8. Sophie
Chapter 8
Sophie
Blade’s fingers trace my cheek, then slide into my hair. "How do you feel?"
Carefully, I turn within his embrace, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar soreness between my legs and the twinge from my still-healing ribs. “Fantastic,” I answer honestly.
He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Any regrets?"
I shake my head against his chest. "None."
His hand drifts down my spine, following the curve to cup my bottom. The casual possessiveness of the gesture makes me feel wanted in a way I never imagined. After years of being treated like I’m disposable—something to be used and discarded—I love his possessiveness.
"I like you being here," he says, gesturing around his room. "In bed with me. Wearing nothing but your birthday suit.”
I lean into his touch, craving the security of belonging to someone who values me.
We stay like that for a while, tangled together in comfortable silence. His hands roam my body, not with urgent desire but with contented possession, as if confirming I'm really there, really his. The rough calluses on his palms create a delicious friction against my skin.
Eventually, he sighs, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. "I have to go to church soon."
"Church?" I ask, confused. Blade doesn't strike me as the religious type.
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest against my ear. "Club meeting. We call it church. Happens every week, more often when there's pressing business." He runs a hand through his hair. "I'll be tied up for a while."
Disappointment washes through me, though I try to hide it. "Oh. Okay."
"Hey." He tilts my face up to his, his brown eyes intense. "I'd rather stay here with you. But being VP comes with responsibilities."
I nod in understanding. "Of course. I'll be fine."
Blade reaches for his phone on the nightstand, his thumb quickly tapping out a message.
"What are you doing?" I ask, watching as his brow furrows in concentration.
"Texting Angel to come hang out with you while I'm in church," he replies without looking up.
"What?" I sit up fully now, pulling the sheet with me to cover my nakedness. "I don't need a babysitter, Blade. I'm nineteen, not nine."
He glances up, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "It's not babysitting, princess. It's..." he pauses, searching for the right word, "companionship."
I cross my arms over my chest. "I can be alone for a few hours. I'm pretty good at entertaining myself."
"Humor me," he says, his expression softening. "The clubhouse can be overwhelming for newcomers, besides—" He holds out his phone, showing me Angel's response.
Would love to! Desperately need some girl time. Jumping in shower. Meet in common room in 20?
I bite my lip, unable to deny that the thought of navigating the clubhouse alone is slightly intimidating. Plus, Angel is nice, and I haven't had a female friend in well, ever.
"Fine," I concede with a small smile. "But just so you know, I'm agreeing because I want to get to know Angel better, not because I need supervision."
Blade grins, pulling me in for a quick kiss. "Got it, princess."
Twenty minutes later, I make my way downstairs to the common room.
The common room is nearly empty when I arrive. No sign of Angel yet. At the bar, a couple guys are laughing and flirting with a group of women. The guys must not be full members since they’re not in church. The women are beautiful in a hard-edged way, with perfect makeup, high heels, and styled hair. To say they’re scantily dressed would be generous. They have barely any clothes on at all. I think one of then is wearing pasties over her nipples.
None of these people were here this morning for my impromptu birthday celebration, and I'm not sure what to do.
I could go over and introduce myself, but I'm suddenly acutely aware of how I must look in Blade's black t-shirt that hangs to mid-thigh and sweatpants rolled multiple times at the waist and ankles.
I feel extremely out of place...and slightly triggered, if I'm being honest. They remind me of Brittany and Madison, with their confident smirks and critical gazes. I've had enough of feeling judged to last a lifetime. I duck my head and turn in the opposite direction, deciding to explore while I wait for Angel.
The clubhouse is larger than I realized. I wander down corridors I haven't seen before, past what appears to be a communal bathroom and several closed doors with various signs—"Storage," "Security," "Cipher's Cave." The place is a maze of hallways and rooms, much of it poorly lit.
As I round a corner, I freeze at the sight of a woman carefully closing a door behind her. She's tall and slim, with fiery red hair cascading down her back and a tiny dress that barely covers the essentials. Something about her furtive movements sets off alarm bells in my head. She glances around quickly, not noticing me.
On instinct, I step back, concealing myself in the shadows. The woman adjusts something in her bra—tucking away what looks like a folded piece of paper—before strutting down the hall in the opposite direction.
It's not your business.
But...when she's gone, I cautiously approach the door she exited. A brass nameplate reads "PREZ" in bold lettering. Ghost's office. What was she doing in there? And why was she being so secretive about it?
Not your business, not your business, not your business.
I'm new here, still learning the rules and dynamics. The last thing I want is to be nosy.
Turning down another corridor, I nearly collide with the same redhead. She's pressed against a closed door, her ear literally against the wood, listening intently. I gasp in surprise, and she whirls around, her eyes narrowing when she spots me.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demands, straightening up and flipping her hair over her shoulder. Her defensive tone immediately puts me on edge—she acts like I'm the one doing something wrong.
"I—I was just walking around," I stammer, taking a step back. "Waiting for Angel."
The woman's perfectly painted lips curl into a sneer as she looks me up and down. "And who exactly are you supposed to be? The cleaning lady?"
Heat rises to my cheeks. "I'm Sophie. I'm with?—"
"I know who you are," she cuts me off. "You're the little straggler Blade dragged in. Honey, guys like him don't keep girls like you around for long. Especially ones who look like they got dressed in the dark from the laundry hamper."
I flinch at her words, automatically pulling at the hem of Blade's oversized shirt. Part of me wants to turn and flee, falling back on the instinct to avoid conflict that's been ingrained in me for years. But another part—a newer, braver part—stands her ground.
"I wasn't the one sneaking around offices or eavesdropping on private meetings," I reply, my voice quiet but steadier than I expect.
Her eyes flash dangerously. "Listen, little girl?—"
"Is there a problem here, Cherry?"
We both turn to see Angel standing a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest. Despite her small stature, there's something formidable about her presence. The redhead—Cherry—still looks pissed off but immediately adopts a more casual posture.
"Just explaining how things work around here," Cherry says with false sweetness that doesn't fool either of us.
Angel steps closer, positioning herself slightly in front of me. "Oh, really? And how exactly is that?"
Cherry's smile doesn't reach her eyes. The tension between these two is palpable, and I'm struck by the realization that there's history here—bad blood bubbling beneath the surface of their exchange.
"She doesn't seem to understand boundaries," Cherry sneers. "That certain areas of the clubhouse aren't for everyone."
"You should be careful how you speak to her," Angel counters. "You know better than to disrespect a brother's ol' lady."
I have no idea what Angel means by calling me an ol' lady, but I see Cherry's confidence falter for a second. Just a second—and then she gives a derisive laugh. "Old lady? Please. I don't see a property cut on her back."
"Cut or not, she's his. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it." Angel's voice is calm but carries a warning. "And if I hear you've been disrespecting her again, Ghost will hear about it."
For a moment, Cherry looks like she might argue, but something in Angel's steady gaze makes her think better of it. With a final scathing look at me, she turns and stalks away, her heels clicking aggressively against the concrete floor.
Once she's gone, Angel turns to me with a sympathetic smile. "Sorry about that. Cherry's a piece of work." Angel links her arm through mine, leading me back toward the main part of the clubhouse. "But let me clue you in on rule number one: Don't let the club whores push you around, because they'll walk all over you if you give them an inch."
"Club... whores ?" I repeat, testing the word.
"Yep." Angel nods. "The women who hang around hoping to catch a brother's attention. They're not old ladies, not respected the way you and I are." She gives my arm a squeeze. "I think it's time for me to school you on MC Life 101."
She leads me to a small lounge area I hadn't noticed before—a cozy space with a worn leather couch, a coffee table, and a mini-fridge. Angel grabs two sodas, handing me one before settling beside me on the couch.
"First off," she begins, "an old lady is a brother's woman—not just a hookup or a fling, but someone he's committed to, like a wife or serious girlfriend." She turns slightly, showing me the back of the leather vest—the cut—she's wearing. Embroidered across it are the words Property of Ghost. "In the MC world, this announces to everyone that I'm Ghost's. That I'm under his protection." Pride shines in her eyes. "It means I'm off-limits to other men, that I'm respected as his equal partner in life."
"And you think I'm Blade's...um...old lady?" The thought sends a strange thrill through me.
Angel smiles. "I know it. From the moment he put you on the back of his bike and brought you here, he was telling the whole club that you're special to him. Letting you sleep in his room, protecting you, threatening anyone who looks at you wrong—these are all ways of staking his clim on you in front of his brothers, his club."
I absorb this information, trying to understand this new world with its unfamiliar rules and customs. "But isn't it... I don't know, old-fashioned? Being someone's 'property'?"
"It's not about ownership in the way you might think," Angel explains, her expression thoughtful. "It's about belonging. Having a place. Being valued. In a world where loyalty is everything, being claimed as someone's old lady is the highest form of respect."
Her words resonate with something deep inside me. All my life, I've been treated as a burden, a nuisance to be tolerated. The idea of being treasured, of belonging to someone who sees my worth—it's intoxicating.
"So... Cherry doesn't like me because I'm with Blade?" I ask, still trying to understand the clubhouse dynamics.
Angel laughs lightly. "Cherry doesn't like any woman who threatens her perceived status. The club whores are at the bottom of the hierarchy, but they've carved out their own pecking order among themselves." She sighs, leaning back in her chair. "Honestly, they're the bane of my existence here."
"Why does the club keep them around?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Tradition, mostly," Angel says with a grimace. "The single brothers like having willing women around. I've been trying to nudge Ghost toward making the club more family-oriented, less... whorish." She smiles ruefully at her own choice of words. "But it's a process. I haven't been here that long myself, and I recently spent some time recovering from heart surgery. A congenital condition," she adds, seeing my concerned expression. "I'm fine now. But the last thing I wanted to do was come in and start criticizing everything about how the club operates."
"That makes sense," I nod, understanding her caution.
Angel leans forward, lowering her voice. "Maybe, now that you're here, we can work together as a team. Between the two of us, we can work on the guys. Slowly persuade them that they don't need these women hanging around causing drama."
The conspiratorial way she includes me in her plans makes me feel warm inside—like I'm part of something, like I have an ally.
"Angel..." I hesitate, uncertain whether I should mention what I saw earlier. "I don't want to cause trouble, but earlier, before you found us in the hallway, I saw Cherry coming out of Ghost's office. She was acting... suspicious. I think... I'm not sure, but I think she hid something in her bra."
Angel's expression turns serious.
I nod. "And then she was listening at the door where the church meeting is happening."
"That's... concerning," Angel says, her brow furrowing. "I should probably let Ghost know she's acting suspiciously."
"How long does church usually last?" I ask, glancing at the clock.
"Hard to say. Sometimes it goes on for hours." She shrugs, then her face brightens. "We could fix lunch so it's ready for the guys when they get out?"
"Sounds good. Especially if it will help me get on their good side."
"Without a doubt." She stands, offering me her hand. "The way to a biker's heart is definitely through his stomach."