC logo on the front, but it’ll do. I know I’ve most likely got bruises around my throat and the bandage on my neck is going to be questionable. I just hope no one actually questions it. I’m starving, and once Wolf is awake, he will be too.
Running the brush through my hair, I shove on my pair of white fluffy socks and slowly turn the handle to the door. The clubhouse upstairs has multiple doors. The hallway leading down to the stairs is decorated with photographs. Members, families, old photos of men standing near their bikes, and mugshots.
I chuckle when I see Wicked’s, his face straight and unmoving. “Let me tell you, big boy, this would have been your final mugshot had Papa not saved you that night.” I jog down the stairs that lead to the bottom level, hearing the loud screeching of a vacuum and harsh rapping of Eminem. They have good taste whoever they are.
“Ah! No! That’snotwhat I said. Bitch, are you deaf?”
I slow at the bottom of the stairs, seeing a woman vacuuming near the billiards table. She has her long black hair tied up into a messy pony, a casual Levi’s shirt on, and skinny jeans.
“I’m just saying, Gracie, damn!” the black-haired girl hollers over the vacuum. “If you bite off more than you can chew, don’t be fucking alarmed when you choke!” She continues vacuuming furiously, and I look to the bar, where a girl stands, staringat me with wide brown eyes. She has blonde curly hair that’s wild around her face and soft tanned skin. The kind that only happens during your late teens, if you’re lucky enough to not be met with acne. Which I wasn’t.
The vacuuming girl sighs, banging on the power button and turning to face the blonde with a hand on her hip. “Don’t—” She follows her eyes and stops talking when she sees me. The dark-haired girl is beautiful. Sharp cheekbones, freckles scattered over her cheeks, and curves that hit all the right places. “Oh.”
“Look, I tried to get that fucking stain off the carpet, but—” Another woman enters the room just as someone turns the music off. I’m guessing these are the old ladies.
“Hi…” I test the words out on my tongue. I’ve never had to introduce myself because everyone has always known who I was. It was both a good and a bad thing. A good thing because I didn’t have to waste time with boring introductions, but a bad thing because I never knew if they were being nice to me because they were afraid I’d kill them. Or have someone kill them.
“Morning!” the blonde pipes up first from behind the bar where she’s drying glasses. “Are you Wicked’s old lady?”
I swallow a laugh as I continue my way over. “No, mother of his kid, and ex… I suppose.” I lower myself down onto the barstool, watching all three of them carefully.
“I’m June.” The older one finally stands beside Grace, placing the cleaning bottle down. “Kirby’s old lady, a.k.a. the old one with all the gray hair but devilishly great looks.” The older woman nudges her head toward the dark-haired girl. “And that is Diane. She’s, well… it’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” Diane grumbles, falling onto the stool beside me. She leans back, her eyes coming to mine. “So—since your old man is our president now—thank God for that—does that mean we will see you and that cute child more around the club?”
I open my mouth to answer when it hits me. They truly don’t know who I am. For whatever reason, their men have kept aspects of the criminal world hidden from them.
I’m jealous. I wish I had the luxury. Just for a second to not know how completely ugly the world is.
“He’s not—” I shake my head. “But yes. You will most likely see more of us.”
“That’s good!” Gracie beams a wide smile at me, her two dimples perfectly dented. “Are you from the San Francisco chapter too?”
Diane leans into me. “What she really means to ask is, can you get her laid with Khaos?”
I choke on a laugh when Gracie scowls at Diane. “Khaos isn’t hard to lay. Just say he has a pretty smile and the boy will drop to his knees.”
Gracie laughs nervously. “No thanks. I have a kid. I don’t have time to do that.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised.
“I do. She’s six months old in three weeks. Hey, you should come and bring Wolf to her party.”
I smile up at her, a genuine one because as much as Iwantto ask how old she is, I know it’s not my business.
“Alright!” June claps her hands together. “Let’s go make breakfast.”
I follow them to the back, where the cook’s kitchen is. A full industrial-style oven, workbench, and pantry fills the room, and everything isclean.I’m beginning to think it’s because of these three.
“You guys cook them all breakfast and clean up after them?” I open the fridge door like I own the place. “I could never. I think I’d run Wicked over while he slept if he ever expected me to do that. No offense if you love it, though, I get that.”
“Hell no!” June laughs, pulling out a large mixing bowl and wooden spoon. “We cook for us and the kids. If there are leftovers, they eat.”
Gracie shakes her head, whispering, “She’s lying. She totally cooks for them.”
June ignores her and I watch as she starts whipping up pancakes. The batter is enough to feed a large army, though, so I know Gracie is right.
“You want some help?” I ask, tying an apron around my waist. Diane and Gracie are working on their own foods.
