Chapter 20 Bryce #2
Dash’s brow furrowed. “No, wait. You had a black knife, Dad.”
Before Draven could respond, the office door opened again.
“Morning.” What I assumed was Presley’s cheerful voice preceded her as she came into Draven’s office. The smile on her face fell when she spotted me in the guest chair.
“Hey, Pres? Remember that knife you had engraved for Dad?” Dash asked. “The one you got him for Christmas a few years ago?”
“Yeah. He said his other one was getting old and the engraving was wearing away. Why?”
Dash pushed off the wall. “What color was it?”
“Black, of course. You all love black.”
All eyes shot to Draven.
“Where’d that knife go, Dad?” Dash asked.
“I, um . . . I think I left it in the office at the clubhouse after Presley gave it to me. Might still be in the box too.”
“Seriously?” Presley put her hands on her hips. “That was four years ago. You never even used it?”
“Sorry, Pres, but I liked the old one. It fit my hand.”
Without a word, Dash stalked out of the office, Emmett close on his heels. I shot out of my chair, following too. Draven’s bootsteps thudded behind me.
As we walked outside, I squinted at the bright morning sunlight. Dash picked up his pace, storming for the clubhouse. His long strides required me to skip a few steps to keep up.
I hadn’t taken more than a few curious glances at the clubhouse in my trips to the garage. The building had always loomed, dangerous, shadowed by the surrounding trees. But as we got closer, details jumped out.
The wood siding was stained a brown so dark it was nearly black. It had grayed in some places where the sun had faded the boards. The charcoal tin roof had a few droplets of dew that hadn’t burned off yet. A spider’s web grew in one corner under the eaves, thankfully far away from the door.
There weren’t many windows, only two on the building’s face. They’d always been dark when I’d come here and now I saw why. Behind the dirty glass, there were plywood boards. The green stamp from the lumberyard showing in a few places.
Dash marched up the two wide steps to the concrete platform that ran the entire length of the building. It was shaded by a small overhang of the roof. He fished out his keys from his jeans pocket and we all crowded at his back as he unlocked the padlock on the door.
The smell of must and stale air wafted outside, followed by the lingering scent of booze, smoke and sweat. I gagged. Desperate for information, I shoved it aside and stepped inside behind Dash.
We’d walked into a large, open room. Draven pushed past us, flipping on a row of florescent lights before disappearing down a hallway to the left.
On my right was a long bar. The dusty shelves behind it were empty.
The mirror behind the shelves was cracked in a few places.
There were some tin beer signs and an old neon light.
Only one stool was tucked under the bar.
On my left, there was a pool table, the cues hung on a wall rack.
Two flags were pinned behind the table: an American flag and the Montana state flag.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“Common area,” Dash answered at the same time Emmett said, “Party room.”
I’d take The Betsy over the Tin King party room any day.
“Knife’s gone.” Draven’s voice echoed in the room as he came rushing down the hall. “Given the fresh smudges in the dust on my desk, it was taken recently.”
“Cameras.” Emmett snapped his fingers, already moving for a door behind the bar. “Let me see if they picked anything up.”
Draven followed Emmett, leaving Dash and me alone.
I’d been so busy inspecting the room, I hadn’t noticed him. He stood frozen, staring blankly at a pair of double doors directly in front of us.
“Hey.” I walked to his side, slipping my hand in his. “Are you okay?”
“Haven’t been here in a year. It’s strange.” He squeezed my fingers tight. “It was easier to stay away. To shut it out.”
“Do you want to wait outside?”
“Had to face it sometime.” He pulled me to a hallway on the right of the party room, different than the one Draven had taken when he’d gone in search of his knife. “Come on.”
The hall was dim, with closed doors on both sides. From the outside, the building didn’t seem all that large, but it was deceiving. Though not as tall, it had to be at least double the size of the garage.
Dash kept hold of my hand but jerked his chin at one of the doors. “This was where some of the guys would stay if they didn’t have a house. Or if they just needed to crash.”
These were their rooms. “Did you have one?”
He stopped at the last door down the hallway, using a different key from his chain to unlock the deadbolt. Then he pushed the door aside.
The smell in here was different, still dusty but there was a hint of Dash’s natural spice clinging to the air. There was a window, boarded up like the others. And a bed covered with a simple khaki quilt stood in the middle of the room.
No pillows. No end table. No lamp. Only the bed and an old wooden dresser in the corner.
“This was your room?” I stepped in farther, letting go of his hand to flick on the light. Then I walked to the dresser, swiping my finger through the coat of dust on top.
“This was my room.” Dash leaned on the doorframe. “I thought maybe it would look different. Feel different. Thought I’d miss it.”
“You don’t?”
He shook his head. “Maybe I would have two days ago. But not now.”
Oh, Dash. I hated standing by, watching as his heart broke. I hated that something he’d held dear, something he’d once loved—the club—had been tainted.
“What’s this?” I walked over to the bed, picking up the leather square folded neatly on top of the quilt.
“My cut.”
“That’s what you call your vests, right?”
He nodded, stepping up behind me. “When you prospect the club, you get a cut. It has the club’s patch on the back and a prospect patch on the front.”
“How long did you have to prospect?”
“Six months. But Emmett and I were exceptions. Normally it’s about a year. Long enough we knew the guy was serious. That he’d fit in.”
“Then what happened?” I unfolded the vest, laying it carefully on the bed. My fingers ran over the white patch below the left shoulder, the word President stitched in black thread.
“Then you’re in the club. You’re family.”
I turned the vest over, staring at the patch on the back as Dash looked on. “This is beautiful.”
The few pictures I’d seen of the Tin King emblem had been in black and white from old newspapers. But in color, the design was stunning. Artful and menacing at the same time.
The club name was written at the top in Old English lettering. Beneath it was a detailed and carefully stitched skull.
A skull, exactly the same as the tattoo on Dash’s arm.
One half of the face was made entirely of silver thread, giving it a metallic feel.
Behind it was a riot of orange, yellow and red-tipped flames.
The other half of the skull was white. Simple.
Except for the colorful head wrap over the skull and delicate, almost feminine stitching around the eye, mouth and nose.
It was like a sugar skull with a harsh, violent edge.
Live to Ride
Wander Free
Below the skull, the words were stitched in threads grayed from years of wear.
How long had Dash worn this cut? How many days had he put it on? How hard had it been to fold it up and leave it here, collecting dust in a forsaken room?
Dash put a hand on my shoulder, turning me into his chest. His hands came to my face. His mouth dropped to mine. And he kissed me soft and sweet, like a thank-you.
When he broke away, he dropped his forehead to mine.
“I bet you’ve kissed a lot of women in this room,” I whispered.
“Some,” he admitted. “But none were you.”
My eyes drifted closed. This was not the right place or the right time for this conversation, but questions hung between us, begging to be asked. “What’s going on, Dash? With us?”
“I don’t know. It’s more than I thought it would be.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “You kind of snuck up on me.”
I smiled. “You snuck up on me too.”
The next kiss wasn’t soft or sweet. Dash crushed his lips to mine, his hands leaving my face to band around my back, pulling me tight into his firm body. He needed this, like he’d needed me last night. He’d gotten lost in my body, seeking comfort.
I looped my arms around his neck, angling my mouth so I could get a deeper taste.
I’d gotten lost in him too. He made everything an adventure.
Even watching him fold my laundry or do the dishes was exciting.
How was I ever going to let him go? I knew right there, in that moment, I wouldn’t be able to walk away from Dash.
He’d ruined me. He’d changed the game.
We were seconds away from ripping at each other’s clothes when a throat cleared from the doorway, forcing us apart. With swollen lips, we both turned to see Emmett.
“Dash.” He nodded down the hallway. “Better come and see this.”