Wilson 7.

“I don’t know how to stitch up a wound, and Polk is at work, so…maybe lessen that grip on your beer, brother.”

My body jerks and I glare at Ford as he sits down on the stool next to me. Pierce takes the stool on my other side and now I feel boxed in. There is this incessant itch under my skin, has been since the last time I saw Tilly. That was days ago at the meeting, and it is only growing stronger with every minute that passes. I’ve grabbed my cell and pulled up her contact a dozen or more times. While propriety and adhering to societal norms has never been my thing, I don’t ever, EVER, want to interfere with her reputation. I can understand how a budding relationship with a biker could adversely affect how others see her and their confidence in her ability to do her job.

I also understand it’s bullshit.

“Just call her. Text her. Send her a smoke signal. Don’t give a fuck which method of communication you choose, just fucking choose.” I grunt at Pierce and flip him off, bringing my lukewarm beer to my mouth for a sip.

“Fuck her and move on, brother.” Pierce is quick to grab me by the shoulder and push me forcefully back into my seat. My fist is still cocked and ready to smash Ford’s pretty boy nose.

“Watch it.”

Ford smirks, holding his hands up in surrender. “You’re all bent out of shape and testy over pussy—FUCK!” His head snaps back as my fist makes contact. Blood trickles past his fingers and down his chin.

“Ford. Why you gotta push like that, man?” Pierce whines but I’m fucking steaming. I shake him off and loom over Ford. Ever since Audrey’s friend Quinn started coming around, he’s been more obnoxious than usual. It’s easy to see the woman has my club brother all discombobulated, but I don’t think he understands why. He’s not what most would call emotionally mature.

“Do NOT speak about her, or any woman like that.”

We turn when the club door is thrown wide open, hands automatically going to our weapons. A short little thing comes running inside with a much taller woman behind her. Three more come in after that. The first one skids to a stop and runs into the bar top. Her eyes wide and fixated on the three of us at the other end. Her smile grows impossibly wide, and she claps her hands together.

“Ooh, a biker brawl! How exciting!”

“CUPCAKE AbrAMS! You cannot just burst into a motorcycle club. They have guns and know how to use them!”

“Yes, guns.” The black woman of the group says drolly. A scowl firmly in place and aimed at the woman apparently named Cupcake. “Merith. Sit.” She slaps her leg and a few of us chuckle at her treating the other woman like a dog.

“Can’t, Mama! Gotta tinkle!”

“Someone point her in the direction of the bathroom or she WILL make a mess of your floor.”

“What’s happening?” Ford whispers out of the side of his mouth, while Pierce and I continue to stare slack-jawed at the intruders, our hands by our sides now since murderers don’t typically say “tinkle” or ask for a bathroom.

“MAMA!” Audrey chirps from the kitchen doorway and runs across the clubroom floor and into the black woman’s waiting arms. That is not Audrey’s mother.

“What IS happening?” I wonder out loud.

Our hands go back to our weapons as five men enter the clubhouse. Audrey lets go of Mama and jumps into one of the men’s arms, screeching “Bash!”

“Pet, remove yourself from the clutches of another man, right this instant.” Lincoln demands with a smile. “Even if he is the best lawyer in the Ville.”

“Excuse you.” A black man steps forward from the group of guys with a smirk. “My brother-in-law is a lot of things, but the best lawyer in the Ville isn’t one of them.” He extends his hand to Lincoln. “That would be me.”

“Nice to see you again, Gus. Glad y’all could all make the trip down.”

“And let little miss seamstress have all the fun? I don’t think so.”

“I still need to tinkle!” Cupcake raises her hand as she bounces from foot to foot.

“Right this way, Madame Boob.” How many names does this chick have? Audrey holds out her elbow to lead the woman to the bathrooms down the hall.

The tallest of the women shakes her head, “Aud, don’t call her that.”

Audrey turns around with a slight frown. “But KellyAnne, she told me that’s what everyone calls her.”

“In her head. Her dreams. Her grandiose delusions.” KellyAnne waves Audrey off, “Hurry and take her before she pisses on the floor like an overexcited chihuahua.”

“Brothers,” Lincoln starts, “let me introduce to you all to the Dicks and the Boobs.”

“Keenan Kohlman—”

“It’s spreading like wildfire, KellyAnne, just accept the moniker and move on.”

KellyAnne drops her chin to her ample chest, her fisted hands on her hips, “I’d like to see you move on with my foot up your ass…” Those of us close enough chuckle at her muttering.

“What was that, KelKel?”

KellyAnne plasters on a saccharine smile, sweet enough to cause Diabetes, and says cheerily, “Just that I’m so happy Bash brought you into our lives, Lincoln.”

Lincoln smiles, baring a little too much teeth, “Feeling’s mutual.”

“Why did a small female almost piss on my boots just now?” Madison comes stomping into the clubroom, displeased with our snickering.

“I’m sorry, Mr. President, sir. She’s mine.”

Madison eyes the young man who steps forward. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because…she’s mine.” The ‘duh’ is implied.

“You got a piss fetish?”

“No, sir. Just a Merith one.”

“What’s a ‘merith’?”

“My wife.”

Madison’s jaw drops, but he recovers quickly, jerking his thumb behind him, “That little thing is your wife? Is this a child bride situation?”

“We’re getting off track here.” Lincoln interjects calmly, obviously familiar with the way the “dicks and boobs” operate. “Pres, these are the people I was telling you about from Steubenville, Ohio. My friend Sebastian and his wife Domica. His partner Fergus and his wife Samantha. KellyAnne is the seamstress, her husband Nate.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Madison asks the man who claimed the chihuahua.

“Uh…Wesley?”

“You sound confused, do you not know who you are? Did you hit your head? Do you have amnesia?”

Wesley stands a little taller, squares his shoulders and meets Pres head on. “No, sir. My name is Wesley Abrams, that beautiful young woman with an excitable bladder is the love of my life and my wife, Merith. We tagged along on KellyAnne’s road trip because we suffer from separation anxiety when the other dicks and boobs are gone too long.”

I bite my lip in an effort to keep from laughing, my brothers do not share the same restraint. Madison puts his hands on his hips, stares up at the ceiling and inhales deeply. “Did I hit my head?”

“Our group has that effect on people. It’s a pleasure to meet Lincoln’s family in person. He and Audrey have spoken so highly of all of you.” Bash steps forward, hand extended to Madison. They shake and Madison dips his chin. “Sebastian. I apologize for the boisterous entrance…they’re harmless, though, I swear.”

“We need a plumber!” Audrey’s frantic voice calls from down the hall. “And probably an ambulance!”

“My zeiskeit!” Wesley takes off down the hall. Mama shakes her head, opens her purse and pulls out…a box of Milk Duds.

“I’m not sure if I should stay here or see what Merith’s done now…decisions, decisions.”

KellyAnne points to the quiet woman watching the room with wide, curious eyes. “Mouse, check on Cupcake. Mama, stay here and take notes. I’ve got several women to measure, and we don’t have much time before the charity gala for me to sew everyone’s attire. So, let’s get started. Mr. President, where’s your first lady?”

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