Chapter 6 Brayden
brAYDEN
I've never understood men who celebrate with women they don't give a shit about.
The music's pounding so hard it's making my teeth rattle, but that doesn't stop Domino from grinding against some chick dressed like a North Pole fantasy gone wrong.
Red and white striped thigh-highs, a “dress” that barely covers her ass, and a Santa hat tilted at what I'm guessing is supposed to be a seductive angle.
The clubhouse is packed wall-to-wall with bodies.
Our Carlsbad chapter knows how to throw a party, and tonight they've outdone themselves.
Christmas lights strung across every surface, booze flowing like the second coming, and enough club girls to staff a small army of Mrs. Clauses—if Mrs. Claus wore crotchless panties and did body shots.
“Brother, you look like you're at a fucking funeral,” Big says, materializing next to me with two shot glasses. He pushes one into my hand, amber liquid sloshing over the rim. “Drink up. It's a party for Christ's sake.”
I down the whiskey in one swallow, letting it burn all the way to my stomach. “Just tired.”
“Bullshit.” He leans against the bar beside me, eyeing the room with satisfaction. “You've been in your head since we got back from that church gig. What's eating at you?”
“Nothing.”
Everything.
My phone burns a hole in my pocket, screen dark with a message that hasn't come. It's been three days since I dropped Cece back at the church, watched her walk away with that glance over her shoulder that nearly made me turn off the bike and follow her inside.
“Jesus, you're even ignoring the sweet butts,” Big continues, nodding toward Rabbit, who’s hovering nearby with a bottle of Jack, waiting for permission to refill my glass. I motion him over, if only to shut Big up.
“I'm fine,” I insist, letting Rabbit pour me another shot. “Just thinking about the run tomorrow.”
Big snorts. “The run to San Salona? Again? That's the third time this week you've found an excuse to ride through that prissy little town.”
I shoot him a look that would make most men back off. Big just grins wider, the asshole.
“Convenient how we suddenly have so much business in San Salona,” he says, leaning closer. “Wouldn't have anything to do with a certain preacher's daughter, would it?”
“Fuck off.”
“That's what I thought.” He chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to slosh my drink. “You know the rules, brother. Civilians are fine for fun, but—”
“I know the goddamn rules.” I cut him off before he can finish the lecture I've heard a thousand times. No relationships that could compromise loyalty. Keep it simple, keep it contained, keep it temporary.
I down my second shot and slam the glass onto the bar, a decision I instantly regret when the bartender shoots me a dirty look. The problem isn't Big's words, it's that they're hitting too close to home.
“I'm not breaking any rules,” I mutter, mostly to convince myself. “Just checking in on the charity situation.”
“Right.” Big's sarcasm could strip paint. “And I'm just drinking water tonight.”
“You're not helping.”
“Not trying to.” He signals Rabbit for another round. “Look, brother, we all got our vices. Just be smart about yours.”
I want to argue, but what's the point? I have been finding excuses to ride through San Salona.
Yesterday I spent three hours at that shitty little coffee shop where I first saw her take on the mayor, nursing the worst latte I've ever tasted, pretending I was there for the WIFI while checking the door every time the bell jingled.
Pathetic doesn't begin to cover it.
“It's not like that,” I say, the lie tasting worse than the cheap whiskey. “Just making sure the toy drive goes smoothly. My aunt would have my ass if it fell apart after all that effort.”
Big gives me a look that says he's not buying what I'm selling, but he lets it drop when a blonde in a crop top that says NAUGHTY in glittery letters slides between us. She presses herself against me, all perfume and bare skin.
“Bray,” she purrs, running a finger down my chest. “I've been looking for you all night.”
I recognize her from last month's party, but her name escapes me. Jessica? Jennifer? Something with a J.
“Been right here,” I say, gently extracting myself from her grip. Her face falls slightly, then brightens when Big wraps an arm around her waist.
“Don't mind him, sugar,” he tells her. “Our VP's got his mind on...business tonight.”
She pouts prettily. “All work and no play make Bray a dull boy.”
“That's me. Dull as dishwater.” I push away from the bar, ignoring Big's knowing smirk. “I'm gonna get some air.”
The December night hits me like a slap when I step outside. Cold enough to make my lungs ache. I welcome it after the stuffy heat of the clubhouse. Leaning against the wall, I fish a cigarette from my pocket, cupping my hand against the wind to light it.
The first drag burns, smoke curling in my lungs before I exhale it into the night.
Above me, stars pierce the darkness like tiny holes in black velvet.
Nothing like the view from that lake where I took Cece, but still beautiful in its own right.
I'm halfway through my smoke when my phone buzzes.
For a split second, hope flares in my chest—maybe it's her, maybe she finally decided to text me back.
But when I check the screen, it's just Domino asking where I went.
I type back a quick response and shove the phone into my pocket, disappointed in myself for even caring. This is exactly the kind of shit I swore I wouldn't do—getting hung up on some woman who's nothing but complications wrapped in a pretty package.
But fuck if I can get her out of my head.
The way she felt pressed against my back on the bike, her arms wrapped around me like she trusted me completely. The sound of her laugh when I made some smart-ass comment.
I take another drag, letting the nicotine settle my nerves.
Three days of radio silence shouldn't mean anything.
She's probably busy sorting through all those toys we brought, getting ready for the distribution.
Or dealing with the fallout from her very public confrontation with her ex-father-in-law.
Or maybe she's realized that riding off with a biker was a moment of temporary insanity, and now she's back to her senses.
The thought sits wrong in my gut, but it's probably for the best. Cece doesn't belong in my world any more than I belong in hers. She's all Sunday sermons and charity drives, while I am all the reasons people go to church and pray for forgiveness. Holy water and motor oil.
The door bangs open behind me, and I don't need to turn around to know it's Big. His heavy footsteps give him away before he even speaks.
“You're being a real buzzkill tonight, brother.”
“Just needed some air.” I flick ash into the wind, watching it scatter across the parking lot. “Party's not going anywhere.”
“Neither are you, apparently.” He leans against the wall beside me, breath visible in the cold air. “Wanna tell me what's really going on? Because this broody shit isn't like you.”
I take another drag, buying myself time. Big's been my road captain for three years, and he knows me well enough to smell bullshit from a mile away. But admitting what's really eating at me would mean acknowledging something I'm not ready to face.
“Nothing's going on,” I finally say. “Just thinking.”
“About the girl?
It's not a question, and I don't bother denying it. “Maybe.”
“Christ.” He runs a hand over his shaved head. “Of all the women in three counties, you had to fixate on the one who screams complications.”
“I'm not fixated.”
“No? Then why haven't you touched a single woman in here tonight? Jessica was practically crawling into your lap, and you acted like she had the plague.”
Because none of them are her. Because none of them have spring-colored eyes that see right through me, or a laugh that makes me want to listen for more. Because every woman in this clubhouse is just a distraction, and lately, I don't want to be distracted.
“Look,” I say, grinding my cigarette under my boot, “it's nothing. I helped her out, we took a ride, end of story.”
Big's eyebrow shoots up. “A ride?”
“Jesus, not like that.” Though the image flashes through my mind before I can stop it—Cece's legs wrapped around me in a very different way, her hair tumbling down her back as she—
“You're doing it again,” Big interrupts my thoughts. “That thousand-yard stare like you're seeing something the rest of us can't. Look, brother, if you want to fuck her, do it, but that girl wouldn’t last a second in our world. Get her out of your system, Bray.”
“I'm not trying to bring her into our world.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “And I don't need to get her out of my system. There's nothing to get out.”
Big gives me that look, the one that says he's been around long enough to see this story play out before.
“Whatever you say, brother. Just remember, girls like that—they're fantasy material, not reality.
She's probably already forgotten all about you. Now, you coming back inside?” Big asks, already moving toward the door.
“In a minute.”
He nods and disappears back into the noise and chaos of the party. I pull out my phone again, thumb hovering over her name in my contacts. No messages, no missed calls.
Fuck it.
I tap out a quick text before I can talk myself out of it.
Still waiting on that list of food items, princess.
Simple. Casual. Nothing that screams “I can't stop thinking about you.” I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then immediately regret it.
It's nearly midnight. She's probably asleep like a normal person, not hanging out at some club party surrounded by drunk bikers and women who think Santa lingerie is appropriate Christmas attire.
I'm about to pocket the phone when it buzzes in my hand. My heart does some stupid little skip as I see her name on the screen.