5. Chapter 4 #3
Wren hopped up on the counter, swinging her legs as she sipped from a beer.
"Ghost took me in as his ward when I was thirteen.
Back then, I couldn't boil water without burning it.” She shrugged.
“Necessity is the mother of invention and the Internet provides all the instruction you need.
Always thought knowing how to feed people was as important as knowing how to shoot. "
"Can you? Shoot, I mean."
Wren's laugh was sharp and bright. "Better than most of the prospects. Ghost made sure of it." She tilted her head, studying me. "Jack will teach you too, once things settle down."
The thought of Jack teaching me to handle a gun sent an unexpected thrill through me.
Same as the thought I’d be leaving once things “settled down” made me unexpectedly sad, anxious even.
He hadn't returned to the room last night, and I'd only glimpsed him briefly this morning, deep in conversation with several patched members.
"Tell me about him," I said, trying to sound casual as I stirred. "About Jack."
Wren's eyes gleamed with interest. "What do you want to know?"
"Anything? Everything?" I shrugged, embarrassed by my eagerness. "I mean, I'm supposed to be his old lady, but I barely know him. No matter if it’s only a short time, I’m still sharing this guy’s space. The least I can do is try to make an effort to make him more comfortable since he’s putting his club in front of me when I should never have been here in the first place. ”
"OK. First off, you were exactly where you were supposed to be. I invited you — hounded you — to come to a party with me.” She squeezed my shoulder.
“As to Jack? He's... complicated." Wren hopped down from the counter and moved to check on the pies cooling by the window.
"He's got this reputation. You know, ‘Bloody Jack’ and all.
And yeah, he's earned that reputation. I've seen him beat men half to death without breaking a sweat.
" She paused, a soft smile playing at her lips. "But then there's the other stuff."
"What other stuff?" Yeah. Wren had me hook, line, and sinker and I wasn’t even trying to hide how interested I was.
"Like the time he found a stray dog behind the clubhouse.
Mangy thing, starving and mean as hell. This prospect tried to kick it away, and Jack beat the guy so bad Ghost had to pull him off.
Then he spent two weeks nursing that dog back to health, sleeping on the floor of his office so it wouldn't be alone even though he refused to let the thing in his apartment.” She chuckled.
“That lasted all of two nights then the dumb dog was sleeping in the bed with him. I know because Jack admitted it to Ghost one night when they were drunk.”
I tried to reconcile this image with the intimidating man who'd claimed me as his property. "What happened to the dog?"
"Lives with an old lady in town now. Jack still visits once a week with premium dog food." Wren laughed at my expression. "Surprised? Bloody Jack's got his code. He protects what's his, whether it's a beat up stray or..." She gave me a meaningful look.
"I'm not his," I said automatically, though the protest felt hollow even to my own ears.
She fingered the shoulder of my vest. “All evidence to the contrary.
Honey, he claimed you in front of a rival club.
" Wren's voice softened. "In our world, that means something.
Jack doesn't do anything without thinking it through.
So what he did might seem random or temporary, but I guarantee you he did exactly what he intended to do. "
Before I could respond, the kitchen door swung open and one of the prospects poked his head in. "Prez wants to know how much longer 'til food's ready. The brothers are getting rowdy."
"Tell him it’ll be ready when it’s ready." Wren called back.
The prospect disappeared, and Wren turned back to me with a grin. "Now, did you look into that dessert I told you about?”
“Apple pie with cheddar baked into the crust? Yeah. I did. Made it too.” I grinned. “I mean, smells wonderful but I’m afraid to try it.”
“I know right? It's weird as fuck, but Bloody Jack loves it." Wren’s smile made me smile back. The woman really was the most cheerful woman I’d ever met.
“I hope so. Because that’s all I had time to make after all this other stuff.” In addition to the brisket, baked beans, and mac and cheese, we also had potato salad, corn on the cob, cole slaw, and cornbread as well as homemade rolls. It was a whole thing.
We carried the first couple dishes out to the big table.
Once they saw us coming out with food, the guys descended on the kitchen to bring the rest to the table.
The main room had been transformed. Several tables had been pushed together, creating one long surface covered with mismatched tablecloths.
Every member of the club was present, their cuts forming a sea of black leather around the tables.
Jack sat at the head, his massive frame dwarfing the chair beneath him. When he spotted me carrying a plate of food for each of us, something shifted in his expression. The softening around the eyes made my heart skip.
"Here," he said, patting the empty seat to his left. "This is your place."
I slid into the chair, acutely aware of the eyes tracking my movement.
The positioning wasn't lost on me. Left of the president.
The sovereign on the throne sits on the right, the spouse on the left.
From Wren's widened eyes and the subtle nods exchanged among the older members, I realized this was significant. Not just a seat, but a statement.
The meal quickly descended near anarchy.
Platters were passed with more enthusiasm than care, beer flowed freely, and the conversation grew louder with each passing minute.
Crude jokes flew across the table, punctuated by bursts of raucous laughter.
I'd expected to feel uncomfortable, but there was something oddly familiar about it all.
Felt like the feast after harvest back home. Just with more cursing and leather.
"Pass the fucking mac and cheese before I stab someone," a biker called out, prompting a chorus of agreements.
"You made this?" Jack asked quietly as he forked a bite of the aforementioned mac and cheese into his mouth.
I nodded. "It was my mother’s recipe. Wren stressed the importance of the perfect mac and cheese and how it could possibly help cement my place here." I smiled at him. “You know. However long that is.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Tastes like Ghost's grandma's."
"Highest compliment in this place," Wren called from her seat next to me, raising her beer in a mock toast.
As the meal progressed, I found myself relaxing, even joining in the banter when one of the younger members tried to explain why my cornbread wasn't as good as his mother's.
The look of shock on his face when I told him his mother's cornbread probably tasted like sawdust if he was any indication of her cooking skills had the whole table erupting in laughter. Even Jack belly laughed at that one.
Jack's leg pressed against mine under the table, a warm, solid presence that anchored me in the unfamiliar setting. Every so often, his hand would brush against mine when reaching for his drink, each touch deliberate and lingering.
When it was time for dessert, I slipped into the kitchen to retrieve Jack's pie, still warm from the oven. The room quieted slightly as I placed it in front of him, the scent of baked apples rising in the steam.
"Wren told me it's your favorite," I said, suddenly shy under his intense gaze.
Jack caught my wrist as I started to pull away, his grip gentle but firm. He tugged me down until his lips were near my ear, his beard tickling my cheek.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn't name. "Not just for the pie. For all of it."
The room had gone noticeably quieter, the men watching this unusual display from their typically stoic president. I felt heat creep up my neck, but didn't pull away.
"You're welcome," I whispered back, breathing in his scent.
When I straightened and returned to my seat, conversations gradually resumed, though I caught more than a few curious glances.
Wren gave me a cocky smirk like this had all been part of her plan.
Wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she played matchmaker with me.
I just didn’t know how Jack would appreciate her meddling in his life.
As the night wound down and members began drifting away in twos and threes, Jack's hand found my thigh under the table.
His palm was warm through my jeans, his thumb making small passes back and forth that sent shivers racing up my spine.
I nearly choked on my beer when those circles moved higher, dangerously close to the seam of my jeans.
I glanced at him, expecting to find amusement at my reaction, but his expression was serious, intent.
Those blue eyes had darkened to the color of a storm tossed sea, and when they locked with mine, I saw raw, unfiltered need there.
A mirror of what I was feeling, though I wasn't ready to admit it even to myself. At least, not in a sense there could be anything happening between me and this man. I didn’t want to have sex with him. Right?
The promise in that look stole my breath.
Lust only scratched the surface of what I saw in his eyes.
Something that made my heart race with equal parts excitement and fear.
Because despite the danger, the property vest, and the bizarre circumstances that had brought us together, I started seeing the man behind the "Bloody Jack" persona.
And God help me, I wanted him.