Chapter 5
Chapter Five
An eerie silence blanketed the clubhouse, and the air hung thick with the scent of lemon cleaner layered over stale beer and smoke. Thane slid a cardboard box across the scarred oak table, its edges frayed.
“This is our club history,” he said as he rustled through the pile of papers, rolled-up posters, and news clips.
He handed Eva an old photograph of a group of men with grease-stained jeans and wolfish grins.
They straddled their motorcycles in front of a rundown bar, their expressions a mix of fuck-the-world defiance and brotherhood.
I leaned in for a closer look. One sported a black eye, and all of them wore the same swagger I’d come to expect in the short time I’d spent around the Mavericks.
“The club was founded by these three—Maxwell Morris, Don Prout, and Tobias Grove.”
“Morris?” Eva asked. “Any relation to Merrick?”
Thane nodded. “His old man. Died a few years ago. You can’t outride lung cancer.”
He lit a cigarette, taking in a drag before blowing the smoke away from us.
The irony of reminiscing about your friend’s lung cancer while smoking struck me.
Eva poked me under the table, as if my face betrayed every thought.
I fought to control my expression, but Thane’s smirk told me he hadn’t missed it.
“Tobias is dead, too. His son, Tyler, is a prospect right now. Don’s the last founder not yet in the dirt.”
Eva stood and rustled through the contents of the box.
“I’m meeting with Maisie this week to talk about PR for her booth at the market, so I can get some background from Don.
I’m sure he can give me some context. I want Kenna to create a video about the club’s history, and this is a great starting point. ”
Dust motes swirled in the sunlight as her fingers brushed over the faded flyers and Polaroids.
I tucked a strand of auburn hair behind my ear. “I can talk to Merrick about what it was like to grow up a part of the club,” I offered, trying to sound casual.
Eva arched a brow at me. I ignored the heat creeping up my neck.
“I owe him a drink for driving my drunk ass home the other night,” I explained. “So I can kill two birds.”
I pulled out my phone, thumbs hovering for a moment before I typed. I pushed away the unnecessary guilt that crashed through me.
Me:
When are you free for dinner? I’m helping Eva with the 50th anniversary planning. Thane shared that your dad was a founding member. I want to talk to you about growing up in the club … and thank you for the ride home again.
I watched the three dots below my text as Merrick keyed in his response. My heart leapt in my throat when my phone pinged.
Merrick:
Sure. I’m free tonight or Thursday.
Me:
Let’s do tonight at 6. Do you like lamb chops and risotto?
Merrick:
Sounds great. Can I bring anything?
Me:
If you have any photos from growing up in the club, bring them. Otherwise, just bring an appetite.
Thane guided Eva and me from his office to a wall of photos in the hallway. Just as he was pointing out another picture of the founders, a clean-cut man with a boyish expression and glasses slipped through the front door.
“Tyler,” Thane boomed across the open space, his voice sharp and commanding.
Tyler jumped. He adjusted his glasses with a nervous flick of his fingers, then squared his shoulders. “Prez, how’s it going?”
“I don’t know if you’ve met Kenna yet,” Thane said, gesturing to me. “She and Eva need to talk to you about your dad.”
“My dad?”
I offered a smile. “I want to learn more about his role as a co-founder and what it was like for you to grow up with the club. Why you became a prospect.”
“Tyler’s going to be a hot-shot lawyer. Once he passes the bar, he’ll be just as valuable as his dad. Hope you’re studying, boy.”
The set of his jaw was his only show of irritation at Thane’s comment. He brushed his fingers over his prospect patch unconsciously. “Yeah, working on it. This is my dad’s legacy. Wouldn’t want to let him down.”
“It was nice to meet you,” I offered, breaking the tension. “I’ll reach out to set up a time for us to chat.” I extended my hand.
Tyler hesitated, just a heartbeat, before reaching out. His fingers brushed the back of my hand for a split second before his grip firmed up.
Eva and I said our goodbyes and headed outside. The sun cast long shadows across the gravel lot. Eva leaned against her Jeep, crossing her arms with a smirk. “So, inviting Merrick over for dinner, huh?”
I rolled my eyes and dug out my keys. “He’s one of like, three friends I have here in Texas. I can’t have dinner with you and Reaper every night.”
“Sure you can. We love having you over.”
I opened the door and tossed my bag onto the passenger seat. “Sorry, but there’s only so long I can stomach my dinner while you two make suggestive comments. How often do you end up fucking at the dinner table before you finish your meal when I’m not there?”
Eva grinned. “Oh, meals get finished.”
I grimaced. “That is exactly what I’m talking about. I’m glad you found love. But sometimes I’d like to eat a meal without feeling like I’m intruding on your foreplay.”
Eva laughed, tossing her hair back. “Fair. In that case, I need to go buy some whipped cream for dessert.”
I groaned, slamming my car door a little harder than necessary. “You’re the worst.”
She winked and climbed into her Jeep. “You’re just jealous.”
I grinned at her, shaking my head, but my smile fell from my face as soon as she turned away.
Maybe I was a little envious. I wanted that kind of certainty. That sense of belonging. I’d had it before, with Alec, and the pain of losing him nearly killed me. I couldn’t imagine putting myself back through that kind of heartbreak again.
As the clubhouse faded in the rearview mirror, my thoughts drifted to my dinner plans with Merrick. There was something about him—an intensity and foreboding, like standing at the edge of a storm. The promise of electricity raged in the air around him.
Hatchet, though … he was different. Fun, light, full of warmth.
When I was with him, for just a moment, I could forget the shadows.
He made me laugh, feel seen, and for the first time in a long time, like I could breathe.
The way he looked at me made my heart skip, and when he smiled, the sun broke through the clouds.
I sighed, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
It was a moot point. I wasn’t ready for anything beyond friendship.
Not with Hatchet, not with Merrick, not with anyone.
For now, I just needed to keep moving forward, one day at a time, and hope that someday, I’d find the courage to let myself love again.
With a few hours to spare before Merrick arrived, I found myself sorting through the barrage of emails that had filled the general inbox for Lioness Communications, the PR and marketing consultancy Eva and I ran.
It was typically filled with cold outreach from vendors we’d never work with and a handful of media inquiries related to our clients.
I clicked into an email from an investigative reporter for the Houston Chronicle.
I skimmed it before picking up the phone to call Thane. It rang twice before he answered.
“Hello? Hey, knock that shit off; I’m on the phone.”
“Thane?” I asked. “I’m sorry to bother you, but—”
“No bother, darlin’. What’s going on?”
“I have a reporter asking for an interview with you about your relationship with the Riot.”
“No.”
I stifled a laugh at his sharp response. “No, you don’t know what the Riot is? Or, no, you don’t want to talk about your relationship with them?”
“Did they give a source? What makes them think we’re connected to the Riot?”
“The reporter didn’t say. And we shouldn’t ask if we don’t plan to offer an interview. It’s not something she’s obligated to share with us.”
“And I’m not obligated to interview with her.”
“You’re right. You’re not. But she’ll write the story either way. Do you want to tell me what the Riot is? And why you don’t want to talk about it?”
Thane said nothing.
“I can’t help manage media for the club if you don’t tell me. I signed the NDA. I’ll manage this the best I can, but leaving me in the dark won’t work.”
Thane grumbled under his breath before speaking. “The Red Rock Riot Motorcycle Club. They’re in New Mexico.”
“And?”
“We do business with them. Club business. Shit I can’t tell you about.”
“Is this club business legal?”
Thane stayed mute, his silence spelling out the answer I needed.
“OK, so this is definitely not something we should acknowledge. I’ll respond and let her know that you don’t do interviews regarding other clubs, and she should direct any questions she has about the Riot to their president.
If you have a good relationship with the guy, you should give him a heads-up.
The reporter might pretend she has an interview with you to get him to talk to her. ”
“Goddamn it. Just what I fucking need is to piss off Serpent and Jag.”
“And they are?”
“Serpent is the president. Jaguar is the VP. And they’re both fucking unhinged.”
“Got it.”
I had more questions, but I was certain Thane wouldn’t answer a single one.
Merrick knocked on my door at six on the dot. The sound echoed through my still-half-unpacked home.
I wiped my palms on my jeans and kicked my running shoes out of the way. My heart thumped as I opened the door to see him standing on my stoop, wearing his cut with a zinfandel blend in one hand and a small bouquet in the other. A canvas bag hung from his arm.
“I, uh, thought of you when I saw these at the store,” he stammered as he handed me the wildflowers. And Reaper swears this is the wine you’re supposed to have with lamb, but … hell, I’m just taking his word for it.” The words tumbled out of him, more uncertain question than confident statement.
A flush crept across my cheeks. “Thank you. Please, come inside. Don’t mind the mess. I’m still unpacking.” I turned away, hoping to mask how his awkward charm made my heart race.