Chapter 3
The clubhouse is everything I didn’t expect it to be.
I was picturing run-down old sheds, naked women, and big fat hairy men everywhere.
It is nothing like that.
It’s well put together. Sure, it has bikes, men, and half-naked women getting around, but the grounds are tidy and the buildings neat.
I follow Knox in, making eye contact with everyone who is staring at me, no doubt wondering who I am and why I’m here.
“Oh, you’re here!”
Mera’s sing-song voice has my head whipping around to see her charging towards me, drink in hand, clearly drunk. She throws her arms around my neck, and I can’t help but laugh. Even harder when she lets me go and scrunches her nose. “Girl, you need to shower.”
“Tell me about it,” Knox grunts. “Come on.”
I give Mera a look, and she giggles. “I’ll get a drink for you when you’re done.”
Knox leads me down the side of the main warehouse, past a line of Harley-Davidsons that look—honestly—like they cost more than the entire house I’m trying to fix.
Once we have moved past the warehouse, we come to what is a very tidy, U-shaped area with rooms and a section in the middle for mingling.
It’s kind of dorm-like, in a weird biker way. My guess, most of them live here.
He stops outside the third door from the end, pushes it open with his boot, and gestures inside, like he’s some kind of dark, tattooed doorman.
“Ladies first,” he says, voice low and dry.
I step into the room, and the first thing I notice is clothes.
Everywhere. Jeans flung over the back of a chair, an entire pyramid of boxers stacked in a basket by the bed, shirts draped carelessly across everything horizontal.
The bed is unmade, the sheets dark and rumpled, and I wonder, for one split second, who else has been in them.
What do I care?
Right.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he grunts, tossing a fresh towel at me from the shelf above the dresser. “Should be soap and shit.”
Should be? When was the last time he showered?
I take the towel, holding it with both hands, and make my way into the bathroom.
It’s surprisingly clean. Sparsely decorated, but the mirror doesn’t have a single fleck of toothpaste or mystery goop, and the shower curtain is industrial gray.
I turn the taps, wait for the water to go from arctic to hot, and step out of my clothes.
For a moment, I stand there, naked and shivering, staring at my own reflection.
My cheeks are streaked with dirt; a smear of black grease is slashed across my jawline.
The second the water hits me, I swear, I moan a little. Hot water, actual pressure, and a space free of critters. Shampoo, conditioner, and—my heart actually flutters—body wash. I fill my hand with liquid, lathering my body, enjoying every second of this shower.
I enjoy it for far too long before finally getting out.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I step back out into Knox’s room.
It’s only then that I notice the framed photo on the nightstand.
Not digital, not casual, but a real printed photo, in a heavy silver-edged frame.
It’s Knox, arm thrown around a girl I miss more than words.
The girl is Harper. My cousin. The only family member I ever felt close to.
I stare at the photo, a hundred different emotions crowding my chest. There’s a dull pulse of anger, and something sharper underneath, something that feels almost like jealousy, which is a completely unhinged reaction given I’m looking at a dead woman.
But still. It’s Harper, and her smile is the same as it was at sixteen, that sharp little upturn of the lip, always slightly cheeky.
I reach for my bag, determined to put on fresh clothes and get the hell out before Knox comes back.
I unzip it. I find my panties, shorts, and.
..I dig and dig, but I come up empty. Shaking my head, I empty the bag onto the bed and curse loudly when I realize I have forgotten my shirt.
I can’t put the dirty, smelly, greasy one back on. I just can’t.
Frustrated, I glance around the room, knowing I have no other choice but to borrow a shirt.
I walk over to what I assume is a clean pile of clothes on the dresser and pluck a shirt.
It’s black, long-sleeved, and when I pull it on, it hangs halfway to my thighs.
It smells like laundry detergent and a little bit like him, and I try not to analyze why that makes my heart thump so hard.
I roll the sleeves twice, check myself in the mirror, and decide it could be worse.
I’m just about to walk out when the door opens and Knox is there, leaning against the frame, arms folded. His green eyes rake down my body, slow and deliberate, pausing on where the hem of his shirt barely clears the top of my thighs. He says nothing, just watches me with a lazy up-and-down.
“I, uh, forgot my shirt,” I manage to choke out, gesturing helplessly at my bag. “This was all I could find. Hope you don’t mind.”
Knox’s lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile. “You can keep it,” he says, and there is a roughness in his voice that wasn’t there before. His eyes flick once more to my bare legs, and he adds, “Looks better on you anyway.”
For half a second, I want to say something clever, or at least cutting, but the words are gone. My mouth works, silent. He pushes himself upright, moving closer until he’s in my space. A part of me wants to step back, but some deranged, thrill-seeking part of me stands its ground.
Knox leans in, so close I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and says, “Let me know if you ever need help with the buttons.”
Before I have a chance to answer, he’s already out the door, laughing, and I am left standing in the middle of his room, heart trying to punch its way out of my chest.
That...that...asshole.
I yank my bag onto my shoulder and follow him back out to where a heap of people are all sitting around a makeshift fireplace.
I spot Mera instantly. She’s laughing, drink in hand, face lit up as she chats with Wolfe, who towers over her with his arms protectively looped around her waist. Sable and Nia are there too, chatting to each other, while occasionally bursting with laughter.
Mera sees me first. “CALLIE!” she shrieks, like I’ve just returned from war. “You survived!”
I make my way over, aware that every pair of eyes in the room is tracking my bare legs and the oversized shirt I’m wearing.
I could curse myself for being so careless, but instead, I choose to own it and keep my chin out.
I take a seat next to Mera, snag the drink she holds out to me, and down half of it in one go.
The burn is instant, but it does the trick. My nerves settle. I look up, and every single one of my new friends is staring at me with a look of delighted mischief. “I see Knox let you use his shower,” a biker murmurs, a grin on his face.
“Stop it!” Sable smacks his arm. “Stop being mischievous.”
“Callie,” Nia says, her cheeks pink from alcohol. “That is Kael, and this is Talon and Zane. You already know Wolfe and Knox.”
I stare at the men she points to, trying to keep up. All I know is that they all look like they fell from biker heaven.
I nod in their direction and accept another drink from Mera.
After the third drink, everything feels looser, lighter.
Mera’s telling a story about her serial killer father that has me completely mesmerized.
These girls have stories to tell, and I’m here for it.
I find out Sable is pregnant, and that’s an entire story in itself, but it makes sense now why she isn’t drinking.
“So, Callie,” Sable asks when Mera is done talking. “What’s your story?”
I shrug. “Not much to say. City girl, parents divorced, nothing exciting here.”
It’s a lie, but I don’t dare tell them that.
Sable waggles her brows. “You’re not from anywhere near here, are you?”
“Nope.”
“So it’s just you and your parents then?” Nia asks, smiling.
Before I can answer, Knox pipes up, shocking me with his response. “She’s got a twin brother. Prison. Ten years.”
Every pair of eyes zeroes in on me. I nearly drop the glass. “That’s not—what the fuck, Knox?”
He says nothing, just stares at me, expressionless.
“You don’t know my story, Knox. You know nothing,” I snap.
He leans back, arms crossed. “Know he’s in prison for running guns and getting caught.”
Anger bubbles in my chest, wild, unhinged anger.
I stand so quickly I nearly trip. “He was set up.”
Knox snorts, low and humorless. “Whatever you say.”
It’s like he’s trying to upset me, but I don’t know why.
“You didn’t know him. You don’t know a goddamn thing about it.” My voice is shaking, but I don’t care. I glare at him, then the group, and then I turn and walk out.
“Callie!” Mera calls, but I don’t stop.
I make it fifteen feet before I realize I have no idea where I’m going, but if I turn around now, I’ll probably burst into tears.
I hate crying, especially near people like that.
I keep walking, past the line of bikes and down the drive, head full of fire and throat tight, until the only light comes from random streetlights.
I hear the roar of an engine behind me only minutes later, and turn to see a bike coming fast, then slowing as it nears.
Knox. Of course. I guess he’s not done being a dick.
He doesn’t turn the engine off as the bike comes to a stop, and all I can see in the night is the smoke trailing out of the bike and eerily sitting in the glow of the streetlamp.
“Get on,” he says.
I glare at him, almost horrified. “No.”
His voice goes low, almost a growl. “Callie. Get on the fucking bike.”
“Why?”
He looks away, jaw tight, then back at me. “Because you can’t walk home.”
“How about...fuck you.”
“Get on the fuckin’ bike,” he bellows, so loudly I flinch.