Chapter 8 #2
Turning back to Lark, I nod. “Looks like we’re heading out. See you around, Lark, and don’t forget, that offer is still good if you need anything.”
She blushes and nods. “Again, thank you, all of you, for standing up for me tonight. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it,” Devil says roughly as he waves off her thanks.
“We’ll be back again. The food is fu—I mean, freaking delicious.
” He pauses at that before paling slightly and turning toward Odin.
I bite my tongue to keep from laughing at him trying not to curse due to kids being nearby.
“No offense to Mama Astrid’s cooking, that is. ”
Odin chuckles and shakes his head at Devil. “This is a favorite of ours too, so no need to worry.” He pauses and turns back toward Lark, giving her a chin lift. “Thanks again, Lark. We’ll be seeing you.”
Placing my hand on the black server book that’s on the bar, I tap it and give Lark another nod before following my brothers outside. I left a hefty tip for her, including paying her for the dark and stormy that she’d made me. No way was I going to accept a free drink from her.
Once we’re out in the cool spring air, I take a deep breath as I stride over to my motorcycle.
This is one of my two motorcycles and it’s the first one that I’d bought when I became President of the Junction Creek chapter of the Steel Archangel’s.
It’s a black Harley Davidson with muted red swirls and streaks on the tank.
I even custom ordered my black saddle bags to have red stitching on them instead of black.
My second bike is also a black Harley Davidson with metallic black ghost flames on it that are only visible from a certain angle.
I bought that bike after an accident last summer.
An asshole had clipped me while my nephew, Chris was riding with me and we went down hard.
My bike was fucked, but it was nothing compared to what had happened to Chris.
A hard clap on my shoulder breaks my thoughts and I look over to find Punisher grinning wickedly at me. “You are so fucked, Reap.”
I grunt, because I’d already come to that conclusion five minutes into talking to her.
Lark is fucking perfect and after hearing her sass and how she’s handled a few situations, I know she wouldn’t get walked all over by the bunnies or the guys.
Not that the guys would give her a lot of shit, but we’re a rough group.
Lark could definitely handle my world… but would she be able to handle my darkness and the bloodshed we need to sometimes spill?
Someway, somehow, I need to find a way to figure this out. It’s not like I can outright ask her. That’s a surefire way to have her running in the other direction. But fuck do I want Lark to be my woman someday.
Then my stomach sinks and I shake my head. “She just got out of a nasty relationship. She needs time.”
Odin gives me a chin lift, pride shining through his eyes as he clasps my other shoulder. “Good man, but in the meantime, nothing wrong with getting to know her better.”
I grunt again as I mount my bike, because that’s exactly what I’d planned to do.
Ten minutes later, I pull up to my house at the compound and shut off my bike. Already, I can hear Igor barking from inside. Grinning, I shake my head and walk up the steps of my deck to the front door.
I have a two-story farm-style house that has white siding with black trim and a wrap-around porch.
Inside, the main floor is a mostly open concept.
In the living room, there are floor to ceiling windows that face the forest behind us, and they let in a ton of natural light.
Large leather couches are opposite a large flat-screen TV that’s over the fireplace and the bookshelves that line the TV and fireplace on either side hold my guilty pleasure.
Books.
I love to read.
Historical. Mythology. Wartime. Hell, I even have a few romance books. I read it all. However, my favorite is mythology and my large collection on the ancient Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Asian cultures, to name a few, can attest to my addiction. They take up three-quarters of my bookcases.
The ceilings in here and the kitchen are vaulted with exposed beams and trusses.
The kitchen also has tons of windows. There are shaker-style cabinets along two walls as well as in the base of the island.
While I don’t cook often, since Mama Astrid loves to cook for all of us at the clubhouse, I do like to cook when the mood strikes.
There is a laundry room, an office, a couple of spare rooms, and a full and a half-bath on this floor.
Those rooms as well as the three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs all feature high ceilings, which is definitely needed since I’m six-foot-three.
Downstairs, I left the basement unfinished as I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what to do with the space.
There’s a full bathroom down there, and for now, the rest of the space is occupied by my weights and treadmill.
I love to run, but Wisconsin winters can be brutal, so a treadmill is a must for me.
I unlock the front door, step inside, and input my code for my security before relocking the door. All the while Igor, my French bulldog, jumps up on my leg and is barking his head off, excited that I’m home. Reaching down, I scritch him behind the ears and then kick off my boots.
Igor follows me to the kitchen. I grab a beer before wandering out to my back deck and sitting down.
Igor raises up on his hind legs, resting his front ones against my thighs, as he begs with his eyes for me to pick him up.
He’s a major cuddler—when he’s not growling at anyone who isn’t in the club or a partner of a member, that is.
Or stealing my socks and hiding them around the house.
Leaning down, I scoop him up and then rest my feet on a footrest. He shifts around a bit, getting comfortable, and finally settles down.
I scritch behind his ears as I take a pull of my drink, and his big tongue lolls out of his mouth as he gives me a happy, doggy smile. Sighing, I shake my head as I take another drink.
“I am so fucked, Igor,” I tell him and then start telling him everything that happened tonight.
When I’m done, I stare up at the stars and make a promise to myself to always do whatever I can to protect Lark.
Even if she ends up wanting nothing more than friendship.
My chest tightens painfully at that thought, and Igor makes a sound in his throat as he looks up at me, cocking his head slightly.
Almost like he’s checking in with me and making sure I’m okay.
Damn dog has always been able to read me and my emotions ever since I found him bleeding in a back alleyway behind a club, covered in cuts and his back leg bent weirdly.
I’d scooped him right up and ordered one of our Prospects that was with me, to drive me to the vet clinic.
Thank fuck I’d had a Prospect with a cage with me since I was picking up some furniture at a store, but even if I’d only had my bike, I still would have figured something out for the little guy.
The vet, Vivian Flynn, fixed him up, put a cast on his back leg, and to my surprise, she told me that some of his wounds were from being shot at with a BB gun. I had wanted to hunt down whoever had done this to him when she’d said that. I hate seeing any animal abused or neglected.
Fortunately and unfortunately, Igor wasn’t chipped, which meant I had no idea who had done this to him.
Python even checked the security footage, with permission from the club owner, but the person who dumped Igor by the dumpster hid his features behind a hooded sweatshirt, sunglasses, and a baseball cap.
From his large frame, we assumed it was a guy, but there weren’t any identifying features that could help us find the asshole.
In the meantime, Vivian kept him with her while she tried to find his owners.
After a couple of weeks of no one stepping forward and Igor finally well enough to leave, he came home with me.
My thoughts once again drift back to Lark as I go back to petting Igor.
“So fucked,” I repeat.
I’ll do whatever it takes to convince her to be my Old Lady. Even though I’d told myself earlier I’d be fine if we were just friends, I’m pretty sure it’d end up killing me if she doesn’t want to be my woman.