Chapter 15
fifteen
DARCY
Dane draws me to him and kisses me with tender possessiveness. The leather of his cut is warm and soft covering the roped ridges of his chest. I’ve never been touched so adoringly.
Letting me go, he reaches into the glove box and pulls out a scrap of black fabric, his lips pulled into a grimace. “It’s just security,” he repeats, unfolding the bandana. It looks clean at least.
“Is there anything else I don’t know?”
“It’s just what I’ve told you. Church, then a party.”
Leaning in like whispering a secret I say, “You know, regular people just go to the Chinese buffet after church.”
A grumble of a laugh fills the cab, “We’re bikers, babe. Any excuse we can find to party. Besides, we have guests to host.”
Guests? My heart starts to beat rapidly in my chest when I ask, “From other clubs or just Bayou Dogs?”
“Just representatives from other charters,” he clarifies.
I swallow down the bout of anxiety. That mess in Texas is all over and done with now. They aren’t interested in me, never were really.
“Anything in particular you’re worried about?” he asks, the hint of demand in his tone.
“Nope,” I answer truthfully. If no other club is going to be there, then I’m good.
Dane narrows his eyes suspiciously, then pulls in a deep breath of air. Reaching over, he knots the bandana around my head. “I’m sorry you have to wear this, but I promise one hell of a party to make up for it.”
The rough cloth impedes my vision, but I feel his warm breath on my neck. In my ear, he whispers, “I kinda like having you like this. We’ll have to play another time. I’ve heard it heightens the sensation from touch.” He runs what feels like the back of a finger across my jawline, awakening my body. Goosebumps feel like they’re peppering every inch of my skin, and my nipples pucker against the lining of my bra.
“I think you just like having me helpless.”
Soft lips caress my shoulder, a whisper of a kiss. “That, too.”
My core clenches with anticipation, my panties already growing damp. This man is like heroin. One hit and you’re addicted.
By the time I feel the truck start to move, all anxiety is washed away with sweet touches.
I must be a very trusting soul to go along with this. Who lets themselves be taken to a motorcycle club blindfolded? I guess my faith in those who wear a Bayou Dogs patch is just that strong.
The week before I left Parran, Farm Boy found a kid locked in a hot car. He smashed the window and brought the toddler to the office until his grandma showed up. Judging by the murder in Farm Boy’s eyes, I’m pretty sure the child’s father, who was found inside The Gator Pit, was taken care of in a very different way.
Then there’s the whispers about what they did to TJ Stevenson. The morning after an ambulance came to take him to the hospital, I walked into the breakroom just in time to hear Folgers boast, “Can’t raise a fist again if he can’t make one.” He was smirking into a coffee cup, the knuckles wrapped around it cut up and bruised.
No one associated with the club would harm Owen, or me. The few times I’ve seen the public mask they don slip is when a child’s involved.
Plus I know Ms. Lina is going to be there. Somehow I doubt even a biker would bring his grandmother to a kidnapping. Despite his initial shady behavior, I’m certain he is just strong-arming me into getting his way.
Again.
I’m definitely going to have to try to stay one step ahead of him or be run over.
There are worse things than traveling down the path I’m currently on. I’m back at White Dog (something I now have a sneaking suspicion that my Viking orchestrated), Seth is gone for good, and the afternoon was spent in bed, my body being adored by calloused hands and soft kisses. Now I’m off to the clubhouse, which I’ve always been curious about, to spend time with a group of people that I like. I call this one a win.
As I feel us pull out of the service road, Jelly Roll’s “Need A Favor” plays, drowning out any sounds I might hear from outside. A few songs later, I realize my phone’s connected to the radio’s Bluetooth.
“How did you unlock my phone?” I ask suspiciously.
“Face recognition works when your eyes are covered. Ever tried using it while you’re wearing sunglasses?”
Giving him a dubious raise of the eyebrow, I say “I’m changing my passcode.”
Thirteen songs pass in the background of playful bantering, no commercials. Three minutes average per song so, I guess we’ve been driving about forty minutes?
My fingers are twitching to uncover my eyes, rules or not, when Dane says, “Go ahead and take that off, Sugar. We’re on our property anyway.”
Pulling the bandana off, I blink, adjusting to the light. White stars dance around the perimeter of my vision until I can make out the interior of the cab. After checking on Owen, I take in my surroundings until my eyes connect with a pair of pale blue ones laced with concern.
“You okay there, Pretty Girl?” he asks. “You look a little dazed.”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Outside my window, we seem to be parked next to a barn-type building. Bald cypress and live oak trees line the asphalt drive next to us, blocking the path ahead. “Why did we stop here?” I ask.
”Bylaws say that I have to ride my bike to church,” he explains, opening the heavy metal door.
Leaving the ignition running, Dane slides out. From seemingly out of nowhere, Flinch appears and occupies the driver's seat, never looking in my direction. Unlike the other prospects, it feels like hyper-focusing on the task at hand more than unfriendliness.
Dane crosses over the truck, and opens my door. “You’re riding with me.” I’m informed. Not a request.
Stealing a glance over to where his Harley is parked, I ask, “On your bike?”
“Another tradition. Old ladies ride behind their man. Now come on. Flinch can drive Owen.”
Biting my lip, he holds out a helping hand as I slide down the guardrail. Once I have two feet on solid ground, I shoot him a mischievous grin. “Just so you know, I’m getting on the bike because it looks like fun. Not because I am going along with this old lady nonsense,” I answer.
“One day, I’m going to put you over my knee and turn your ass pink for the sass.” As if for emphasis, the truck door slams without breaking his pointed look.
Before I can respond, he walks me to his bike, as always holding my hand.
“Did Flinch drive your bike here?” I ask.
“Absolutely not,” he answers with a curt shake of the head. “You don’t ride another man’s bike. I drove it here earlier today and left it.”
Reaching into the saddle bags, he pulls out a black hoodie. I get a glimpse of the Bayou Dogs logo on the back, and the word Odin stitched in the front. “Arms up,” he says.
“What’s this?”
“Something to wear until your property patch comes in..” He slides the hoodie over my raised arms, pulling it down to cover my t-shirt.
He pulls a hair elastic out of his pocket, and gestures for me to turn around. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want your hair tangling while we ride,” he explains. “If your hair is knotted I prefer it be around my fists.”
My jaw drops and my face warms. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I’m just not used to someone talking to me like that.
I hope he never stops.
With fast movements, he braids the long length of my hair back, tying it off at the end, and tucking it into the hoodie.
“Anything else I should know about?” I ask, half joking. He plops a helmet he took off of the handlebars onto my head and starts adjusting the chin straps.
“Tons. But we’ll cover that later. In the meantime, stay close to Presh and Flinch when I’m not around.” Once he’s happy with the adjustment of the straps, he pops my ass and laughs.
I gasp and look at him in outrage. “Hey!”
The boyish grin is still on his lips as he straddles the bike, and kicks it to life. He gestures with his head to get behind him. “Watch the pipes. They get hot.”
Climbing on behind him, I place my foot on the little pegs. My heart is pounding as I wrap my arms around his broad hips. He slides the fingers of his left hand into mine and brings it up to his mouth to kiss before placing it on his chest. Right then and there, I swoon like a Disney princess. My stupid romantic heart.
“Hold on tight,” he instructs before taking off.
The wind catches my hair as we drive down the narrow asphalt road. The trees that line the driveway block the worst of the sun, keeping me from overheating.
The path in front of us is obscured by tall trees as we turn a large curve, our bodies moving as one. Dane’s body jerks, the abdominal muscles tightening beneath my fingers as we swerve to the side of the road making a rapid stop. Behind us, the truck runs idle, with no obvious signs of trouble. Pushing the kickstand down, he tells me “Stay right here.” There’s a false calmness in his command that’s unsettling, and all the warm fuzzies I’ve been feeling start to dim.
“What’s wrong?” I ask
“Just something blocking the road,” Dane answers, voice dripping with a venom I’ve never heard before.
With certain strides, he stops a few feet ahead. I notice something glinting on the ground at his feet. It’s barely visible, blending in with the asphalt. He leans down, and yanks before pulling up a hunk of metal and carrying it in his arms.
Looking every bit of the barbaric Viking headed to battle, Dane turns to face the woods. His body language shifts into the prowl of a predator as he stalks toward the edge of the woods. It’s quiet, too quiet as my Viking inspects the tree line. He picks up something small on the grass, letting out a string of profanities before shoving it in his cut. His expression when he turns around is murderous.
As Dane storms back, I realize he’s carrying a spike strip. The type cops use to flatten tires in a car chase. Someone wanted the bikes unrideable.
Or maybe just this one.
After tossing the spike strip in the truck bed, Dane marches past me, flexing his hands in fists. His jaw is clenched as he pulls in angry breaths. Noticing my concerned expression, he tells me, “Just someone pulling a prank. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
“Some prank. What if the truck was driving first and blew a tire with Owen inside?”
Dane’s blue eyes flicker to life and the mask he’s trying to put on slips. “I’ll take care of it,” he says low.
Dane’s body is much tenser after he kicks the bike back to life, his fingers on the handlebars like a death grip. I run my hand across the cotton of his t-shirt and squeeze my body against his chest to comfort him. He looks back at me with a smile, and my body relaxes as we take small twists and turns down the one-lane road.
As we enter a large clearing, I can understand why the club wants to keep it for themselves. We’re right on the bayou. Which one, I have no idea…not after we’ve driven in any direction for so long. The view is breathtaking. I’ve been expecting a roadhouse-type thing. Boy was I wrong.
A two-story structure on tall pilings blends into the space with the help of bald cypress trees draped in Spanish moss. A large dock pokes out from the side, lined with airboats.
The second story is all windows, hinting that the interior is just as large as it appears. More laid back than grand, the house’s lavishness is still evident.
I’m still staring as Dane parks his bike in front, and kills the engine.
After pulling off my helmet, I say in awe, “It’s a house.”
“It's our home,” Dane explains, helping me off the bike. “Partying can be done anywhere, but sometimes you want a place to lay your head with clean sheets, and a home-cooked meal.”
“I didn’t think you would have this much land,” I confess, still in shock. This close to the water, the land goes for a premium. Even multi-million dollar vacation homes are cramped together. Here it’s just nature and a few outbuildings.
“It’s been in my family for over a century. At the time, the land was considered worthless since you can’t farm here. ”
“But how on Earth did you keep all of this a secret?” I ask, gesturing toward the clubhouse.
“Not really that hard when time’s on your side. Deeds that far back were never scanned, so you’d have to go to the courthouse to research the owner. If someone tried that, they’d have to get through a friend of the club.”
“But…there’s a whole house…”
“Everything that could be, was done with out-of-state workers. They built it without permits and paid cash for everything. Drove to New Orleans to buy the materials. It helps that the internet wasn’t a thing back then either.”
As I use my hand to smooth down my helmet hair, Dane brushes a small strand away from my cheek. Holding each side of my face in his hands, he says softly, “Welcome home, Darcy.”
I pull in a deep breath. Dane’s offering me all of this. A home, a safe life, commitment…himself. Dane could have any woman he wanted with a crook of his finger, and he wants me? I still feel like I’m walking through the looking glass.
“I haven’t considered anywhere home since my family moved here from Arizona,” I confess.
Walking to retrieve Owen, he says, “Well you have one now. Two if you count the house in town.”
Flinch is already waiting with the truck door open, phone in hand rapidly sending messages.
“Are they already in the room?” Dane asks.
“They’re waiting. Seven minutes until the doors are locked,” Flinch points out. Dane, who is nowhere near rushing, opens the back door and starts to fiddle with the straps to Owen’s car seat.
“He’ll wake up. I should carry him in the seat,” I say.
Dane looks disappointed, but reaches for the release lever, and pulls out the carseat in one swift movement. “Sorry. I know it’s heavy,” I apologize.
Dane laughs, “As prospects, they make us carry the beer up and down those stairs. Believe me, Owen’s light compared to that.”
He nods toward a curved set of wooden stairs that leads up to the raised house. It’s well maintained, but those steps look like a huge pain to walk up.
“Who keeps all of this up?” I ask. There are no weeds, and the paint is fresh.
“We can’t let outsiders come clean,” Dane admits. “Sutton, our house mouse, and Meadow, Yogi’s daughter, do most of the cooking and cleaning. We’re still growing the club, so there are plenty of prospects to share the yard work and repairs. They can’t all work at the garage, ya know?”
We walk up the steep steps together with Dane’s hand on my lower back. Butterflies start to dance in my belly the closer we get to the top.
The front double doors are painted glossy black with a silver wolf head knocker. It’s identical to the one on Dane’s ring. I barely get a glimpse of it before Dane motions for me to walk inside.
Soft light filters through tall picture windows, casting the entryway with a warm glow. Conversations, if there were any before we entered, have stopped and everyone scattered around is giving off a nervous vibe.
With overly delicate movements, Dane places the car seat on the coffee table, and leans down, running his thumb across Owen’s little hand. His gentle touch makes my heart ache.
“We’re later than I thought we’d be,” he says with a huff.
“I’ll be okay,” I assure him. “You should go in if everybody else is waiting.”
Ms. Lina is already here in the corner, headed my way with a glass of tea in her hand. Flinch is around, and I caught a glimpse of Band-Aid outside, so it’s not like he’s leaving me alone with strangers.
He looks surprisingly nervous for a brief second before he stands, and kisses me straight on the lips. “I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t make me hunt you down,” he warns.
My head swimming, I agree. Watching him jog off, I feel dazed. Not because of the new surroundings, but because of that kiss. It was just as possessive and passionate as all of his have been. But this one? It was, without a doubt in my mind, laced with heartfelt affection.