Chapter Seven
Cassie
This isn’t as amusing as the others made it out to be. I don’t care one bit about how these idiots are fretting about their bikes. Most of the excitement has died down now the bikes are back on two wheels.
It’s taking a lot of restraint not to look in the direction of the surly ass biker who pretty much insulted King. That takes a serious amount of balls. And not the first time I wonder about those balls.
We heard everything from inside the car, even mom blew out a whistle as we all waited to see what King was going to do.
When he did nothing, I watched Mace again. He stood his ground and looked damn sexy doing it.
Stop it, I mentally shake myself and turn away, so I don’t risk looking over there now that I’m out among the crowd. And not just at Mace.
I can’t believe he is standing right next to Eli. I felt the burn of both of their eyes on me when I got out of the car. They don’t like each other, if what Waverley told me is anything to go by.
I didn’t fish for details, but she told me anyway. One of these days she will get over the stupid idea I’m going to end up with Eli. Men are complicated. I have enough complications in my life without adding a biker to the mix.
Never mind two…
My thighs clench and my cheeks burn. Who thinks like that? I mean, I can be adventurous in bed and I like being dominated but I’ve never been that way inclined. Clearly my body isn’t on board because now I’m imagining it.
Waverley would have a goddamn field day with this. Speaking of… Where is she? I ignore the two-muscle bound, sexy as sin bikers and search for her.
Waverley is heading up the steps to the clubhouse. More like being dragged. Nessa is on a mission. She’s been flirting around Casper for months but has never so much as kissed him as far as I can tell. And he’s like a dog in heat. Maybe tonight is the night. Fucking hell.
Waverley stops and looks over her shoulder seeking me out. Nessa still has hold of her arm as she spots me standing by the car. I make a gesture with my head that she reads perfectly. She pulls a face back that says, ‘what am I supposed to do?’
Don’t ditch me for one. I get one last apologetic look as she gives in to Nessa’s dragging. That big, boobed pain in the butt doesn’t even spare me a glance.
It would be best all around if I got the fuck out of here.
Oh great, mom has vanished too. Why do I even come here?
Seriously. Time to go. I start back for the car when a deep voice calls my name.
I’m not expecting Mace to be striding towards me.
What does he want? Self-consciously I drag my hair around my shoulder and tug it into a quick knot with a tie I had around my wrist.
“You leaving?” he asks.
“What business is that of yours?” Apparently, the snark hasn’t up and left along with the lust and embarrassment. Two very opposing and irritating emotions I don’t appreciate being invoked.
“You live in Parsippany.”
That he is stating it rather than questioning has my eyes narrowing. What does he want?
“Can I catch a ride?”
My mouth opens and closes as thoughts leave my brain, blowing away like dust in the wind. And now I’m quoting Kansas songs.
“Why would I do that?”
He glances at the bikes, like that is an answer.
“You can’t get one of these assholes to take you or loan a bike or something.” Yeah, despite telling myself I wasn’t watching, I saw his reaction to the damage on his bike. It’s not going anywhere.
“Apparently there are no spare bikes, or cages.”
If I didn’t understand biker talk, I wouldn’t have a clue he is referring to a car. He’s frustrated and pissed off and getting him in my car would be a disaster.
“Your clubhouse is in Stroudsburg. That is in the opposite direction to Parsippany.”
“A buddy has a place in Parsippany. I have business in the area tomorrow. It makes sense.”
“Maybe it makes sense to you,” I glare at him.
“You’re going to leave me here?”
“It’s not my problem.”
His jaw clenches and he glances at the men who are still being big babies about the bikes.
Behind him, Eli watches us, his arms folded and an unreadable to most, but obvious to me, annoyed expression on his face.
I’m not stupid, I’ve seen the animosity thrown Mace’s way by the brothers. To some, he’s still classed as the enemy. He could stay here, there is plenty of room, but it will be shitty for him.
I should leave him to the consequences of his actions. My eyes flick from Eli to Mace and then the clubhouse where Waverley and Nessa have abandoned me to go.
“Fine.”
I don’t wait to see if he is surprised, just turn, very briefly catching Eli’s eye but ignoring him as his arms drop to his sides.
I busy myself getting my seatbelt on and start the car as Mace climbs in.
He is so tall he has to move the seat back.
Given mom was the last person to sit there and is barely five feet, he has to move it back a long way.
My Mercedes-Benz E-Class is one of the few things I’ve splurged on.
Making a statement at the boy’s club I work in is an unfortunate side effect I have as a woman.
When I bought it, the salesman was so obnoxiously overbearing I didn’t look at anything else. He kept telling me driving a Mercedes-Benz E-Class signifies success, sophistication and prestige. It shows refined taste and attention to detail.
Despite that bullshit to get a sale, I love this car, and I don’t care Mace is looking with disdain at the dash and steering wheel with all its smart features and big screen. He should be grateful I’m not kicking his ass out. He’s barely got his seatbelt on before I drive away.
In the rearview mirror I note Eli watches us all the way to the gate where we have to wait for the prospect to get his ass in gear and open it for us.
There are five cameras pointed at us now. Security had stepped up a million-fold after what happened with the Kingsmen.
The drive is uncomfortably silent for a while. It’s at least forty minutes to Parsippany from the clubhouse and I wasn’t expecting to be driving home this late, certainly not with him in the car.
I’m hyperaware of him beside me. His scent filling the car, bergamot and lemon, like the old Italian farms we went to when we were kids.
It’s bringing back a lot of memories I haven’t thought about in a while.
When Ransom and I were blissfully unaware of the heaviness that comes with being the children of an MC officer.
Dad barely came along on the trips, vacations and MCs do not go together. He came a couple of times but always left before we did. Mom hasn’t been back for a few years, Ransom and I since we were in our early teens.
The atmosphere is getting weirder as the miles pass and I studiously keep my eyes on the road. Driving through farmland is a long way from the lifestyle I live now.
“No one else would give you a ride?” I ask, finally unable to bear the silence any longer.
“What do you think?” he asks after a moment of studying the side of my head.
“I thought that whole thing was over with.” I ignore the rudeness of his response.
“Some grudges take longer to forget.”
“Or ever get over,” I mutter.
He shifts in the seat. “It’s understandable.”
“That’s very accommodating of you.”
“If things went down any differently, I wouldn’t be here.”
This time I can’t help looking at him. He’s not looking at me, his gaze straight into the darkness of the road ahead.
“You mean you’d be dead.”
His eyes flick to mine.
“I don’t believe in talking around things. Everyone should have the balls to say what they mean.”
“Are you questioning my balls, Cassie?”
Treacherous eyes lower to his lap and back again. Instead of feeling embarrassed, I flash a smirk then look back at the road. He lets out a low laugh and runs a hand up and down his thigh. Dangerously close to his groin. What is he doing?
My heart thumps while I simultaneously chastise myself.
“You don’t enjoy going to the clubhouse.”
Another statement. This guy doesn’t believe in asking questions. I kinda like it, he’s direct. Despite the earlier vague comment about literally being murdered.
“It’s not my scene,” I reply.
“Yet you work for the club.”
“How do you know so much about me, Mace?”
His hand clenches on his thigh and I can’t help looking at it. Oh, this guy knows what he is doing to me. The sad fact is, I’m reciprocating, despite the topics of conversation, and the slight disdain for one another.
“I see things, I listen.”
“What exactly have you heard and seen?”
“You come to the club for work but any other time, it’s an obligation, you feel like you owe them.”
“I don’t owe anyone anything. I got to where I am today on my own merit,” I tell him indignantly. “You think I coasted my way through law school because I’m related to criminals.”
“That’s rhetorical irony if I ever heard it.” When my head whips around to face him, he stares back. “I’m educated too, Cassie.”
“Never implied you weren’t. I was responding to your statement I don’t have a mind of my own.”
“That isn’t what I said. Going to law school should be something that takes you away from what your family do, but with you, it binds you to them even more. And you don’t like that.”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me. You don’t know what I do.”
“You’re invaluable to the Devil’s Chaos, question is, do you like it, or…”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Proves my point.”
“It proves nothing, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I huff.
We’re finally on the I-80 getting closer to home.
I don’t like how easily he is reading me.
Just this afternoon I was questioning my own morality.
Defending Vance Roderick, a perverted, scumbag who is stalking and very possibly hurting women, doesn’t sit right with me.
It never will. How different is it from what I do for the MC?