Chapter 16 #3
“I won’t lie to you and say that I am a Boy Scout. I spent my fair share of nights with club girls in the early days. But that shit gets old fast.”
“So what changed?”
“I did.” I run a hand through my hair, struggling to articulate something I've never had to explain before.
“Look, when you first patch in, everything's a fucking rush.
The brotherhood, the parties, the women who throw themselves at you just because of what you're wearing on your back. It's easy to get caught up in it.”
“But you didn't.”
“No, I did. For a while. Then you realize most of those women don't give a shit about you. They either want a property patch or just want to fuck around.”
“What's a property patch?” Cece asks, her head tilting slightly. Her fingers trace the beer label, picking at the corner where the condensation has loosened the paper.
I run my hand through my hair, wondering how to explain this particular aspect of club life without making her run screaming.
“It signals commitment. A brother chooses a woman, she gets a property patch, and the club recognizes her as someone they safeguard. Nobody crosses that line.”
“Property? Like...ownership?”
“It's not as medieval as it sounds,” I explain. “It's about protection more than possession. Means if anyone fucks with property of one of our patched members, they answer to the whole club, not just her man.”
“And the women...they're okay with this?”
I shrug. “The ones who stick around are. Club life isn't for everyone. Most women who get patches know exactly what they're signing up for.”
“Tasha has one?”
“Yeah. She wears it proudly. As does Skelly’s girlfriend, Mirna.”
Cece is quiet for a moment, absorbing this. I can practically see her mind processing what this means.
“So if we...” she trails off, her cheeks flushing slightly. She looks down at our joined hands, her thumb tracing circles on my palm. “If we became...whatever we're becoming. Would you expect me to wear one of those patches?”
I answer matter-of-factly. “Yes.”
Her lips part, surprise flickering across her face at my blunt answer. For a second, I’m sure I’ve pushed too hard, too fast. But then something shifts—a curious heat replacing the initial shock.
“That’s...presumptuous.”
“It’s honest,” I counter, leaning closer. “If you’re with me—really with me—then yeah, I want you marked. But we’re nowhere near that conversation yet, princess.”
She studies me, her gaze steady and intent, as though she’s searching for something beneath the surface. “Would I get any say in it?”
“In wearing my patch? That’s entirely your choice. But if you’re asking if I’d let another man touch what’s mine—” I let the sentence hang, unfinished but clear.
A small smile curves at the corner of her mouth. “You’re very territorial for someone who claims we’re nowhere near that conversation.”
“I know what I want,” I say simply. “Always have.”
She doesn’t look away. I can tell she’s turning the words over, weighing what they mean—for her, for us.
Before she can respond, the door bangs open, shattering our bubble of quiet.
“There you are, you antisocial motherfucker!” Dom’s slurred voice blasts through the small room as he stumbles in, wearing what appears to be a second beer-can crown stacked on top of the first. “Been looking everywhere for you two!”
I suppress a groan. “We’re having a private conversation.”
Dom waves that off as though it holds zero relevance. “Forget that! It’s my birthday! You can talk later.” He sways a little, grinning at Cece. “You don’t mind if I borrow him, do you? The boys are setting up the shot table, and we need our resident champion.”
Cece glances between us, clearly trying to decide how to handle this circus of a man.
“We were actually thinking about heading out,” I tell Dom, not trying to hide my irritation.
“What? No!” Dom presses a hand to his chest, wounded to his core. “Come on, brother. One round. For my birthday.” Then he turns those pleading eyes on Cece. “Tell him he has to stay. Just for a little while.”
The last thing I want is for her to feel pressured into sticking around this madhouse longer than she wants. But instead of looking uncomfortable, she seems to be considering it.
“It’s up to you,” I say, my tone making it clear I’m perfectly fine with leaving. “We can go whenever you want.”
She bites her lower lip, glancing from me to Dom’s ridiculous beer can crown, then back again. “Maybe we could stay a little longer?” she says, surprising me. “I mean, it is his birthday.”
Dom punches the air triumphantly. “See? She gets it! Birthday rules!”
I narrow my gaze at her. “You sure? This isn’t exactly the quiet introduction to club life I had in mind.”
She shrugs, a glint of challenge playing across her face. “I think I can handle it. Besides, I’m curious about this shot table champion title.”
“Fuck yeah!” Dom cheers, nearly toppling over in his enthusiasm. “She's a keeper, Bray!”
I'm still hesitating, not entirely convinced this is a good idea. “I've had a few drinks already,” I admit, not wanting to risk riding back impaired with her on the back of my bike. “If we stay, we might need to crash here tonight.”
To my surprise, this doesn't seem to faze her. “If you want to stay, it’s fine. Really.”
“One round,” I tell Dom, pointing a warning finger at him. “Then we reassess.”
“Fair enough!” Dom throws his arm around my shoulders, nearly knocking us both off balance as he steers us toward the door. “Come on, preacher's daughter! Let me introduce you to the fine art of competitive drinking!”
I shoot Cece an apologetic look, but she just smiles and follows us back into the chaos.