CHAPTER 18
STORM
I try to hide my grin as I walk away from the registration table. The girls don’t need to see their president losing her composure over a Steel Grace. But damn, that woman is fine. As I return to my bike, I can see her in my mind.
Her light blond hair brushes her shoulders, but there’s a hint of darker roots.
I wanted to see her eyes, but they’re covered by her aviator glasses, making her seem cool, aloof.
Her leather jacket has more silver zippers and buttons than my more traditional jacket, but it looks cute on her.
Her tight black jeans show off her thicker thighs and ass.
And those fucking white sneakers with the chunky heel are the cherry on top.
The fuck. I need to get a grip. I normally don’t notice every inch of a woman when I meet her, but something about Shadow pulled me in.
And when she hugged the teddy bear to her chest—damn.
I’m not going to complain if she shadows me today.
It’ll keep things interesting, but god knows Thorns and Graces don’t mix.
I’m grateful the others are still registering, so I can get my bearings. For once, I’m happy that Frost was behind me and not Dimples. No way would Dimples have missed my reaction to Shadow. Hell, she probably picked it up even from several positions back in the line.
I pretend to rummage in my saddlebag, but I soon give it up. I sit sideways on my bike and let my gaze take in all the bikes. The spring sun bouncing off chrome makes my heart happy.
It’s easy to spot the Steel Graces. Their patches are the only ones sporting bright pink lettering, which pops against the black background. Their symbol is a Valkyrie wearing a winged helmet. It could be a pretty cool logo, except the pink’s not doing it for me.
Since they’ll be the first ones out, their bikes sit at the front of the lot. That’s how it works. The club sponsoring the event always takes the lead. Most of their bikes are Softail Slims and look to be factory models. You’d never catch a Thorn riding a bike that didn’t have heavy modifications.
My gaze lands on a red bike. No way. It looks like an old Shovelhead. Possibly the late seventies. I’ve not seen one in years since the model is notorious for overheating. Somebody is either brave or stupid.
Dimples bounds over and interrupts my thoughts. “Cute, huh?”
I’m pretty sure I know who she’s talking about, but I feign ignorance. “I know I am.”
Dimples rolls her eyes. “Nice deflection, but I saw the way you were checking out Shadow.”
I stiffen at Dimples’ mention of Shadow. “You know her?” I try for casual, but from Dimples’ expression, I didn’t pull it off.
“Yeah, I came across her on a run or two last year.”
I want to ask why I haven’t seen her before, but I fear it would be too obvious. “How long’s she been around?”
Dimples gives me a knowing smile. “I don’t know for sure. Maybe a couple of years. She was on that big one in June last year. When your mom had surgery.” Dimples squints. “And it might’ve been the small one in Lake Placid.”
“That’s the one I stayed back with Aces.” I wouldn’t have forgotten someone like Shadow, but I’m not telling Dimples that.
Frost laughs as she approaches. “Jesus, they all look like a bunch of sausages.”
Dimples and I both give her a puzzled look.
“The Graces.” Frost points toward where they’re gathering near their bikes.
She’s not wrong, but I don’t say it. With them wearing their cuts over their jackets, it looks like they were poured into their vests.
I’m guessing, most times, the Graces wear their coats over their cuts, but with this being their event, they want their cuts on the outside to show their colors.
No matter what, we always show our colors on the outside.
I didn’t remember Shadow’s vest looking so tight, so I glance toward the registration area.
Just laying eyes on her makes something inside me flutter.
The fuck. I was right; she doesn’t look poured into her cut.
As I glance around at the Graces, it’s the women with big tits who look like stuffed sausages.
Shadow fills her cut without fighting it.
Not wanting to get caught staring at Shadow, I turn to Frost. “Who’s riding that old Shovelhead?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” Frost says.
Dimples flashes a smile and is about to answer when Wiz lets out an ear-piercing whistle. All eyes turn toward her. She’s standing on a makeshift stage where I assume a band will play this evening. One of the Graces hands her a microphone.
After her welcoming remarks, she drones on about the rules.
I’ve been to a million poker runs, so I tune her out and let my gaze wander to the registration table.
Shadow is processing the last of the Thorns, so I watch her work.
I’m glad I’m wearing sunglasses, so I can pretend to be listening to Wiz.
Wiz draws my attention back when she shouts into the mic. “All right, ladies. It looks like registration is finishing up. Are you about ready to fire up your bikes?”
A loud roar rises from the bikers, and a murmur spreads through the crowd. The beginning of a run is always special.
“I’m gonna join the Graces now.” She spreads her arms toward the crowd. “Once again, thank you for your generosity. The women and children at Hearth Haven thank you, as well.”
Wiz jumps down from the stage and saunters toward the Graces. She must be in her late fifties or early sixties, but she can still swagger.
Most of the Graces are standing beside their bikes, but the Shovelhead sits without a rider. Then Shadow hustles across the parking lot. No, it couldn’t be hers. Sure enough, I watch the flash of her white shoes as she throws her leg over the Shovelhead’s seat.
As I watch her settle onto the bike, she just got even more interesting.