Baja (Fallen Ravens MC #3)

8. Baja

8

BAJA

After dropping Arabella off at the salon, I need downtime, and there’s no better place to do that than here at the clubhouse, listening to good music, enjoying Mystic’s mom’s home-cooked food, and having a cold beer with my brothers.

I take a long swig, letting the liquid slide down my throat, as Laredo fills us in on his current problem with a clingy one-night stand that’s borderline restraining order status.

Juneau leans back in his chair and points his beer bottle at Laredo. “So, let me get this straight…” he tries—and fails—to keep a straight face, “… you banged the chic once. Once . And now she’s stalkin’ you?”

Laredo growls as he flicks a lighter to ignite a cigarette. “She said she was passing through Salem. That was four days ago. And now? She’s been hangin’ around the club every night as if she has nothing better to do.”

“I hope you wrapped it up, brother, ’cause you’ve dipped your love stick in crazy!” I rib, and the whole table bursts out laughing.

Laredo groans and drops his head into his hands.

“She cock blockin’ potential pussy or causin’ other problems?” Mystic asks.

“Not yet. But she’s always watching, lurking around like a hawk. It’s drivin’ me bat-shit crazy,” Laredo grumbles.

“She knows you’re not interested in a repeat performance?” Mystic asks.

“Kinda thought she’d get the hint after seeing me get sucked off in the VIP lounge by a redhead two nights ago.”

Harlem smirks around the cigarette dangling from his lips. “See, brother, this is why you don’t always go in like a jackhammer. Maybe you should’ve gone in lazy and kept expectations low.”

Laredo shoots daggers at Harlem. “I don’t fuck half-assed. Ever .” He lets out a long groan. “Fuck, it’s not like I promised her sunsets and shit.”

I let out a laugh. “You gave a crazy bitch somethin’ akin to crack, and now she’s tweakin’ for another fix. Brother, you are cooked.”

Laredo downs a swig of his beer. “It was a regular hookup. No strings, no promises, no nothing. I was upfront with her. Now she’s hanging around town. For Christ’s sake, she left a note on my fuckin’ bike today… I shit you not.”

“No shit?” I look at Laredo. “Let me see it.”

Laredo reaches into his cut, pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, and tosses it on the table. I snatch it up, unfold it, and smooth out the wrinkles.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

Blackthorne Lodge room 69.

The note is sealed with a pink lipstick kiss.

I toss it over to Mystic, and it quickly makes its rounds with the rest of the crew so they can give it a once-over. I bring the beer bottle to my lips, pausing for a dramatic beat before I take another swig. “Sixty-nine?” I grin, arching an eyebrow.

“Shut the fuck up.” Laredo chucks a beer tab my way.

I chuckle, slamming back the last of my beer. I know I shouldn’t get a kick out of my brother’s struggles, but damn, this fuckery is precisely what I need today.

“Speaking of women.” Prez looks at me. “You and Alice still playing this ridiculous game of hide-and-seek?”

I shoot a look at Laredo, and he responds by flashing me the good old middle finger.

I spoke too soon.

Karma is a nasty bitch as I endure the oppressive weight of everyone’s gazes. I let out a heavy sigh and keep my response short. “Yup.”

Silence follows, hanging heavy for a beat like a bad joke, waiting for a punchline. I brace myself, ready to take my lumps, but instead of them busting my balls, they remain quiet.

“On to other business.” Salem leans back, crossing his arms, and the room quiets. The man has a commanding presence and doesn’t need to demand silence—it just happens when he has something to say. “Got somethin’ to bring up about the charity event we’re doing next month.”

We hold a charity event every year for the children’s hospital in Salem.

Salem clears his throat, his eyes landing on me. “I’d like the club to vote on takin’ a big chunk of the cash from the last job…” he says, voice steady, “… and put it toward the kids.”

The weight of his words settles into my chest. That money can go a long way for the hospital. It has been years since my brother passed, but the pain never really goes away. It just dulls and hides beneath the surface. I keep his memory alive through my life, this club, these men, and this charity fund. Now, the club is stepping up once again.

“Who approves?” Salem looks around the table. One by one, each of my brothers slam their fists against the table’s surface, agreeing to the distribution of club funds, making the vote almost unanimous.

I’m the last to cast my vote.

I swallow hard on my emotions, trying to keep my face impassive, but inside, I’m a mix of pride and gratitude. They don’t have to do this. And that means everything. I slam my fist down against the table’s surface. “Agreed.”

“Done.” Salem rises, saunters to the bar, and returns with a whiskey bottle and shot glasses stuffed in his empty pockets. He slams the one-ounce glasses on the table, fills them, and hands them out. He sits, lifts his glass high, and we follow suit. “Here’s to the club that gives us purpose and brothers who ride beside us. Kill for the patch. Bleed for the brotherhood.”

The clubhouse reverberates with a thunderous “Hell, yeah!” as we slam back our whiskey shots. The rich amber liquid ignites a fire in my throat as the camaraderie fuels my spirit.

The sound of footsteps draws our attention toward the door, and I glance up as Salem’s old lady, Sage, and Harlem’s woman, Sukie, walk in. They’ve got shopping bags in hand. Sage places her loot on top of the bar, then saunters to her man, and he pulls her onto his lap.

“Lips, babe.” He runs his hand up her thigh, and she complies.

Their affection sparks jealousy, which is a foreign feeling. Yet, I can’t deny that I want what Salem and Harlem have. And I want it with Alice. My eyes land on Sukie, who keeps looking at me like she has lost a puppy or something as she approaches Harlem.

“What’s wrong?” Harlem picks up on his woman’s energy.

Sukie sighs. “Just thinking about my mom.” Her eyes flick toward me again.

Even though I want to ask about Alice, I bite my tongue.

Sukie keeps her gaze on me. “She was at the salon this morning. She saw you roll up… with Arabella on the back of your bike.”

A muscle in my jaw tightens, and I instantly suspect where this conversation is going.

“Alice completely misread the situation. We tried to explain who Arabella was, but Alice put up a solid wall, shutting us out.” Sage wears a sympathetic smile. “She practically bolted for the door after that.”

My gut tightens, and I let out a low sigh. Arabella is a dancer at our strip club, nothing more. I tried to hook up with her when she first started working at The Fallen, but she quickly informed me she was devoted to her partner, Izzy, and that I didn’t have a shot in hell. I admired her sass, and we became friends after that. Hell, I’ve even met Izzy. She comes into the club to see Arabella all the time. I thought nothing of it when she needed a ride earlier.

“Fuck,” I mutter, feeling a stab of frustration.

Here I am, trying to give her space, thinking maybe she’ll come to me when she’s ready, and now she’s got the wrong damn idea about me and Arabella.

I shake my head in frustration, slamming my fist against the table with a loud thud that echoes in the tense silence. I stand abruptly, pushing my chair back with a screech as its legs scrape painfully against the hardwood floor. I turn to Sukie, my brow furrowed. “She go home?” I ask, my voice sharp.

“Yes.” She dips her head, attempting to hide her smile.

I turn and head for the door.

The atmosphere at the table explodes. Whistles pierce the air as the guys slam their palms against the tabletop, roaring like they’re rallying for the main event. I can’t deny their energy hits me like adding kerosene to a raging fire.

“Finally, it’s about damn time!” Salem bellows, his voice booming.

“Go get your woman, man,” Sage exclaims, and I can hear her smile in the tone.

I ignore the banter. My mind is already on Alice and the conversation that is about to happen. I don’t know how it will go down, but I’m not letting another night go by with her thinking I’m fucking with someone else.

It’s her I want.

I step outside.

My boots crunch against the gravel as I close the distance to my bike. I swing my leg over the leather seat, fire her up, and tear away from the clubhouse. The tires spit gravel as I leave the clubhouse behind. Once I hit the open road, I twist the throttle hard, pushing the bike to its limit and chasing the fire in my chest.

I don’t slow down.

No more games.

No more hesitation.

No holding back.

It’s time Alice knows where I stand and exactly what I want.

And what I want is her .