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I stared at the massive structure in front of me. It wasn’tat allwhere I grew up.
“No. I was raised in an old two-story house that was in serious need of a renovation. This…this is something else.”
I stared at the enormous windows at the top story, at least ten feet long, and arched into a beautiful design boasting of tall ceilings and opulence. A few feet below were oversized French doors that led out to an expansive patio, and there on the first floor was a deep inset porch that wrapped around the whole house. The home was divided, with a nice private, covered patio and gated entry. Off to the other side was a huge glass garage door that was currently open, showcasing a myriad of club members drinking, laughing, and even working on their motorcycles.
“This is wild,” Laura muttered, still staring.
A large fire pit with several chairs surrounding it was off to the edge of the yard, and a row of motorcycles were parked off to the right. Gone were all the rusted cars, bikes, and junk. The weeds were controlled, the grass cut and there were even river rocks filling some of the pathways around the house. It looked like something you’d find on a magazine cover.
“Where do we park?”
I dug for the same confidence I felt earlier. “Wherever I fucking want. I own this place now.”
Laura gripped her thighs and let out a low whistle.
“I’ve never seen this side of you before, Callie. I’m equal parts excited and terrified.”
Feeling empowered, I pulled right up to the front, ignoring the club members gawking and staring at me.
Max started barking immediately as more eyes were drawn to us, but I didn’t care. I grabbed his leash and helped him exit the car.
“Just stay close to me, okay?” I whispered to Laura.
The sound system from inside the house was blaring Hozier, and there was something weirdly soothing about the fact that it wasn’t the same classic rock I grew up with. Maxwell had calmed as he walked next to me, his head reaching my waist. I kept my eyes forward, not bothering to give into the men whispering, laughing, and milling around me. I heard a few whistles and a few cat calls, but my eyes stayed ahead.
Laura was right next to me as we pushed forward into the club house. Her gait was looser than mine, almost like she was comfortable here. Or like she wasn’t concerned in the least that danger surrounded her.
Through the wide-open doors was what looked like a high-end mechanic shop, with waxed floors and several motorcycles being worked on. On the opposite side was a long bar filled with a dozen or so different people scattered around it. Two women were dancing on top of the bar, pouring drinks into glasses like they were extras inCoyote Ugly.
There were couches, pool tables, a massive flat screen, but there were still a few original fixtures from when I had lived in this house. The fireplace under the mounted screen was one of those things. The brick was still exposed, but inside was screened off, as though the chimney had been removed.
“Is that a fucking horse?!” someone slurred, and Max barked as if he knew they were referring to him.
Another shout echoed through the loud space. “Yes, new sweetbutts! Who the fuck brought them, and how do I thank you?”
I heard a few members curse and then someone ran out the back door.
Wes was around here somewhere, and I didn’t want to see him before I saw Red.
“Why did he call us Sweetbutt?” Laura asked in a rushed whisper, stepping closer to me, “They aren’t going to do stuff to our butts, are they? I’m a kinky, girl, but only for the right guy and only if I’m lubed appropriately.”
Biting back a laugh, I whispered back, “Sweetbutt is just a term for girls who come by to fuck the guys. They’re just passing pussy, essentially.” I hated summarizing the term so dully, especially after knowing so many kind women throughout my life that were just considered a Sweetbutt, never transitioning into a property patch or becoming an old lady to any of the members. Still, I couldn't change what the term meant.
“So they think we’re here to fuck?” Laura gripped my arm.
I ignored her as I searched the faces, a few familiar…a few finally processing who I might be. I had my father’s eyes and my mother’s lips. It was something the club members had commented on regularly, and I had no idea what their fascination was. I also had a tattoo on the inside of my wrist of their patch. I had gotten it done when I was eighteen in an attempt to grow closer to my father.
“Holy fuck, that’s Stone’s daughter!” boomed someone from behind the counter, and right as they did, three things happened at once.
The back door slammed open, the music cut, and I heard a familiar voice that had my head swiveling and relief swimming through me.
“Cheese, rice, and all the holy saints, is that you, Callie Ray Stone?”
Red made her way around the bar right as Wes stormed down the hall, coming in from the back. He wore his leather cut over an oil-stained T-shirt and dark denim jeans that were tucked into untied motorcycle boots. His dark hair was greasy, with pieces falling over his dark, furrowed brows. His face was cut into angry strokes of determination and chiseled perfection, but I was determined, too, and he could go fuck himself.
I focused on the woman behind the bar who had sugar-white hair tied up into a high bun, and a face done up beautifully with exaggerated makeup. Huge lashes; filled, arched eyebrows; contoured cheekbones, and of course, apple red lipstick, which didn’t hide her age at all but also didn’t dull her shine.
“Honey, how the hell have you been?” She swept me into a tight hug, which made Maxwell bark and nudge my waist with his head.
