Chapter Thirty-Three
Rags didn’t even have to ask; Hog had already poured two neat tumblers of Jack the second Rags caught his eye.
Carrying the glasses over, Rags dropped into the padded metal chair opposite Throttle, letting out a long breath.
Across the room, a mindless infomercial droned from the TV screen, holding the glassy-eyed gaze of a few older patches slowly passing a joint.
In the corner, three club girls giggled as they painted each other’s nails, the sharp tang of polish cutting through the earthy aroma of weed.
“There’s no way these Satan’s Heretics are cutting off their loan sharking ’cause we told them to through their middleman,” Throttle said, raising his tumbler.
“I agree. Hell, we all agree. Hawk and Banger know something’s up,” Rags said. “We just gotta figure out what it is.”
“According to Hawk, they’ve gone underground. He can’t find shit on the grapevine.” Throttle threw back his shot. “Seems like we’ll have to take a trip to Bridgeport soon.”
Rags sighed. “Hopefully, it won’t be in the summer. Texas summers are brutal.”
“Yeah. We’ll see what Hawk turns up.” Throttle motioned the prospect for two more whiskeys. “How’s the house hunting going?”
Hogs placed two more tumblers on the table, then headed back to the bar. Rags tilted his head toward the prospect’s retreating back. “Hog’s gonna get patched in soon. He’ll be a good addition. Skinless and Rusty aren’t too far behind.”
“Those two new ones… Throttle snapped his fingers. “What are their fuckin’ names?”
“Bender, Ice, and… uh… Damnit. I can’t—”
“Jaguar! That’s it,” Throttle cut in. “I hate that shit. When it’s right on the tip of your tongue but you can’t bring it out.”
Rags laughed. “Getting old, aren’t you?”
“You didn’t remember either, old man.” Throttle chuckled. “Anyway. The house?”
“It’s okay. Case has been swamped at the theatre, and my days have been jammed. Summers are too busy for us. The money’s good, but you got no time.”
“Always slows down by September,” Throttle shrugged. “Then the fall rush hits.”
Rags nodded. “We’ve been thinking about building our own place, but the timeline is killer.”
“What’s your rush? You’re settled in the rental, right?”
“Sorta. It was a panic move after that shit went down with the fuckin’ sicko. Casey wouldn’t stay in her place for another minute, and I didn’t blame her. She packed a couple of bags and crashed here for a week, but you remember.”
“I wondered how long she’d last at the clubhouse.”
“It didn’t make sense. She works from home, and place isn’t exactly a quiet office. So we rushed into a lease. I only signed for six months.”
“Axe’s ol’ lady designs kickass houses.”
“Bailey’s top-notch. Axe’s place is cool, and so is Smokey’s. We’ll see.” Rags finished his second drink, then pushed his chair back. “I gotta get going. You heading out or sticking around?”
Throttle shoved his tumbler toward the middle of the table. “Nah. I’ll walk out with you.”
The heavy door swung shut behind them, cutting off the drone of the TV. Rags squinted against the blinding gold glare as the sun hovered right on the jagged edge of the western ridges. He pulled out a pair of sunglasses from his leather jacket, slipping them on.
“What you got going with Kimber tonight?” Rags asked.
“Not much. I’m bone-ass tired. Probably conk out on the couch while she watches her shows.” Throttle laughed. “Damn. Never thought I’d get to this point when a recliner sounds like a good purchase.”
“We do manual labor, bro. It’s hard ass work.”
“And we’re not in our twenties anymore,” Throttle added. “The mileage is catching up.”
“Don’t lump my body in with your wrinkly ass.” Rags laughed.
Throttle guffawed, clapping him on the shoulder. “We can still kick ass. Better than Bones and Blade any fuckin’ day.”
“Damn straight.”
The dry pine needles crackled beneath their heavy boots. Shadows stretched out behind them, long and dark, as they walked toward the row of Harleys gleaming in the dying light.
The scent of garlic and roasted tomatoes hit Rags the moment he stepped into the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe, watching Casey at the counter. Her back was to him as she chopped a carrot, swaying her hips and belting out the chorus of Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.”
A small quirk tugged at the corner of his mouth when she hit a high note, totally lost in the music. Fuck, she’s beautiful.
He closed the distance between them without a sound, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest.
Casey let out a soft laugh and leaned back into him. “Hey,” she breathed, resting her hands over his. “You better be careful. I have a knife.”
“I’m terrified,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck to breathe in the familiar scent of her shampoo. “But I’m willing to risk it.”
“Are you?”
“Oh, yeah.” He peppered the warm side of her neck with small, deliberate kisses, tracking a slow path from her shoulder to just beneath her ear. “Didn’t know I hooked up with a rock star.”
“I only sing like that when I’m happy,” she murmured, tilting her head to give him better access. “Take it as a compliment.”
Casey twisted around within the circle of his arms. She looked up at him, her eyes bright and soft.
Rags stared down at her face, knowing they had gone through a mountain of baggage and betrayal just to get to this moment, this exact peace.
When she reached up to cup his jaw, he leaned into her touch, meeting her halfway as she pulled him down into a deep, slow kiss.
“Fuck, woman,” he rasped against her lips, scooping her up into his arms.
“The lasagna,” she gasped, automatically twining her arms around his neck. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
He flashed a wicked smile, looking down into her eyes. “That’ll give us just enough time for a fast, dirty quickie.”
Her throaty laugh bounced off the kitchen tiles, a sound he knew he’d never get tired of hearing. She rested her head against his shoulder as he pivoted and carried her out of the room.
Rags touched start on the dishwasher and looked over when he heard the clink of glass.
Casey was at the counter refilling her wineglass, then poured a generous amount of whiskey into a tumbler for him.
They moved to the living room, settling onto the couch together.
Casey curled her legs up under her, resting against his side as Rags took a slow sip of Jack.
The house was quiet, filled only with the faint, comforting hum of the kitchen appliances.
He cleared his throat, running a hand through her hair. “My mom usually has Sunday suppers each month. Clara and my older sister and her family usually go.”
“Do you?”
“Not so much.”
“Why?”
Rags shrugged. “Busy, I guess.”
“More likely hung over from the weekend club parties,” she said.
He laughed. “That too.” He pressed his mouth to her head and kissed her. “Since you’ve come into my life, club parties aren’t as regular.”
“They better not be,” she said, poking a finger into his side.
He chuckled. “Anyway, there’s another one of these suppers coming up in a couple of weeks. I want you to go with me.”
Casey went still against his chest, her glass pausing halfway to her lips.
“Clara will be there, obviously,” he said. “And my older sister Megan is coming with her husband and their three kids, so it’ll be loud.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Those little hooligans are cool as fuck. My brother Jeremy and his woman are coming, too. Mom will be bursting at the damn seams.”
Casey lowered her glass, her gaze dropping to her lap. “Would your mom mind if I came?”
“Mind? Hell, babe, she’s been chomping at the bit to meet you. She told me, more like demanded that I bring you. She wants to meet you along with the rest of the family.”
She looked back up at him, and a sudden squeeze hit Rags’s chest. Her eyes glistened, and before she could blink, a tear slipped down her cheek.
He set his tumbler on the coffee table and shifted, cupping her face with his hand to brush the tear away with his thumb. “What’s going on, Case? Look, if you don’t feel comfortable going, we don’t have to. I can tell my mom we got plans. No pressure, okay?”
Casey let out a thin laugh and reached up, wrapping her fingers around his wrist to keep his hand right where it was against her cheek.
“No, Rags, it’s not that,” she whispered, her voice thick. “I want to go.”
He searched her face, his thumb smoothing over her cheekbone. “Then talk to me, babe. Why the tears?”
She took another drink of wine, then moved his hand to her thigh and covered it with hers. “You know how I grew up. My mom flitting in and out with only my grandma trying to hold things together.”
“I know,” he murmured.
She looked up and him and held his gaze.
“When I was younger, I used to look at normal families at the mall, the parks, or on TV and wonder what it felt like to belong to one. To have a mother who cared, sisters and brothers to play and laugh with, and big family dinners.” Another tear escaped and she swiped it away, sniffling.
“Being invited to share that with all of you… it just hits a little hard.”
Rags set his drink down, shifting so he could pull her onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight against him. “The past is gone, but we got the present and endless tomorrows.”
“I’m being silly and emotional, but you wanting me to meet your family makes me feel loved and accepted.”
“Sometimes you gotta lean into your feelings. We’re a part of each other’s lives now, babe. And when my mom and Megan get a hold of you, you’re gonna wish you passed on Sunday dinner.” He laughed.
Casey reached over and snagged a tissue. “You’re crazy, you know that? I can’t wait to meet your parents. They must be special to have a son like you.”
“They could do without the outlaw stuff.” Rags shrugged. “But we now have a tacit agreement to not talk about it. It works.”