CHAPTER FIVE
“Almost there.” I glance in my side mirror at Pinky huddled against my back. Her small frame is barely visible behind me.
“Thank God,” she replies, her voice crackling through the Bluetooth speaker in my helmet. “I’m freezing my ass off.”
I chuckle, though there’s nothing funny about how hard she’s shivering against me. Florida didn’t prepare her for this shit. The temperature difference here in St. Louis is downright brutal. “Welcome to Missouri in November, butterfly.”
An Arctic wind cuts through my hoodie as we follow Klutch’s bike through the streets of St. Louis. Thirty degrees isn’t that cold by Midwest standards, but compared to the almost eighty-degree weather we left behind in Jacksonville, it’s a fucking shock to the system.
“How much longer?” Pinky asks, her teeth chattering loudly.
“About ten minutes,” I answer, feeling her tighten her grip around my waist.
Klutch’s voice comes through our helmets. “Yo, Rambler, you staying at the clubhouse tonight or heading to your place?”
Good fucking question. I haven’t done shit to winterize my double-wide. I was in California foer three weeks before getting back and leaving again for Florida with him.
Hell, for all I know, my pipes might be frozen, because I know the heat never got turned on. Not exactly the welcome I wanted to give Pinky when I brought her home.
“Gotta check in with Denali first,” I answer, deciding to deal with one thing at a time.
“Probably a good idea,” Klutch replies.
Train cranks his throttle, pulling alongside us. Cleo waves from the back of his bike, her purple hair peeking out from under her helmet.
“Y’all better hurry,” his voice cuts through. “Weather report says we’re getting six inches of snow tonight.”
“Fuck,” I groan.
That’s just what we need.
Snow.
I glance up at the sky. It’s gray and gloomy, the color of steel and heavy with the promise of precipitation.
“Snow?” Pinky’s voice goes up an octave. “I’ve never seen snow before!”
As much as I don’t want the shit, I can’t help but smile.
Of course, she’s excited. She’s a Florida girl through and through.
Demi’s soft laugh comes through the speaker next. “You’re in for a treat. Or a nightmare, depending on how you feel about freezing your tits off.”
Pinky shivers harder against my back, reminding me that she doesn’t have proper winter clothes. The leather jacket she borrowed from one of the Jacksonville girls is nowhere near warm enough for our Missouri winters.
I feel like a jackass for not thinking this through better. In my defense, though, we left Jacksonville in such a hurry after that run-in with her psycho ex that winter gear was the last thing on all of our minds. All she has in the two bags stuffed in my saddlebags are summer clothes and shoes.
My mind races as I work through the logistics. We’ll need to get her a thicker coat, some gloves, boots, all that shit. And judging by the chill in the air, sooner rather than later.
“Hey,” I say through the helmet. “You hanging in there, butterfly?”
“Y-yeah,” she stutters. “Ju-just c-c-c-cold.”
“Almost there,” I promise, picking up speed. “We’ll get you warmed up.”
As I race towards the clubhouse, I think back to Jacksonville, to Pinky’s tear-streaked face as she called her friend to say goodbye.
They’d boo-whooed like they’d never see each other again, both making promises to call and text.
It had gutted me to see her so upset. But it couldn’t be helped.
Bringing her here was the right call. Her ex won’t look for her in St. Louis.
She’ll be safer here.
Klutch leads our small convoy down the empty streets, heading toward the industrial district where our clubhouse is located. The buildings grow more weathered, the streets rougher. This part of the city is forgotten by most, which makes it perfect for us.
“I thought we were going to your house?” Pinky asks, confusion evident in her voice.
“Gotta check in with my Pres first,” I explain. “Let him know we’re back and that I’ve got you with me.”
And pray he doesn’t flip his fucking lid. Catching him off guard like this is going to piss him off. He doesn’t like being ambushed with bullshit. Not to mention that we don’t need beef with the Dirty Devils. We’ve got enough of our own problems with the Renegade Bastards.
I blow out a heavy breath.
At this point, it is what it fucking is, and I’ll take whatever punishment he dishes out as long as the club agrees to help keep my girl safe.
We approach the gates of the compound, and I see the prospect, Rookie, manning the entrance. I flick out two fingers in greeting as we coast through.
The kid’s eyes round to the size of saucers when he sees Pinky on the back of my bike. Fucking probie better mind his business and keep his eyes off my woman. Hate to have to snap him like a twig.
I follow my brothers into the parking area, a concrete slab big enough to hold a couple dozen bikes. Klutch and Train park near the entrance, and I guide my hog into the spot next to them.
I cut the motor and let out a sigh. Time to face the music.
“What?” Pinky asks.
I shake my head and lie. “Nothing, baby.”
Groaning, I climb off, my body stiff as fuck from the long ride. My lower back protests as I plant both feet on the ground and pull off my brain bucket.
“Ready, butterfly?”
She nods, unclasping her helmet and pulling it off. Her pink hair is flattened against her head, and her nose and cheeks are red from the cold. She still looks beautiful.
I hold out my hand and she takes it, letting me help her off the bike.
The second her feet hit the asphalt, her legs start to buckle. “Crap.”
Raching out, I yank her body flush against mine to steady her.
“Gotcha.”
She blushes. “My legs feel like Jello.”
“Been riding awhile,” I say, keeping her upright until I feel her gain some stability.
Once she has her legs under her and she’s steady, I let her go.
“Thanks,” she says, rubbing her thighs.
“No sweat.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and head for the clubhouse door. The building looms before us, three stories of weathered brick with barred windows, and a metal door painted a matte black.
Kodiak is at the door, holding it open for us. I growl when I catch the baby biker checking my woman out, his eyes lingering a little too long on her ass as we pass.
My woman?
I’m getting awfully presumptuous.
Fuck. I need to get my head on straight before I go up in here and plead with Denali and Pee Wee to let her stay.
We step inside, and it’s much warmer. The heat wraps around us like a boa constrictor, and Pinky lets out an appreciative sigh as she rubs her hands up and down her arms.
Yeah. I really can’t take her back to the trailer with how cold it is.
Dropping my arm from around her shoulders, I pull out my keys and work the one for my trailer off the ring. “Head over to my place and turn the heat on. Make sure the pipes haven’t burst, too.”
The probie nods and takes the key from my hand. “On it, Rambler. I’ll head out now.”
I make a mental note that despite his wandering eyes, the baby biker will get my vote when it comes time to decide if he has what it takes to be a Bastard Saint. Kodiak is a good kid. And he’s always ready to jump in and help when needed.
The main room of the clubhouse is quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. Several of my brothers are playing pool in the corner, and a few others are at the bar, drinking and bullshitting. A couple of the sweetbutts are pow-wowed over on the couch, watching that stupid Kardashian show on TV.
Slipping my arm around Pinky’s waist, I lead her over to a table where McKenna is sitting alone, nursing what looks like a vodka cranberry. Klutch and Train march their women over to the brunette’s table as well.
“We’ve got club shit to handle,” Klutch says, bending to kiss Demi. “Stay out of trouble.”
Train does the same with Cleo, giving her a swat on the ass as he heads toward the chapel.
Cleo and Demi hug McKenna, chattering about how she missed a fun trip. Then Cleo turns to Pinky.
“McKenna, this is Pinky,” she says, gesturing between them. “Pinky, McKenna is with Pee Wee, the club’s VP.”
Pinky’s eyes go big when the little brunette wraps her arms around her shoulders and hugs her.
“Oh,” Pinky says, patting her back awkwardly. “You’re a hugger.”
McKenna lets Pinky go and smiles big. “I am. And I don’t bite, unless asked nicely.”
The girls all laugh, and I feel some of the tension drain from Pinky’s body. Good. She needs friends here.
The girls sit down at the table, and I look down at Pinky. “What do you want to drink?”
“Just water is fine,” she says, still rubbing her arms to warm up.
I roll my eyes. I know damn well my woman likes sweet tea, Dr. Pepper, and Coca-Cola. “I’ll get you something that’ll warm you up.”
She gives me a grateful smile, and I head for the bar.
Zeus is behind it, wiping down the counter. He looks up as I approach.
“Everyone’s waiting in the chapel,” he says.
I nod, leaning against the bar. “Give me a Coke and two shots of tequila.”
He turns to get the drinks, and I twist around, leaning my back against the bar to watch Pinky. She’s listening intently as the other women talk, nodding and occasionally laughing. She’ll be safe here, I remind myself. The Bastard Saints protect our own.
“Here are your drinks,” Zeus says behind me.
I spin back around and grab one of the shot glasses, tossing it back quickly. The burn is smooth, instantly warming me up from the inside. “Thanks, Probie.”
I take the Coke and the second shot of tequila over to the table, setting them in front of Pinky.
“Here.” I slide the shot in front of her first. “Take this, it’ll warm you up.”
Pinky wrinkles her nose, eyeing the tequila suspiciously. But she picks it up and downs it in one go, followed immediately by a coughing fit.
“Jesus,” she croaks, reaching for the Coke to chase it down.
Cleo, Demi, and McKenna giggle at her reaction.
“That’ll put hair on your chest,” Cleo says with a laugh.