Chapter 8
Slade
After my post-workout encounter with my brothers, I shower in the private bathroom attached to my room, then pull on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.
Compared to the Club Pussy's near-naked state, I’ll look like Sister Slade, but I don’t care because that’s much better than being drilled with a bunch of questions if anyone sees my scars.
There’s no way my brothers would help me convince Ash to let me leave if they saw even a few marks of what Antwane had done to me. No, seeing my scars would only increase their misguided feelings of brotherly protectiveness.
I turn in place, examining the room. Like earlier, if I stay in here too long, my anxiety will creep up. It’s early afternoon now, so the people at the clubhouse will be up. The Brothers and Prospects who don’t have day jobs will be here either to relax, work on their bikes, or here for business.
I have little desire to run into anyone I know, and even less desire to run into Beatrice or any of the other Bunnies. But staying in this small bedroom isn’t an option at the moment.
Even though I’m not being caged in one room, this is still a prison. I decide to push to see how far the boundaries go.
Walking over to the door, I open it, then stare at the Prospect standing there.
Not down the hallway at the stairs, but right outside my door.
I recognize him from earlier; his dark hair is mussed, his eyes red-rimmed, and he’s got the attire of a biker—jeans, T-shirt, boots, and a leather cut, but without any patches.
“What are you doing here?”
“Protecting you.”
Yeah, right. Guarding me is more like it. “I can handle myself.”
He fights a yawn with a smile. “I heard how you matrixed over the kitchen island to ninja punch Destiny this morning.”
Damn gossipy bikers. And how the hell did anyone know that? Bane doesn’t strike me as the gossipy kind.
Regardless of how he knows, I don’t need anyone talking about me or how I can handle myself.
Granger and Camber’s dad, along with Sam and Axel’s, held high positions in protection agencies and ensured their kids knew how to protect themselves.
I was included in their training ever since we met.
But the less the Havoc Guardians dig into my past, the better for everyone.
“Are you high?” I ask, looking into his red-rimmed eyes.
“Don’t touch the stuff. I’m just tired.”
“Then why are you here?”
“VP’s orders.” He stands tall. “I guess he trusts me to do a good job.”
I roll my eyes and close the door behind me, then walk down the hallway, with him right on my heels. If I were a normal person, I’d feel annoyance flare to life. But because I’m not normal, I feel nothing. However, I stop and turn to look at him, because I don’t need or want a shadow.
“What’s your name?” I demand.
“Jez.”
“Well, Jez, does the job description that your dickhead VP gave you include being glued to my ass?”
Jez’s pale blue eyes lower, as if dipping down to look at my ass, but then they quickly snap back up to mine. “Just following orders.”
“Give me a ten-foot buffer.”
He snorts, like that’s downright ludicrous. “That’s not within arm’s distance.”
“For fuck’s sakes.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Give me five feet at least.”
With that, he wouldn’t feel like a claustrophobic shadow.
“Three,” he counters.
“Fine.” I turn on my heel, even though having someone I don’t know or trust at my back makes the hairs on the back of my neck tingle, and I proceed down the hallway. Once I reach the stairs, I go down and ignore everyone who is openly staring at me.
Beatrice leans against the doorframe that leads into the bar area with two other Bunnies.
The three of them are barely clothed, with big fake tits and those stupidly long fake eyelashes.
Beatrice’s face is heavy with makeup, probably hiding the blooming bruise on her cheek from my punch.
They all have hateful looks on their faces, and Beatrice, in particular, is trying to kill me with her eyes.
I flip them the finger and walk toward the side door.
Jez chuckles. “Making friends, I see.”
“I’m the kind of girl who is friends with everyone. Can’t you tell?” I exit the clubhouse. The sun is bright, and I squint against the glare. I spot my car still parked where it had been last night.
If I’m being kept prisoner here, they probably should get rid of my car since it’s stolen and all. Not that there wouldn’t be other ill-gotten products on the premises, but I’m assuming those would be hidden. If there ever were a police raid, this hot car would be sitting right out in the open.
I don’t say anything, though, because if they get rid of my car, then I have no means of escaping. Plus, I’d have to answer how I came to be in possession of a stolen car, and sharing how I was part of a successful car heist crew with my friends isn’t at the top of my wish list of things to share.
I walk toward the Jag, and I can feel Jez bristle behind me, his steps quickening. I yank open the door but don’t get in. Instead, I grab my sunglasses off the dash and slip them on.
When I turn around and shut the door, Jez relaxes. Ignoring him, I scan the compound, a place that feels familiar and like I’m coming home.
I push that feeling away. This isn’t home, and I’m not staying.
As I assess my surroundings, I notice the changes. There are no open sexcapades happening, which I encountered as a kid. The other change is that a lot of resources have been put into renovations.
The clubhouse is a large building, almost like a retreat center that has rooms for the members who live onsite, spare rooms for others to crash in, along with the Bunnies’ bedrooms, which they probably don’t use much.
It also houses the bar and all the facilities to keep this place self-sufficient, including the commercial kitchen, a mess hall, and laundry.
The clubhouse looks like it’s gotten a facelift: new shingles, freshly painted, and a new wrap-around deck.
There’s a row of bunkhouses outside the clubhouse. In the past, they were used for visitors—such as out-of-town allies and members from other chapters of the Havoc Guardians—but now they mostly look inhabited, with flowerpots outside the units and pretty curtains in the windows.
One of the doors opens, and a woman exits with three young kids pushing out and nearly tripping her. The kids run squealing and laughing to a large play structure. The woman—presumably their mother—sits on a bench, and two other women with kids exit their houses and join them.
“Families live here?” I ask in surprise.
“Yep.” Jez stops beside me and watches the pint-sized future anarchists run around like wild demons, laughing and hollering.
“Several of the Old Ladies and kids live onsite with their men, while others live in the houses leading up to the compound. Ash wanted to cultivate a deep feeling of family within the club.”
My mom and the other Old Ladies rarely ever came here. I could understand why, with the Bunnies and so many of the guys being manwhores like my dad.
I turn away from the oddity of seeing Old Ladies and kids here, and look at the large shop where the bikes are fixed and maintained. The Havoc Guardians also have a shop in the city, Havoc Iron Customs, where paying customers get repairs and custom-work done on all kinds of vehicles.
I stare at the shop in the distance, feeling its pull, but I resist. I spent a lot of time there when I wasn’t causing mischief or in the kitchen, either searching for food and candy.
My brothers and dad taught me how to work on bikes.
The biker who ran the shop back then was Badger—a mean-looking man with one eye mangled and scarred shut.
He was my dad’s best friend, and he taught me how to work on cars.
It was where my career in boosting cars had started.
“Badger still around?” I ask Jez.
“Yeah, that mean old bastard is still kicking and snarling. You know him?” Jez looks between the shop and me. “Want to go say hi?”
Nope. Being my dad’s best friend, he’ll have nothing but questions.
Instead of answering, I examine a building that looks like a shed. Inside, there’s a hidden door that leads down to underground bunkers, some of which hold weapons and ammo, contraband, and another bunker big enough to house a shooting range.
I nod toward the shed. “I’m sure the shooting range is off-limits for me.”
Jez’s mouth opens in shock. “You know about that?”
“I basically grew up here.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, but not many kids would know about shit like that.”
“They wouldn’t know about the Cell, either.”
The Cell is a hidden facility located somewhere on the acres of land owned by the MC where enemies are taken. Of course, I’ve never been there and have no idea where it actually is, but I was small for my age and hid in tight spaces and listened, learning a lot about the club along the way.
Jez’s eyeballs are almost popping out of his head. “Damn. Who the hell are you?”
Before I can retort, movement at the clubhouse catches my eye. Army and Bane stride across the yard toward their bikes.
Army moves like he’s trained for stealth, while Bane moves like a god surveying his kingdom.
His long, thick legs are encased in denim, and his broad back shifts under his leather cut as he walks.
The muscles of his arms are defined under his short-sleeved shirt.
His dark hair is pushed back; it’s not long enough to tie back, but long enough that it would get into his eyes.
Reaching his Harley—a large black ride with subtle silver flames—he throws a leg over the seat. His movements are confident and powerful.
Just like last night when he caught me at my car, and then again this morning in the kitchen, things within me are stirring to life. Both my emotions as well as my body.
Bane’s eyes meet mine. I have my sunglasses on, but I know he can tell I’m staring at him. Without breaking eye contact with me, he puts on his helmet.