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“He’s fine for a few hours, as long as he’s fed and has water. He actually knows how to twist door knobs to let himself out, did you know that?” Callie applied some lip gloss, then winced like she hadn’t meant to apply it.
I scoffed, “Oh I remember. He did that when I took him with me to a friend’s house. Scared the shit out of me.”
Callie checked Max’s water bowl and then pressed a kiss to the top of his head before walking out the front door. We looked good, and I felt amazing. I kept thinking about how I’d agreed to only tag along on her little adventure for a few days. Callie didn’t know this because I had never told her, but I had been fired from one of my jobs just last week, and the second job I had kept cutting my hours back, so I was going to have to quit. It was the same story, repeated over and over. Didn’t matter, but it meant I would be sticking things out with her for as long as she needed me. I had left home in search of that one place in life that would feel like home and settled for DC. Mostly because I had found Callie, and she had become like a life raft for me.
No, more like an island. We were both stranded on it, but we had each other. So, while this mess of her past was in fact terrifying, at least we were together. I had nothing waiting for me back home except three pissed off roommates and a check that was left for rent but would most certainly bounce.
I followed my best friend through the glade. Nearing the massive stretch of house these bikers called a clubhouse. I was still trying to figure this place out, but after my less than stellar introduction with that Killian guy, I wasn’t eager to spend any time around them. Callie had told me tiny pieces here and there, especially since coming back and staying in the cabin together, but it was all stilted and disjointed, almost as if it was hurting her to share. So I made quick work of changing the subject.
The sound of revving engines echoed as we came upon the back entrance to the club. I eyed the large patch of grass with cornhole and yard darts, trying to imagine this rough group playing outdoor games while wearing all that leather and denim, and chuckled to myself.
The stairs led to the club, and my stomach flipped as Callie pulled on the door. This place was dangerous, and the members seemed uneasy around newcomers. Callie was accepted, practically royalty from the sounds of it, but I was a stranger. Worse, I was a stranger with tits and an ass, so when the club members’ eyes landed on me, it was like catching the gaze of fifty predators at once.
We walked down a dim hallway until we could see the kitchen where the woman with white hair and a red wrap stood, sorting food. Another woman my age stood next to her, smiling sweetly while sorting veggies from a large white box. Several of the older members were scattered around a jumbled mess of tables all pushed together, playing cards, while the younger ones seemed busy around the garage area.
“This round there’s no cheating,” one of the older guys hollered around the cigarette dangling from his mouth. I thought I remembered Callie calling him Hamish the other night when we were here. The elderly men across from him laughed, staring at the cards in their hands, while the overhead speakers played something older, drowning out the sounds from the garage across the building. I sidled up next to Callie, giving her an incredulous look.
There was no one here.
Only older members playing poker. How were we supposed to flirt and garner information?
Callie’s eyebrows were arched too, likely just as confused as to how exactly we’d timed this so poorly.
“Looks like you’re up.” I pushed at my friend’s waist, forcing her to move.
She walked forward and I decided to look around and see if I could find a different member to flirt with. There were a few guys working on bikes in the garage area that I might be able to sway into conversation.
The clubhouse was crazy big. I tilted my head back, taking in the massive three stories and large windows letting in natural light. Callie had mentioned that the place was once much older, more meager. Apparently, her ex had poured a ton of money into the place to spruce it up. No wonder he was so pissed at the idea of Callie selling this place.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I ended up scaling the steps made from glossed wood. The railing was made from some beautiful metal work, nearly black, and solid as steel. My fingers skimmed over the surface as I focused on the walls and images scattered along the forest green wallpaper, in black and white. A smile crept up my face as I stared at one too many photos of men stark naked, covered in mud, wearing nothing but their cuts, a pair of boots and wide smiles.
I had always wondered what it would feel like to be that free. To not care in the least bit about clothing or what society would think if you stopped wearing them. To strip and straddle the back of a machine powerful enough to carry me to a new place. I had never been on the back of a motorcycle, but one day when I found a way to do it, I’d close my eyes and I’d think of this picture. This crazy, odd picture.
Farther up the stairs there were a few images of younger members.
So young, they looked almost like siblings. A little girl with dark hair, and a boy, his dark hair slicked to the side, but cutting into his eyes, too long and in need of a trim. The girl had her arms crossed, the boy had a doll in his hand, trying to hand it back to her. There was a man in the background smiling at them both.
I drew closer, nearly placing my nose against the picture.
This was Callie and Killian. It had to be.
She’d told me he was like her brother, growing up together in this place. I had to ask after he called her Little Fox and the familiarity between them. I was confused by their interaction when her ex was still acting so fucking possessive over her. When she said sibling, it made sense.
There he was, a few years older than her. By the image, he looked about ten or so. He was smiling, surrounded by chrome and leather, like he’d been born to be here.
My brow furrowed as I thought over the place he had in the club.
Why wasn’t he the next person to run things if he’d been a part of it for so long?
“Jessica Rabbit.”
I spun around, nearly falling off one of the steps, searching out the rough voice that had slid up my spine like a trail of ice.
“Killian,” I breathed, scanning his face for the mirth I was expecting.
I’d only had one other encounter with him, but it wasn’t a good one. My nerves were still rattled from what he’d said to me.
“What are you doing up here?” Killian’s dark brows pulled together. He wore a white t-shirt under his soft leather vest. Callie called it a cut. It had a myriad of patches on it, under his name was the title, Vice President, which meant he was important here. His right arm had tattoos that traveled down the expanse of it, all the way up to his neck. His left arm didn’t. It was an odd contrast, considering how many members were completely covered in them.
