Chapter 18
eighteen
DARCY
Dane emerges from the front of the clubhouse, flying around the corner, his boots planted on the seat of the bike, legs straight. My chest feels tight as he moves to stand on the tank in one fluid, confident motion, strong arms spread wide. He cruises past us at high speed, with the ease of practiced hands. As the crowd around me cheers, it’s obvious I’m the only one absolutely terrified by the death defying stunts. Dane did a series of tricks that left me mesmerized, including a wheelie with one palm on the ground. I start to feel better when I notice the easy confidence in which the tricks are executed. He’s practiced quite a bit. Still, I release a relieved breath as he disappears again to park his motorcycle. “Is he crazy?” I ask Solomon.
“Yes,” he says with a mustached grin. “But good luck stopping him. Even his Mama couldn’t.”
The older man’s reaction is no surprise. Despite his gentlemanly manners, Solomon’s always been a rascal. He gave me a ride home from work once in a company truck. He drove ninety miles an hour down the old country roads. When he noticed Mom in the driveway, he got out and introduced himself with a “Hello, Ma’am.” My mother couldn’t answer, too stunned at Solomon’s “Free Mustache Rides” tee.
The loud cheers of the crowd make me grateful the party is set up far enough to keep the noise from disturbing Owen. As rowdy as they are I have a feeling this is them on their best behavior, given Dane’s comment earlier about treating this as their home.
A few moments later, another bike appears. He tears into the center of the barricades with no preamble.
With one hand still holding down the brake, the rider revs up the engine before releasing the clutch. A large plume of smoke billows around, growing until it obscures the Harley from view. I back up from the cement guardrail, hitting the firm wall of Solomon’s chest. “What is he doing?”
His face hinting at disapproval, Solomon informs me, “It’s called a burnout. No one else did it because it’s hard on the engine.”
That doesn’t sound like the guys in the MC at all. They treat their motorcycles like treasured possessions. As the tail end of the bike begins to swing side to side, the rider suddenly rockets forward, his body unsteady. The prospect loses his purchase on the seat, rolling before the bike crashes a few yards ahead.
One by one the Bayou Dogs executed tricks no normal rider could ever accomplish. Each finished without as much as a hair out of place. Except of course for the now embarrassed prospect currently examining his wrecked bike. He was the only one cocky enough to go after Dane’s impressive turn in the barricaded area.
From behind me, Dane walks up, and wraps his arms around my body, tucking his chin on my shoulder. He smells like motor oil and exhaust.
“Quite impressive,” I quip.
Solomon remarks proudly, “Broke his arm at thirteen learning how to do a one-handed wheelie. Wrecked his first bike too. The next day he was in the garage fixing it back up so he could do it again.”
“Sounds like you were a stubborn kid,” I say with a laugh.
Dane squeezes me tight, “I’m a man who knows what he wants and goes after it.”
Leading me to nearby seating, I’m pulled down into his lap, where I’ve been most of the night.This is probably the first time I’ve ever been out publicly with a man. At first, I wasn’t affectionate, trying not to seem too needy or clingy in front of his brothers. Dane made it very obvious he doesn’t give two shits about the others’ presence, touching me, kissing me whenever and however he wants. Instead of hiding me away, I’ve been shown off, and kept in his embrace. As Dane adoringly strokes my arm, I feel all warm and cozy.
Keebler’s old lady clearly doesn’t feel the same way.
One minute we’re talking (well, I’m talking, she’s slurring), the next she declares, “It's too damnnn hawt out here.” Her leather boots go first. She kicks them off, and flings them a good foot into the air. They disappear into the shadows of the yard. When she starts to pull off her crop top, Dane warns, “Don’t think your old man is going to take too lightly to you showing everybody your rack, LaShawna.” When she ignores his warning, he whistles to get Keebler’s attention. I get the feeling this isn’t the first time the sweet redhead has done something like this. By the time Keebler’s made it across the yard, his old lady is in just a black bra and thong, drunkenly attempting to put her arms through the holes of her property cut. “Don’t be mad at me baby,” she whines. “I’m putting my patch back on, see?” She finally manages to wrap the leather around her body, closing it around the boobs spilling out of her bra. She pulls her long hair out from behind the cut, leaving a row of extensions showing.
I’m not in the least bit jealous that another woman is stripping in front of Dane. For one, he is looking anywhere but at LaShawna’s half-naked body. Not to mention I’m sitting in his lap and there’s no…. reaction at all.
“Alright, time to go home,” Keebler declares as he makes a come here gesture with his hand.
“But why?” she whines as Keebler leans down and tosses her over his shoulder. “I’m talking to our new Prez’s old lady and she’s really nice!”
“Because you haven’t learned yet not to mix booze and weed,” he points out.
With an amused headshake, he nods to Dane, “Sorry about that, I look away for a minute…”
Once Keebler turns to leave, LeShawna arches her back from across his shoulder, and waves. “Bye Darcy! Come see me at the boutique soon.”
Dane’s chest is shaking with laughter as she’s carried away with her arms flopped down around Keebler’s back. One thing is for sure…the old ladies of the Bayou Dogs were all welcoming. They offered to keep me company while I nursed, and spoke to me like I was an old friend. Now, at the end of the night, I feel like I’ve made a few. I was surprised to find out that LaShawna and Couyon’s old lady, Brittany, own a boutique in town that has the cutest clothes. I’m definitely stopping in, if for no other reason than to see Brittany and LaShawna again.
My mother would have called each one of them hussies and refused to get to know them. She would have missed out.
“Is LaShawna going to be okay riding home?” I ask.
“Keebler keeps a room upstairs. They’re just walking around the front so Owen can sleep.”
The baby’s been in the back rec room with Gris-Gris and Presh since I came outside. Although the lit area was bursting at the seams, the crowd started to thin out, except for a group listening to one of Solomon’s tall tales. They’re staying a respectable distance away with their joints and cigarettes, banned to the other side of the party by Dane with a reminder that I’m nursing.
A large group of single guys left about an hour ago to head to The Gator Pit. Given there’s free booze already here, it’s easy to do the math and figure out exactly why the others left. Folgers and Couyon are still here—the latter because he’s the new Sergeant-at-Arms, and, according to Farm Boy, it’s “his job to make sure we are only bad in ways the rules allow.”
At the beginning of the night, Folgers handed Couyon a white fire extinguisher, patted him on the back, and told him, “This is your baby now.” I’m not quite sure what that’s about, except that Couyon’s kept it within arms reach the entire night. It’s tucked under his arm now as he sips on a beer, deep in conversation with Linc. When I asked why, Dane told me,“Tequila is flammable, and prospects like to show off.” What that means, I have no idea, but it sounds like they’re speaking from experience.
Couyon keeps looking in our direction as they talk until things seem to be figured out and they start to approach us. I move my hands from around Dane’s neck and move to stand. Dane shifts the possessive hand he’s kept on my thigh to my hip, “Where you goin’?”
“I think Linc and Couyon need you, and I should let Presh go home. It’s late.”
He looks around for Flinch, but I cut in, “He’s barely had any fun. Let him enjoy himself for a few minutes before he has to start cleaning up.”
“I’ll walk you in,” he insists.
“It’s just a two minute walk,” I point out, starting to move off his lap.
He moves to stand. “Nope, wait right here while I deal with this. Don’t talk to anyone,” he cautions.
“I remember,” I assure him. Like any culture, bikers have their own rules, which Dane warned me about. The other men are not allowed to talk to me unless he’s present or has given permission, and vice-versa. They can’t order me around, or say inappropriate things. In turn, I’m not supposed to talk to them when he’s not around so that they can’t accuse me of treating them with disrespect. When I asked him about the situation at work, he said, “Only men I trust are around you. Nobody else is allowed in your office and they know not to approach you.”
Not that Dane ever lets me get too far away. It’s a funny thing. With my father, calling the shots was about keeping me in my place, and control. With Dane, he makes it obvious it’s about protecting me, or making sure I’m treated with respect.
With a look over his shoulder at the approaching pair, Dane points to his lips, demanding a kiss. I stand on my tippy toes, but he still has to tilt his head down so I can give him a peck. Aware of all of the eyes on us, I promise, “I’ll make up for it later.”
Dane scoffs, wraps his arms around my hips, and kisses me like a man going to war. I wrap my arms around his neck, arousal blossoming in my center. I’m breathless when he finally lets me go. “That is how you kiss me, Sugar,” he corrects.
“Does your father know how badly behaved you are?” I pant, running my palm against his cheek.
“Who do you think I learned my ways from?” He laughs as he walks over to where Couyon and Lincoln are now waiting a few yards away, within eyesight of me, but out of hearing distance.
I wait for long minutes while the three men talk, their body language becoming increasingly serious. Every few minutes, Dane’s head cranes backward to check on me, but it’s evident something is going on. Folgers joins them, arms folded, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going anywhere any time soon. An occasional word filters toward me in the wind. Something about Merlin waiting.
My feelings are split with the conversation. It’s meant to be semi-private so I want to be respectful, and I know not to ask about it all. At the same time I wonder…
Pulling my cell out of the hoodie Dane gave me, I go to open an app, finding missed text messages from thirty minutes ago.
Presh
The baby’s starting to wake up.
Presh
Yeah he’s getting hungry.
I try to text her back, but the message refuses to send, the intermittent cell service this far out failing again.
Biting my lip, I watch, hoping to catch Dane’s eye. When he warned me not to talk to the other men without him present, he also explicitly told me not to interrupt conversations. “It’s all about respect, Sugar. They show you respect because you’re mine, and they expect it back.” I think it’s reasonable—treat others as you want to be. All cultures have their own traditions, and this is just one of theirs. Right now though, with Owen likely becoming increasingly frustrated, it’s more than a little impractical.
Since texting doesn’t work, I call Presh, immediately hearing the baby’s loud wails. “I’m coming now!” I say, already walking swiftly on the bricked path.
Someone flipped off the floodlights, leaving only a dim porch light one story up to brighten the path directly in front of the clubhouse.
As I’m a few feet away, a large dark figure steps from one of the pilings. The cherry tip of his cigarette provides enough light for me to make out the shadow of his face…one of the guys called him Relic. When he approached Dane earlier, he was quickly dismissed without an introduction, the grip on my waist tightening with every second he lingered.
I keep moving to the stairs, ignoring him. The hair on the back of my neck stands on edge, and I decide to listen to Dane and my instincts more than my polite upbringing.
“Leaving so soon?” he draws out. I can hear approaching footsteps, and make out the outline of his figure in the dark.
I don’t engage with even a glance, but Relic is on me quick as a flash, his arm around my wrist. “Bitch, I’m talking to you.”
Heart pounding loudly in my chest, I say forcefully, “Let go of my arm,”
“Don’t think I will. Been waiting all night for my turn with you.”
“I think you are mistaken,” I spit out. “I don’t know who or what you think I am, but I assure you it’s wrong, and you are not supposed to be talking to me.”
“Oh yeah?” He counters, “Don’t see no property patch, or tattoo either,” he adds, as if he could have even seen an inked wrist in the dark.
I shoot Relic a look that could kill, and try to wrench my arm away but fail. In the loudest voice I can muster, I demand, “Let go of me!” I can only hope someone overhears and comes to help. The floodlights on the side of the building flick to life, and the back door squeaks, “Darcy?” Presh’s worried voice calls out.
“I’m down here,” I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Everything okay?” Presh asks.
“I’m afraid Relic seems to be a little confused,” I yell in her direction, my voice cracking.
From the porch above, Presh looks over the railing, eyebrows furrowed. Her confusion morphs into cold anger, “It does look like you’re a little mistaken there, Relic. Darcy, you come on inside.”
Relic toys with the metal loop in his lip, “Why don’t you come with me somewhere private so we can get better acquainted?”
“Thanks, hard pass. Now, let go of my arm,” I demand.
I don’t see Dane's approach, but I hear his sinister voice as he says cooly, “Get your hand off of my woman or I’m going to take it.”
Now in the lit area, I can make out Dane's nose flaring, hands balled into fists at his side. Relic holds his hands up, a false innocent expression on his face, “She's not branded. No idea she was taken,” he lies.
The air is thick with tension and the scent of adrenaline. Dane pulls something metal out of his picket and slips it over his right hand. With a feral expression focused on Relic, he says coolly. “Go upstairs, Darcy.”
Now free, I rub my wrist, looking at the stairs. My feet feel like they’re stuck in cement. From down the darkened path, Couyon runs up, and I know that someone has Dane’s back covered.
The entire encounter could only have taken a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity passes as I take long heavy steps toward the raised building. “Darcy,” Presh calls again. I’m worried about Dane, but desperate to get further away at the same time. Dane grabs Relic by the neck and shoves him against the piling, where I can’t see anymore, only hear flesh hitting flesh. Presh comes up from behind and lays a gentle hand on my back, “Don’t you worry about it now. Dane will take care of things.”
“But…” I try to argue, swallowing the saliva pooling in my mouth.
“Couyon will make sure it’s a fair fight,” Presh whispers. “The others are testing him through you.”
“Dane said…”
“Parran is the mother chapter,” she points out, guiding me up the stairs and inside. “The others are testing him…” She closes the door behind herself, leaving the lights on below, then pulls me into one of her infamously amazing Mom hugs that swing back and forth.
“I walked away without Flinch or Dane,” I say remorsefully. My hands are shaking now, the adrenaline starting to damper.
Presh takes a long deep breath, “And Relic took advantage of that. That’s not how it works around here. Our women are safe to walk around without being bothered.”
Remembering Owen, I search around the room. “Meadow found some thawed milk. We figured you got caught up, so we washed one of the bottles from the diaper bag and gave him that. He’s in the kitchen eating.”
My legs feel like pudding, my hands shaky when I plop down on the sofa.
Presh joins me, and wraps comforting arms around me, “You did nothing wrong, you hear me? Someone was going to pull something regardless. Dane’s been waiting for it.”
“I thought I was doing so well,” I say, shoulders slumped.
“You behaved just like what you are—the old lady of the president, and on your first night. Now, you hold that head up and remember that while your man takes care of business outside.”