Chapter Eleven
Theo
I’m able to shake off the memories faster than I ever have.
The anger was fleeting and the grief was only crippling for a few minutes.
Even the mention of Tinkerbell didn’t launch me into an inescapable pit of sorrow.
Watching a movie with June, teasing each other like we’re not enemies who might kill each other any second, felt so normal, so light and easy, that I could smile and laugh without drowning in guilt.
The night ended so much better than I could’ve expected.
I shouldn’t be surprised when it doesn’t last.
“I’m not going to waste a day riding on your motorcycle for no reason,” June says, her arms crossed as she stands in her bedroom doorway.
“This was part of our deal.”
“Why do you care? You don’t have to babysit me. I’m not going to burn your house down while you’re gone or run away. I know I can’t leave without you turning me in.”
I frown. “Because the point of this is for you to get to know me and the club. I won’t always make you ride with us, but Saturday rides are important. Everyone goes.”
“Everyone? Including ‘ hang-arounds ’?”
I nearly flinch at the memory of Daryus and Raphael’s anger last night. They have valid reasons not to want outsiders at our meetings, but the way they looked at me, the way they looked at June…
I shake my head. “Girlfriends and Ol’ Ladies join rides. So do prospects.”
“How long are these rides?”
“A few hours. Typically, we ride a couple hundred miles.”
“Hours?!” June shouts. “Absolutely not.”
“Come with me today, and you can skip next week.”
“How about I skip today and go next week?”
“No.”
June throws her head back with a groan. Then she turns back into her room and slams the door. I wait a few minutes. Before I can barge in to throw her over my shoulder, the door opens.
My breath catches. She’s wearing the riding clothes I got her, the jeans hugging her every curve and her shirt low enough to give a hint of her tits. Despite how covering the outfit is, my dick still twitches at the sight.
“Perfect.” I bite my cheek, trying to put a leash on my libido. She’s wearing a jacket and jeans, not lingerie, for fuck’s sake.
We pull on our helmets and gloves, then head to my Springfield.
On the motorcycle, her hands move from the seat to the back of the bike, like she’s afraid of touching me, even though she’s ridden with me several times already.
Rolling my eyes, I reach back, grab her wrists, and yank her forward, forcing her arms around my waist. She lets out a little yelp, and I smirk.
The smile grows as her hold tightens with every second.
We meet the crew outside of the clubhouse, and everyone falls into formation, James at my side and Daryus and Kip behind us. Raph, as the tail gunner, picks up the rear on his custom Harley chopper.
As soon as we’re rolling, my head clears and my muscles loosen, finally free from all the shit pulling me in different directions.
Then June shifts an inch, her fingers curling into my shirt beneath my cut, and the brief freedom is punctuated by thoughts of the little reaper pressed against my back.
The feeling of her body molding into mine as we ride is torturous, and I consider rerouting our ride just so I can get rid of her.
But then she’ll feel like she’s won, and she already got too much power last night.
So, I suck it up and use all my willpower to ignore how painfully tight my jeans become each time June’s fingers flex their hold a few inches above the waistband.
She relaxes when we reach the open road outside city limits. I feel the moment her fear melts into joy, then elation. My little reaper is addicted to thrills. She thrives on the risks of life, like me. Pretty soon, she’ll be looking at bikes at three in the morning.
Several hours later, our ride ends at the Iron Cage. We rhythmically pull into the lot, parking our bikes side by side. The absence of the roaring exhaust pipes is louder than the ride itself, and as soon as I swing my leg off the bike, tension begins creeping back into my muscles.
June stumbles as she tries to follow, her legs wobbling. I grab her arms to steady her. “You okay?”
She shakes me off. “I’m fine.”
“It’s like trying to walk on land after a month at sea!” Luna says, bounding over. “Don’t worry, killer, you’ll get used to it.”
“Doubtful.” Without another word to me, June pulls her helmet off and follows Luna into the Iron Cage.
“Looks like Luna might be stealing another one of our girls!” Raph shouts. I turn, aiming a death glare at him. His mouth snaps shut, and he has the decency to look sheepish.
“Chill, dude,” James whispers.
“Fuck off.” I carefully don’t look for June inside, instead heading behind the bar.
The bartender, a young woman much tougher than she looks, dips her chin in my direction.
I pour a glass of whiskey, down it, and fill another, which I take to the back office.
James follows and sits in the chair in front of my desk.
“Did you see Matthew when we were on 80?”
I nod. “He broke formation twice. Something’s going on with him.”
“Think it’s Krissy?” he suggests, referring to Matthew’s fiancé, who is, frankly, a bitch.
“I don’t care what it is, he needs to get his shit together.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Thanks.”
“And you?”
“Look, June is—”
“No,” James interrupts. “I mean last night. The meeting. I know that wasn’t about June. At least, not completely.”
“It was about the guys respecting me.”
“T, don’t pretend with me. The last two women you trusted enough to bring to meetings did a number on you.
All the Saints remember that.” He pauses, then corrects himself.
“Well, all the Saints remember Amber. And those of us who knew you seven years ago never want to see you go through anything like that again.”
He’s worried, I know, but the words still feel like screws in my jaw. James was as affected by Scottie as I was, and even now, almost seven years later, his eyes glisten from the memories.
“That isn’t going to happen again.”
“The guys don’t know that. All they see is you bringing this stranger into the fold, calling her your girlfriend, moving her into your house, and snapping at anyone who looks at her the wrong way.
In their heads, either we’ll all be burned again, or something will happen and we’ll lose one of the best leaders the Saints have ever had. ”
My eyes fix on the antique model motorcycle on the desk as I let his words settle between us.
“But that’s not what I’m talking about,” he says. “You were thinking about her last night. Both of them.”
“I don’t give a shit about Amber—”
“Not Amber.”
The following silence is the kind with a heartbeat of its own. It’s a silence that fills the space with memories that could be deafening if you let it. We both see it. We both feel it. My body coils, preparing to fight an invisible and intangible threat.
But the real threat has long since passed. Now, the only danger is my own mind finally caving to the memories.
“I can’t think about her.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t thinking about her.”
“Okay.”
James and I stare at each other for an indiscernible amount of time.
He won’t force me to talk about her, about them , he never would.
He’ll just read the thoughts in my eyes and sit with me for as long as it takes for the memories to return to their padded boxes in the basement of my mind.
If Rocket were here, he’d tell us to nut up and face our feelings.
But James’s father is several states away, running from the past in his own way.
One day, we won’t be able to run anymore. One day, the silence will break, and the memories will destroy me.
Until then, I’ll keep the boxes shut however I can.
I sigh, throw back the remaining whiskey, and stand from the desk. James mirrors my movements. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go get shitfaced.”