Chapter 10
Jules
Flint comes out of the chapel about twenty minutes after the rest of the brothers and drops down onto the chair across from me before signaling for the prospect behind the bar to bring him a beer. He rakes one hand through his hair, looking a bit overwhelmed.
“Did you get tired of sitting at the bar?”
“It was getting crowded over there. I figured I’d grab us a table where we wouldn’t have to fight for elbow room.”
“That was a smart move. The fuckin’ club girls act like queens holding court at the bar. We’ll be more comfortable here anyway.” He drinks down the rest of his bottle of beer in one huge gulp.
“Are you okay?” I ask worriedly. “You look stressed.”
“I’m fine. I had a long talk with Rock. It was just club business.”
When I don’t respond, he huffs out an exasperated breath. “We’re not supposed to talk about what goes on in church with old ladies.” Before I can object, he clarifies, “I know you’re not my old lady, but I’m your protector, so you fall into a similar category.”
I let it go even though it looks like it really rattled him. I take a sip of my drink and ask brightly, “So what’s on the agenda for tonight?”
Another bottle of beer lands on the table in front of him, and he takes a mouthful before answering my question with one of his own.
“I don’t know. Want to hang around the clubhouse for a while? The ladies of this club always make a nice spread after church on Saturdays. You hungry?”
Mimicking his deep tone, I repeat his favorite phrase, “I could eat.”
He chuckles. “You’re all kinds of cute when you talk like me. Let me grab us some food.”
He stands up and walks to the back of the room.
There is a buffet table set up. I notice that men are bringing food for the women they’re with.
It must be some kind of club culture tradition.
He comes back with two plates piled with food, another cold beer for himself, and another wine cooler for me.
“Here you go,” he says, putting one plate down in front of me. “I got all the things I know you like.”
My eyes light up at the selection of items he chose. “You most certainly did get all my favorites.” My eyes lift to his. “You even brought me fries and a baked potato.”
“I know you like both but didn’t know which you were in the mood for. I figured you can eat whichever you want, and I’ll take whatever’s left.”
“That sounds like a plan,” I say, grabbing the wine cooler he put beside my plate.
“Let’s have a few drinks and unwind. We can ride home when we sober up or crash here for the night. There’s a room in the basement. Me and Tommy keep it stocked and take turns using it on nights we don’t feel like going home.”
“You really have a room here?”
“This place is huge and has three levels, counting the finished basement. There are dozens of rooms for the brothers to use. Most of the patched brothers have claimed one.”
“That’s actually really smart with the amount of alcohol I’m seeing the brothers inhale.”
Flint nods, smiling. “You ain’t wrong about that, sister.”
I frown at him because I don’t like being called that by him. “I’m not your sister, Flint.”
He stops with a forkful of steak halfway to his mouth. “Sorry, Jules. I didn’t mean anything by that. I just see you as my best friend’s little sister. I saw you grow up.”
“Well, I’m not a little kid anymore, Flint. I’m twenty-two, went off to college, and lived on my own for four years. I’m not skinny little flat-chested Jules anymore. You want to see my breasts for proof?”
Flint actually chokes on the bite of steak he just ate and begins coughing and thumping his chest.
I’m trying not to laugh at his reaction. Finally, he says hoarsely, “You’re not showing anyone your breasts, least of all me.”
The sternness in his voice surprises me.
Alright, he wants to be a grumpy bastard about this, so it’s game on.
As I eat my way through the plate he made for me, my mind fills with a thousand devious ways to make him uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, all of them seem like flirting.
Maybe that’s what I need to do to get him past seeing me as Tommy’s little sister?
He’s going to regret being so stubborn about this.
Flint’s deep voice pulls me out of my internal thoughts. “You look a million miles away. What are you thinking about?”
“A lot of things,” I say before changing the subject. “Why don’t you tell me about the room?”
He looks up from his plate. “It’s just a convenient place to crash late at night.”
“You mentioned that it’s stocked. What do you mean by stocked? Is it up to Flint standards like your house?”
He makes a small sound of disbelief. “Of course it is. I take care of the things that are important to me. It has a full bed with cotton sheets, a quilt, and comfortable pillows. I have a footlocker to store some gear and a desk and chair. I keep it clean. There’s a bathroom two doors down.
It’s not a large space, but it meets my needs. I even rewired it two years ago.”
“You rewired your clubhouse bedroom?”
“To be quite honest, the original wiring was a bit of a fire hazard. I rewired half of the rooms in the basement when I was prospecting. Rock got a team together to do the rest of the building. It needed to be done.”
“Yeah, I can see you doing something like that. You’re a real go-getter.”
He just shakes his head and reaches for his beer again. “I guess if not wanting to die in an electrical fire makes me a go-getter, sure.”
We finish our food, and Flint grabs another round of drinks for us. It’s nice to just chill out for a change. The afternoon slowly fades into evening as we talk about work, visit with his club brothers, and enjoy the atmosphere of the clubhouse.
Suddenly, Flint asks, “Do you want to shoot some pool with me? You might even beat me this time.”
Shame fills every corner of my soul as I remember the last time we played pool. Not really shame. More like a dent to my ego because I made such a poor showing that night.
“Sure, you’re on.”
“Fuckin’ great,” he says enthusiastically. “The loser buys the next round. How about that?”
Frowning at him, I begin to think he’s had too much to drink already. “Drinks are free at the Sons of Rage clubhouse, Flint. Remember?”
“Fine,” he smirks. “The loser owes the winner a favor, then.”
Not that I’m naturally competitive or anything, but a harmless bet only increases the fun. “You’re on.”
We move to one of the back pool tables, one with a window ledge to hold our drinks.
Flint racks the balls and gives me the first shot.
My shots land better this time, but I’m not really any competition for the man who’s been shooting pool most of his adult life.
I watch his muscular body lean over the pool table and take shot after shot until he’s cleared the table.
“Eight ball, corner pocket,” he tells me, lining up his last shot of the game.
I drain the last of my wine cooler as I watch him line up his shot. The ball ends up rolling right into the corner pocket.
I toss my wine cooler bottle into an open trash can and turn to him. “You make it look easy, Flint.”
“Tough break, Jules.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
That’s when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out, excited that it might be Tommy.
It’s not, though. It’s a text from my old landlord in LA, and the first line of the preview tells me something’s up before I even open the message.
This is Mr. Ramirez from the rental office. I hate to bother you, but something happened this afternoon that I think you need to know.
I open the full message and read it. Then I start at the beginning and read it over again, horrified by what I’m seeing. I hear myself make a small, distressed sound. It slips out before I realize it.
Suddenly, Flint is beside me. “Jules, what’s wrong? Did something bad happen to Tommy?” he asks in a worried tone.
“No. It’s my old landlord, Mr. Ramirez. He says two men in dark suits came into the rental office this morning asking about the place I used to live in.
They wanted to know if it was still occupied.
He told them my lease was up and that the apartment was available if they wanted to fill out an application.
They declined and kept pestering him with questions about me. ”
“Fuckin’ hell,” Flint mutters under his breath.
“That’s not all. Mr. Ramirez refused to give them my forwarding address, and they roughed him up and ransacked his files.
He says they left when he told them the building had hidden security cameras.
They didn’t get anything because he keeps all his resident information electronically. It’s locked in a cloud.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s scared but not physically hurt. He wanted me to know because he thinks I’m in danger.”
I look up from the phone. “Do you think this is connected with what I saw?”
Flint takes the phone from my hand and goes very still as he swipes through the message. When he stops reading, his hand drops to his side, still holding the phone.
“We’re staying here tonight, Jules. We’re not riding home. I’ve had four beers, you’ve had three wine coolers, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to put either of us on my bike right now.”
“Well, I was up for staying before this message. I still am, if that’s what you want. I might not get much sleep. I’ll be too worried about Mr. Ramirez. What if they circle back around or go to his home?”
“Don’t worry. We have a chapter in LA. I’ll contact Jasper tonight and ask him to send some of the SORLA brothers to shadow your landlord. With any luck, those assholes will show up again and we can grab them.”
“What do you mean by grab them?” I ask naively.
Flint frowns at me. “I want to talk to them for a few minutes,” he replies blandly.
Still not convinced, I probe a little deeper. “You really mean that? You only want to talk?”
Flint hands me my phone and grumbles, “No, Jules. I don’t want to just talk. I want to rough them up, just like they did to that old man, until they tell me what the fuck is going on here.”
My mouth snaps shut. I should have been able to work out that’s what he meant on my own. The police already proved that asking politely doesn’t work. I’m for whatever helps find that man they shoved into their trunk, preferably alive.
“But tonight, we stay here,” he repeats. “There are forty patched brothers that will stand up and be counted if anything pops off tonight. I’ll sleep outside your door with one eye open.”
I just shake my head in disbelief. “What, sleep in a chair? That’s not remotely necessary.”
He shoots back while taking out his phone. “I need to be where I can protect your locked door.”
“No. If they’re still creeping around LA looking for me, they aren’t going to turn up here tonight. This is just you letting your protectiveness run away with you.”
“Jules—”
“Don’t Jules me. I want you inside with me, not hanging around outside the door like some kind of bodyguard. You deserve a peaceful night’s sleep too.”
Flint wraps his arms around me, and I move closer. I’ve decided that this little protective instinct that he has to hold me when I’m upset feels amazing. It really does make me feel safe and helps me calm down. I felt like I was in the weeds before Flint stepped up for me.
“Alright, we can agree to disagree about the potential danger you’re facing tonight. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll sleep inside the room with you.”
I turn my face up to look at him. “Thanks, Flint. Thanks for understanding and letting me have some personal control.”
“Just remember something, Jules. When danger is near, you’re in my wheelhouse. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
He’s telling the truth about that piece. “I know.” I clearly don’t know shit about keeping myself safe. I ran away when danger got close in LA and came running back to the only two men in the world that I knew would protect me, no questions asked.
“I’m gonna send a few messages, and then we’ll go up and try to get some shuteye. Are you okay with that?”
“Yeah, it’s been an exhausting day. Maybe everything will look clearer in the morning.”
When Flint heads off to do whatever he needs to do, I look at the message from Mr. Ramirez again.
The longer I stare at it, the angrier I get. I can’t let them get away with this. And I’m not going to let them do to Mr. Ramirez what they did to that man on the beltline.
I type out a short message.
Don’t worry, Mr. R. I’m sending help. They’re bikers. They’ll keep an eye on you.
There, I tipped the balance in his favor. That’s all I can think to do right now.