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“That fucking horse can’t be in here,” Wes roared, storming up next to us, aggressively pointing at my dog.
I put my hand on my hip, noticing that Laura had her arms folded over her chest, her resting bitch face firmly focused on my ex.
I looped Max’s leash around my knuckles. “Well, we wouldn’t evenbe hereif you didn’t blacklist us from every single hotel and establishment in the city.”
Wes smirked. “Then better go find a different city.”
“Wesley, you didn’t!” Red scolded, throwing a hand to her hip, her voice going stern.
The other club members began flitting in and out, trying to catch onto what was going on. The music restarted, but it was softer now.
Wes didn’t reply. His arms were linked over his chest, his legs spread apart, and his face unmoving. I tried not to notice his eyes or the way the whiskey brown seemed so stark against his features. He looked older. The tiny lines around his mouth, the few days’ worth of growth along his jaw that he never allowed to grow before. The scar running through his lip, even the arch of his dark brows, felt like he’d lived an entire lifetime already. All without me.
“She’s trying to sell the club,” he finally explained as Red’s glare intensified.
“He hasn’t even given me a chance to figure outwhatI want to do. But this is my home, always has been,” I argued.
Wes threw his hand out, stepping closer.
“Look around, Princess. Does this look like anything you grew up with? This hasn’t been your home for a long fucking time.”
Hot rage reached for my heart, making me feel like a bullied teenager again, fighting against horrible insults and rumors that were never true. I was always the outcast, the freak. The girl being raised by wolves. Boys used to ask me to spread my thighs and show them what biker princess pussy looked like. Others would ask if my knees hurt from sucking club cock. The kids I grew up with were vicious, and Wes knew this.
He understood my past, and it felt like he was just throwing it all in my face. Of course this modern, recently remodeled place didn’t resemble where I had grown up. We had mold in the bathrooms, odd stains in the tub, broken mirrors, mice, and shag carpet. This place looked like it belonged on Wesley’s television show.
Red’s expression turned glacier as she snapped, “Wesley Ryan! You better watch how you speak to this girl. She is the bones of this place, no matter how much money you throw at it. She is Simon’s blood, and you’d be dead where you’re standing if he ever heard you speaking like this to her.”
Wes looked like he’d been slapped across the face with the way his eyes lowered and the muscle in his jaw began to tick.
The members around us went quiet until suddenly there was a loud shout that went up from the back.
“If it isn’t our Little Fox, finally back home, with a pixie and a horse in tow.”
I watched as three men crossed the room. All in their late sixties, with graying beards, scruff, pot bellies, and faded leather cuts. These were the Stone Riders original members, who had ridden with my grandpa as young prospects. They used to tell me stories about how cruel and hard my grandpa was, especially on my dad.
“Brooks, you’re still here?” I asked jokingly and opened my arms as one of my father's oldest friends swept me up into a hug.
“He’s still making me miserable, too.” Red joked, pulling Brooks in for a kiss.
They had been together long before I even knew what a property patch meant, or the term old lady. I just remembered the obsession Brooks had over Red, and the way she wore her vest that boasted of being his property. She was his, and it was nice to see that he had only ever been hers.
“Don’t forget me,” a shaky voice requested.
I turned and found a pair of soft brown eyes on a weathered face attached to a beard so long it nearly reached his navel.
“Hamish, I would never forget you,” I rasped, emotion clogging my throat.
Memories of him helping me read came back swift and harsh. Me on the back porch, him tipping a glass bottle, the dim light of the porch light catching on the amber. He was the only one sober enough to help me with my homework. Each night, he’d hold off on hitting the next beer until I’d gotten through all my work. My father made fun of him for it.
“How are you, my girl?” His tight embrace had Maxwell growling.
I stepped back and patted my dog’s head to put him at ease.
“Nice hound you have there.” Hamish dipped his face and lowered to get a better look, then he laughed. “The fox and the hound. Where’s Killian? He’s going to shit his pants when he sees you.”
I looked up in time to see Wes whisper something to a guy standing next to him.
The man wasn’t listening to Wes. His eyes were on me, and as I caught his expression, a small smile crept along his face, and I felt mine do the same.
