CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Layla
My heart pounds in my ears and my palms sweat as the Hounds of Hell clubhouse comes into view at the end of a gravel side road off the main highway.
The driveway seems to go on forever, with a wide creek running beside it.
The closer we get to the clubhouse, which is really a huge barn with a black metal roof, the easier it is to see the line of Harleys parked at the edge of the drive.
There are more out behind the building as well, along with a few trucks and a van.
The Hounds of Hell insignia looms front and center on the building and the fierce wolf head is intricately cut from black sheet metal.
It’s impressive and fierce. At the side of the clubhouse there’s a large, covered patio with an outdoor kitchen.
There are a few people milling around smoking weed and talking as we park Sean’s bike in between a matte black Harley and a vintage chrome one with high, chopper-style handlebars.
That heady smell of pot mixed with cigarettes hangs in the air.
Sean takes my helmet off, and tilts my face up toward his.
“Chin up, little dove. You’re with me, yeah?” he says as he takes my hand. I nod, focusing on the clubhouse as we walk.
When we approach the side of the building, I can hear Pink Floyd playing through a Bluetooth speaker sitting in the middle of the outdoor table.
There are two women sitting there, both of them in barely there clothing.
Little black skirts, tank tops and over-the-knee boots.
It’s obvious they’re doing everything they can to keep the men’s attention.
I suddenly feel a little more confident in the light jean shorts and white tank top that I changed into when Sean stopped at the gas station to get fuel.
I hold my head up, toss my loose, wavy hair over my shoulders, and follow close behind him.
Six pairs of eyes turn to face us—namely me—as Sean says hello to them. One man stands up with a big smile, like he hasn’t seen Sean in a while.
“Ax, brother, looking a lot cleaner than the last time I saw you.”
Sean smiles wide at him and leans in to give him that sort of manly clasp of hands mixed with a half-hug. They both pat each other on the back.
“Yeah, a little less dirt on my boots,” Sean answers.
“And a little less blood on your hands,” the man adds. It hits me again that I have no idea what goes on in Sean’s club life.
The group laughs—particularly one woman who’s just joined them, She can’t be any older than I am, with a short blonde bob and blunt bangs. Her lips are cherry red and she wears cutoff black jean shorts and a red tank top.
She eyes me up, then looks at Sean, like she’s trying to make sense of who I am and why he was holding my hand.
“This is Layla,” he says to the group. “This here is Ron and his buddies from up north.” Sean introduces me to the man and his crew.
All the other men are surprisingly friendly and extend hands for me to shake. The women just give me fake smiles.
“You must be made of magic, Layla,” Ron states as he shakes my hand then pats Sean’s shoulder. “Winning this one over, either you’re magic or he’s just gettin’ old.”
“Fuck off, old man,” Sean grunts, then grabs my hand. “Anything shiny and new, they just can’t help themselves,” he says to me.
“Lucky me?” I retort, which makes the group laugh again.
Sean leans down and kisses my forehead as sparks run the length of my spine with his lips on me.
I make eye contact with the blonde woman again as we start to head in.
She looks at Sean in a knowing way and then glares at me as she takes a joint from the man next to her, watching me while she takes a deep hit.
“Come on, let’s meet my ma,” Sean says. “Catch up with me for a drink later, yeah?” he says to Ron. Ron holds up his beer in salute and Sean and I disappear through the side door to the building.
The scene unfolding inside is somehow both exactly what I pictured for an outlaw clubhouse and also not even close. The ceilings are high and wood-beamed, the lights are low, and people are scattered throughout at round tables.
A few people are playing pool at one of two tables in the wide-open space, and there’s an area where couches are set up facing each other and people are drinking and talking.
Behind them on the wall are framed cuts in glass cases that I assume belonged to people that have since passed.
There are people dancing to Aerosmith on a makeshift dance floor.
The music blares through a sound system that seems to be state-of-the-art.
One whole wall is basically a bar area—full service from what I can tell, and not unlike the one at The Palm Club.
It’s fully stocked, and a Hounds of Hell wooden sign hangs in the center.
There’s an older woman behind the bar acting as bartender, but patrons aren’t paying as she passes beer and shots of whiskey to them.
The vibe in here isn’t one of danger, it’s one of family.
Comfort and safety. Would I want to mess with anyone in this room?
Not a chance. But do they seem like they would keep me safe? Absolutely.
Sean stops at the bar and knocks on it twice, and the woman makes her way over. Now that she’s close, I’d say she’s in her late forties.
“Can we get two Hellbenders?” he asks her before turning to me.
“This is Remi, she’s Robby J’s ol’ lady. She helps us with the bar.”
“Hey, darlin’,” she says, passing me a shot of whiskey with a friendly smile. I take it gratefully, hoping to calm my nerves, letting the burning liquid slide down my throat as I wait for Sean’s mom, aka the woman I picture as Xena, to emerge at any moment and club me.
“There she is.” Sean nods to the back, grabbing my hand, surrounding me with his warmth again as he pulls me to a corner where an older woman with hair so platinum it looks white sits at a table with a glass of what looks like sweet tea and lemon.
Her lips are red, and she has deep lines around them, as if she’s been a smoker all her life.
The bridge of her nose has a noticeable scar, but it’s faded and she’s done a good job of covering it with makeup. She looks to be in her mid-sixties.
When we get close, I realize she’s doing a large puzzle and there’s a bag of crochet yarn and a hook sitting on top of the table. She’s puzzling and crocheting in the MC clubhouse?
I’m in the upside down, I’m pretty sure.
“This is my mom, Shelly,” Sean says, as the woman looks up from her puzzle. She has the same green eyes as Sean’s. On her first finger, in the same place as Sean’s, I notice the same intricate dagger-cross that he has, only hers isn’t anchored by a chain or compass.
They have matching tattoos? Shit, that’s really cute.
I look down at her work, expecting a field or lake, and just about laugh out loud when I realize her puzzle is in fact a picture of a completely naked man, his body muscled, Michelangelo-style, with flowers covering his cock.
She smiles up at me, and out of nowhere I really miss my own mother.
Her smile used to light up any room, just like Sean’s mom’s does.
This woman hasn’t even spoken to me yet and I instantly love her.
I can already tell that here, in this place, the last thing I’ll be is judged.
Shelly stands and gently pats Sean on the face.
“I was just taking a break. I can only clean up after these assholes for so long before my back starts to bug me.” Her voice is raspy but sweet as she turns and offers me another warm smile, one that puts me completely at ease. She throws her arms around me in a hug.
“You’re Layla, then, I take it,” she asserts confidently, backing up to look at me like a long-lost aunt.
I hug her back when she comes in again.
“You’re so beautiful,” she says.
“Thank you,” I answer, totally charmed, as I tuck my hair behind my ear. “So are you,” I add. She really is.
Shelly smells like Chanel with a hint of smoke, but somehow it’s comforting.
Another pang of missing my own mother punches me in the gut.
I look up at Sean over her shoulder, in complete disbelief because she’s not like Xena, she’s more like Tinkerbell.
I think she’s even smaller than me and she has heels on.
Her button-up cheetah sweater is soft and her jeans hug her slim hips perfectly.
“I am, aren’t I?” she quips, sliding her hand down to hold mine and pull me toward the table. “Pull her chair out, boy,” she commands.
“Christ, give me a chance to,” Sean replies, doing just what she orders, sliding a chair out for me and then one for her. I don’t miss that they’re pulled out exactly the same distance from the table.
“I forgot to tell you how fuckin’ bossy she is,” he tells me as Shelly hugs him. She’s a third of his size and it makes me wonder how on earth she birthed this man.
“I’m not bossy, I’m assertive. There’s a difference,” she corrects. “And his dad was a big man,” Shelly says to me. My mouth falls open and I look at her quizzically.
“You just look like you were wondering where he got his size from.”
“I was,” I admit with a laugh.
Shelly leans in and cups Sean’s face with her hand. “Don’t worry, he was only an eight pounder when he was born, thank Christ.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “Thank Christ,” I echo.
“Has he had his manners about him?” She narrows her eyes at Sean.
“Fuck, Ma,” he gripes, running a hand over his head. I stifle a giggle. It makes Sean seem so much more human and shows me the level of respect he has for his mother as he pushes her chair in when she sits. This big, bad outlaw biker at the mercy of this tiny, spunky woman?
“Just say the word, honey, and I’ll give him a smack,” Shelly says as I take a seat across from her. He pushes my chair in for me too and I laugh. I don’t doubt her for a second.
I look up at him. “Sometimes he remembers his manners,” I say with a grin.
Sean’s jaw falls slack and then his green eyes darken as he bends down and whispers the words “You’re fucking done for” into my neck.
“Boy, I tell you—” Shelly starts.
“He’s actually been quite a gentleman when it counts,” I tell her, stopping her just short of standing to smack him.
There’s something just so real about this moment, as Shelly asks me to start finding the edge pieces for her puzzle.
I oblige, as someone in a Hounds of Hell cut pulls Sean away to the table next to us.
“Who’s the new girl?” A middle-aged blonde woman drops into a chair at our table a few moments later as I find Shelly a few pieces she was missing and add them to the puzzle.
“Layla,” I answer, smiling at her.
“Maria,” she introduces herself as she pulls a cigarette out of a red case and lights it.
“Layla came with Sean.” Shelly waggles her eyebrows at me. I smile at her; she’s clearly enamored with her son.
Maria eyes me up, but in a way that says she’s genuinely curious about me, not like she’s judging. “I’m like his aunt. Known him since he was ten and I was twenty-two.”
“Since long before his dad died,” Shelly adds. I nod, absorbing all the info about his dad and cataloguing it.
“Was his dad in the club too?” I ask, trying to appear nonchalant.
Shelly looks at me for a beat, almost like she’s wondering if she can trust me.
“He hasn’t said anything, I was just curious,” I add. “He’s kind of a closed book.”
Shelly and Maria lock eyes and I worry I’ve overstepped until they both start to laugh.
Maria takes a drag from her cigarette. “Go easy on him. You’re the first woman he’s ever brought around here, honey.”
Now it’s time for my mouth to fall open, because what the hell? The first?