Chapter 8
Sloane
I don’t know what I was expecting, but everyone is so much nicer than I thought they’d be. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.
Liam keeps sending me cautious looks, checking in to make sure that I’m not about to lose my mind or have a meltdown. Not that I’m prone to them, but when in Rome. Or rather, when in your son’s future biker club that you knew nothing about before yesterday…
When we first started talking to the guys in the security room and they explained to us what they were going to be doing, how the hacking worked, and how that maybe for right now, it’s best to try to keep life as normal as possible so that nothing looks off, I thought my skull was going to explode.
I’m not techy, but that wasn’t it. I kept thinking about Liam in Seattle, away from home, witnessing what he saw and keeping that to himself all this time.
I’m going to need more than a day to sort all this out, but I’m starting to make peace with the fact that it might take some time.
The club’s president, vice president, and a few of the other guys all found us in the back of the clubhouse.
They introduced themselves, and they were all much younger than I thought.
Probably my age or less. They didn’t look like thugs.
They were all big guys, and sure, some had long hair with a big beard to match, and they were all wearing a leather jacket or vest full of patches, but they were polite, well spoken, and I could tell that their concern for the whole situation was genuine.
Liam half looked like he wanted to jump out of his skin, and half like yet another apology was coming, but he stayed quiet. He kept watching me as though I was going to take him aside and tell him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t allowed to join the club, because I get the final say.
I might not like it, and maybe I don’t have to like it, but I need to make peace with this, one way or the other.
I can either support my son or break his heart.
I don’t need to be right, and maybe he doesn’t either.
That only causes someone to get hurt, and then what’s left but shredded hopes and burned bridges?
Cruz appears in the doorway of the security room a few minutes after Tyrant, Raiden, Odin, and Atlas left. His hair is slicked back and still damp, he’s freshly shaved, and he’s dressed entirely in black from his t-shirt to a pair of fatigues and his big boots.
He looks like a drill sergeant. A real ass kicker. A huge grizzly beast jammed into clothing that happens to showcase just how big and muscled he is. And… all the wrong parts of me definitely notice.
“Are you ready for us?” Liam asks. He shoots Wizard a loaded look. “I guess I should have asked if I was supposed to go to the garage today.”
Wizard shrugs. “You can go track Tyrant down, but I’m assuming you can make whatever decisions you’d like. Tomorrow would be fine, or the next day. Just be sure everything is taken care of at home and then let us know.”
I realize that maybe I shouldn’t have worn jeans and a bulky sweater for self-defense training, but I guess if someone tries to mug you walking down the street, or breaks into your house, you’re not going to have time to put on a sporty little outfit to give you the greatest range of movement.
I didn’t think that we’d be doing anything tough either, at least not until I saw Cruz come out in those fatigues like he means real business.
I kind of wish that I’d brought clothing to change into.
“Thank you guys for everything,” Liam says.
I nod. “I can’t say that I feel at ease about any of this but thank you so much for explaining what you’re doing and for taking the time to even meet with us.
Err, me.” Because of course they’d make time for Liam and for Cruz.
They belong in this place. To this place.
One day, these men will be my son’s future brothers of sorts.
Liam always wanted a sibling.
I’m so scrambled that I no longer know what to feel. Can I be split in half, with part of me thinking that maybe these guys are alright, and the other half still hating the idea of Liam joining?
Cruz motions for us to follow him. We trail after him down a long hallway.
I guess that we’re going to the other side of the building.
There are a whole bunch of doors on both sides of the hallway, kind of like a motel.
I haven’t seen the rest of the clubhouse, but I imagine it’s nice enough.
I have a thing for old architecture, especially brick buildings.
I might be biased considering that I live in one.
I happen to think that coffee shops serve better tasting coffee if they’re quaint and full of history.
Liam sends me yet another worried look. He’s walking slightly ahead, so it makes it easy enough for him to angle his head and send me side eyed glances.
I give him a small smile just because I can’t stand to see him miserable.
I try to keep my eyes on the doors after that, but they inevitably gravitate back to Cruz.
He’s walking a few paces in front of us.
My eyes land on his broad shoulders then unwittingly drop down.
And down. Until I’m ogling his ass in those fatigues.
He could wear anything, I’m sure, and that rock hard backside would look incredible.
I quickly look away and focus on nothing but the walls, doors, and floor. I hope Liam didn’t notice the exact direction and angle of my stare.
It’s almost a relief when Cruz stops, opens one of the doors, and steps inside.
Liam can’t keep a big grin from splitting his face. He’s still nervous, but I can tell that this is a safe place for him, one he enjoys spending time in. He waits for me and we step into the sprawling space together.
The gym isn’t like the typical ones for the public.
This room is massive, and it reminds me of those basement boxing training gyms that you see on movies.
There are several windows along the far brick wall that let in natural light.
There aren’t any mirrors and there isn’t any typical cardio equipment.
The back wall is lined with weights and kettlebells, while the whole other wall has more of the same kind of machines.
I guess that part does look like the gym you can go buy a monthly membership to.
The hardwood floor gleams under the lighting in the open beamed ceiling.
Stacks of mats take up one whole corner, and beside that are a series of metal shelves with rolled yoga mats, foam blocks, tension bands, stacks of gloves, skipping ropes, and other thick ropes.
There are even a few coils of chains, and quite a few things I have no idea what their use might be.
Like most boxing based gyms, this room has a few punching bags over in the corner beside a series of windows with dark metal mesh over them.
The glass is fogged, so they let in plenty of light, but I can’t see out onto the street, and no one can see in.
Cruz immediately walks to the mats and gathers up a stack so large that it doesn’t look like it should be humanly possible to carry it.
Liam leaves me standing by the door to help Cruz lay them out.
When they’re done, half the floor is covered, and it looks like we’re going to be practicing gymnastics tumbling.
A strange restlessness courses through me.
I keep thinking about last night, replaying what it felt like to tumble into Cruz’s strong arms. They felt safe wrapped around me.
Or rather, I felt safe. I tumbled out of that headstand, straight into something else entirely. Something shifted in me and woke up.
“Are you ready?” Cruz’s deep voice in that tone that suggests he’d rather eat rocks than force out words, cuts off my thoughts.
My head snaps up. “I have no idea.” I look to Liam helplessly. His smile is meant to encourage me, but it only makes me wary. “If you’re going to manhandle me to the ground or ragdoll me like a real criminal would, then probably not. Can you ever be ready for that?”
“He might flip you, but Cruz won’t hurt you. He’s good at this. Just trust him,” Liam coaxes.
“Flip me?” I choke. “What?”
“I don’t have to flip you.” Cruz looks pained at the effort of talking.
If we do this, will it be easier for him?
I don’t want to admit to myself just how lovely his voice would sound if it softened just a little.
Or how enticing it sounds as it is. Deep burrs and velvet purrs weren’t made for a man like him.
My brain goes straight to thinking about just how much better rough edges and red flags are.
And by better, I mean nope, not going there.
I let them flow through me and flow right on out. I’ve found that shutting down and shutting out doesn’t work, but the flow method? It’s tried and true.
“You do way harder stuff in yoga,” Liam reasons.
“Trust me.” He points at the mat. He’s perfectly willing to do this in his worn jeans and t-shirt, but he sheds his leather jacket.
He doesn’t toss it on the floor like he would at home.
He actually walks to the door and hangs it up on the hooks on the back of it. “Do you want me to go first?”
I can handle this. I’m a grown ass woman, not a teenager with out-of-control hormones. I can pass off heavy breathing, an elevated pulse, and sweat as part of a workout. It’s only going to be platonic touching.
My heart still pounds hard, going full tilt unbridled against my ribcage.
I’m all good.
Until Cruz drops down into a ready stance on those mats, trying to be funny and non-threatening, I think, but all it does is accentuate his insanely powerful body.
“Actually…” I feign uncertainty. It’s not really pretending when you feel it, is it? “Do you want to go first?”