Chapter 27
CILLA
My head aches a little, but with all the rushing around we have had to do this morning I’m not surprised. Shelby is in her office now that we have the lunchtime rush over. Maisy points outside at the same time as she asks, “Who is that?”
Walking over to the diner’s window, I notice Jet is outside. “That’s one of the prospects from the MC.” I mumble more to myself than Maisy.
“What’s he doing out there?”
Shaking my head, I reply as I walk toward the door. “No idea, but I’m going to find out.”
Opening the diner’s door, I step outside and cross my arms while tapping my foot. Showing him my agitation, but the small smile shows he is not intimidated. “Okay, what are you doing here?”
Jet smirks. “Well, I’m doing what my Pres told me to do.”
“And what is that, Jet?” I ask, beginning to lose my patience and thinking maybe I’ll call Pyro to light Jet’s ass.
Giving a gruff imitation of Tracker, Jet states. “Watch over the Seer. No mistakes, no fuck ups, you watch and make sure she is okay until Finger picks her up to take her home, or here to the clubhouse. Got me?”
I can’t help the small giggle because, honestly, he has the perfect imitation going on. “Don’t let Tracker hear you imitating him, or you could end up in the shed.” Shit, I’m not supposed to know about the shed!
“Do. Not. Mention. The. Shed,” Jet says firmly but quietly. All the while looking around to see if anyone heard.
“You may as well come inside and have a drink and something for lunch. If Mason or Tracker says anything I’ll surely speak with Pyro,” I grin because hearing his name, Pyro has appeared and has perfected his flame flowing through his fingers. It looks cool, and I wish others could see it.
“I’m not supposed to come inside, Cilla.”
Sighing, I grab Jet’s arm and drag him into the diner. “Maisey, can you get Jet a drink of coffee and something for his lunch, please?” I know Maisy will, since I am on my break right now.
The next twenty minutes of my break were spent talking about simple things with Jet.
How he is settling into the club. If he likes it, and better yet, is it how he thought it would be?
He is a great young man, in his early twenties, with no family, as his parents and sister were killed in a multiple pile-up.
This is the family he needs at this time, and he fits in.
I can see Pyro and Tank watching Jet, and they keep giving me small nods that say they approve of him.
One day, I may tell Tracker what happened here.
I get back to helping in the kitchen. Cleaning up after lunch and waiting for Jayne to appear, who is taking me off shift. She had better not be late again today, or she’s going to hear my sharp tongue.
Two hours later I’m sitting in the clubhouse common room, with the club women trying to look disinterested in the conversation I’m having with Mason. “Why are they hovering?” I blurt out without thinking.
Mason looks around and notices the club women and gives them a fierce look, which has them scuttling out of the common room and into the kitchen. “Why don’t we go to Pres’ office, and he can be included in the conversation. He wants to ask you something, so we’ll have to see him anyway.”
“Okay,” I reply and ignore the two females hovering near the bar. One is blonde and has a bullet wound in her chest, and the other is a redhead wearing an army uniform but has only one arm as the other is shredded from above the elbow.
“Bono, speak to the ladies, will you?” I ask and have to do it aloud as Mason looks around, then gives me a questioning look.
“There are two women here wanting my attention, one with a bullet wound in her chest, the other is a woman who looks like she’d been blown up in a war.
She’s wearing a uniform. But you know I could do without all these gory images when my stomach is not steady right now. ”
“Come on, leave Bono to deal with whatever it is the ladies need, or want.” Mason wraps an arm around my shoulders, kisses the top of my head, and leads me to Tracker’s office.
Without knocking, Mason opens the door and walks inside, guides me to a comfy chair near the window and plants his butt on the chair arm. Tracker watches all this without saying a word of complaint, which shocks me a little, as he usually doesn’t like anyone entering without knocking first.
“Mason said you need to ask me something, Tracker?” I watch as Tracker walks from behind his desk to take the seat in front of me. He looks as if he wants to ask me something serious, but I have no idea what it could be.
“This wedding you are having with Mason. Cap is ordained so he can preside, that is, if you are having it here?”
Tracker pauses long enough for me to know I’m supposed to respond. “Okay, I’m fine with having the wedding here. But I want it outside, with an archway, flowers around it, and a carpet to walk on. Oh, I want you to walk me down the aisle, too...”
Tracker, busts out with a deep, rumbling laugh, which has me blushing some, because, shit, doesn’t he want to do that? I had stopped speaking mid-flow when Tracker laughed, and now I’m trying to work out what’s going on as Mason has a smug look on his face.
“That’s what I was going to ask you, Cilla. If I could walk you down the aisle,” Tracker states with a highly amused look on his face.
“Oh. Okay. Well, that is good. Settled. You walk me down the aisle, and Cap presides. Who is going to be your best man?” I ask Mason. I had thought he would ask Tracker, but as I have him walking me down the aisle, that is not going to happen.
Chuckling, Mason shakes his head in amusement as he answers. “The brothers threw their names into a trash can, and we pulled out the name of the brother who would be my best man.”
When he doesn’t quickly say who it was, I sigh with frustration. “Well, who is it?”
“Demon. Demon won, but I’ll have to keep him under a watchful eye. You know he’s on the crazy side and we don’t want any shit to happen,” Mason tells me this in all seriousness. Me? I’m thinking whatever happens would be better than going to a stuffy church or the town hall.
“Okay, that’s cool. Now, we need to find a caterer.
A good one mind you who will put on a spread that we will all enjoy.
Not a cookout, so don’t even suggest it, Mason.
” I give Tracker a stern look too that says he can be quiet about any kind of grilling.
“Black pants, white shirts, and cuts. How about that?” I ask, knowing that no one will want to wear a tux.
“How about you ask Shelby to help with some of the details, or better yet get one of those fancy people that set up weddings, anniversaries, and shit,” Tracker looks at me with what I think is supposed to look like smugness, because you know, he thought of that option!
“I’ll look into that. Thanks for the suggestion.
Okay, I’m going into the kitchen and have a snack.
I’ll let you know what I organize, but make it six weeks, no longer because I don’t want to waddle down the aisle,” I giggle a little at that thought, then sober up quickly when I realize that wouldn’t be great.
“Oh, I want someone to take nice photographs, too.”
Later in the evening, snuggled in bed together, Mason surprises me when he brings up a thought regarding the house.
“I think we should put this house up for rent and build one of our own on the compound. The club is looking at buying that parcel of land next to the compound. We can build homes on that piece, and some of the brothers are already thinking of building, too. If we have a house, it would be secured by fencing or a wall. I’m not sure, but the club would never leave homes with children openly insecure.
We can design the house ourselves, have it exactly as we want it. ”
I interrupt because it’s been a long day and I’m tired. “Okay, we can do that. We’ll design our own, have it as we want it. Lots of rooms, a basement, games room, child....” Yeah, I fell asleep mid-reply.
Jet is again the prospect on duty and I had him come inside the diner.
I don’t want him sitting outside wasting his day away.
I had him make calls to wedding planners who would cover the cake, photographer, and caterer.
Jet is picky I noticed when I overheard him speaking with a planner.
He told them to go ‘fuck themselves,’ his words not mine, and you know, I’m not even going to ask.
Walking past Jet’s table a while later, I hear him muttering, “Fuckin’ assholes who don’t like bikers. They can kiss my ass.”
“Everything okay, Jet?” I stop and ask.
Jet gives me a reassuring smile, but I can see the tension in his jaw. “Fine, everything is fine. I have it nailed down to two planners. The rest are assholes who don’t like bikers. I’m gonna speak to Keys about them, maybe he can put a review on their website.”
I pat Jet’s shoulder and walk away. I reckon I know where this could lead, and with Tank laughing his ass off as he’s standing behind Jet, I think I’m right. Maybe, just maybe, I need to speak to Keys too.
The day passes quickly, and Mason picks me up from work. Jet following behind on his wreck of a bike. “Why is Jet’s bike so old and obviously needs to be scrapped?” I ask as I watch Jet through the rear-view mirror, that I twisted around to Mason’s annoyance.
“We all start with old bikes. It’s a case of not having the cash to buy a decent one. He’ll get one when he is a full brother and earning more,” Mason replies as he twists the mirror back into place.
“Hmm, I don’t think that bike is safe,” my comment is met with silence. I’m going to check out the condition of the other prospects' bikes, and I don’t care if Mason likes me doing that or not.
When we enter the common room, we both come to a grinding halt because Tracker is standing in the middle of the room red-faced, sweat pouring down his face.
His muscle shirt is sticking to his body, and it looks like his hands are trembling where he has them holding his knees.
I say holding his knees, but it may be to stop himself from collapsing onto the floor.
Scalpel is standing with a huge grin on his face but drops it as Tracker looks up at him.
He does, however, berate Tracker about his fitness.
“You have to get out of that office more. Fitness you have ordered for all brothers, means you too, Pres. Every day I expect to see you doing something for your health, and fewer carbs in your diet too.”
“Fewer carbs, are you for real? I love carbs, and I’ll not stop having bread, cakes, pasta, or other shit. I’ll do an extra set in the gym if I need to,” Tracker is put out with the suggestion of cutting carbs, and I don’t even try to stop the giggle that escapes. “What are you laughing at, Cilla?”
“You. I’m laughing at you. Who in their right mind would want to do more exercise just to eat pasta? I mean, come on, Pres...” I’m laughing more as I step closer to him. “You gotta be fit if you are going to be the Godfather to this baby.”
Shit, I blurted that out before I confirmed with Mason that we would ask Tracker to be a godparent. My eyes flick to Mason, and as he’s smiling at me, it’s obvious he is okay with the idea.
But when a large, sweaty Tracker grabs me into a hug, I squeal with disgust. “Let go of me, you stink.”
“Oh, I stink do I?” Tracker laughs, then rubs his forehead against my neck. Mason isn’t helping even a little, as he’s laughing his ass off at the spectacle. I’m not as amused as I was since I now stink too!