Chapter 1 #2
Up close, Naomi is striking rather than conventionally pretty.
Her bright red curls tumble wildly around her shoulders, framing a face dominated by sharp cheekbones and large, calculating brown eyes.
The freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks should make her look girlish, but somehow only emphasize the hardness in her expression.
“So,” she pauses to take a sip of her beer. “Heard you and Viper hit three years last month.” She leans in closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Tell me, is being his old lady everything you dreamed it would be?”
I stare at her, taken aback. “That’s… a weird thing to ask someone.”
Naomi shrugs, her freckled shoulders rising and falling beneath her tank top. “Just making conversation.”
We’re quiet for a moment, and I’m trying to think of a polite reason to walk away without causing offence when Naomi continues.
“Viper has always had…interesting taste in women.” She’s staring blankly at the opposite wall, and I get the feeling she’s talking more to herself than to me.
Suddenly her eyes snap back to me. “But you? You don’t fit into this world. His world. We all know it.”
“I fit with Roman just fine,” I reply, heat rising to my cheeks. I don’t need to justify my marriage to Atlas’s daughter, of all people.
“Hmm.” She takes a long drink, watching me over the rim of her bottle. “How long do you think you two will last when you’re so obviously out of place here? I mean, look at you.” Her eyes scan me from head to toe. “You stick out like a daisy in a field of thorn bushes.”
I stare at her for a long moment, processing her audacity. “I’m not talking to you about this,” I say finally, turning to walk away.
“Club life is not for the faint of heart, you know,” Naomi calls after me, her voice carrying over the music. “It’s hard. And it can be more dangerous than outsiders expect.”
I stop in my tracks, something in her tone making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Slowly, I turn back to face her.
“Is that a threat?” I ask, the words coming out more steadily than I feel.
Naomi’s eyes widen in mock offense, one hand flying to her chest. “Me? Threaten you? Of course not!” She laughs. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen lots of patch chasers come and go. Soon they all realize that it’s best to move on.”
She steps closer; her smile never reaching her eyes. “It’s going to be a big night tonight, plant lady,” she says, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. “See ya later.”
With that, she turns and walks away, her hips swaying confidently as she makes her way back toward her father and the inner circle.
I’m frozen for a minute, trying to process what just happened.
Was that a threat? A warning? Or just Naomi being a bitch?
The beer in my hand suddenly tastes sour, and the music feels too loud; the room too crowded.
I give myself a little shake, trying to dislodge the unease that’s settled over me.
And however uncertain I am about Naomi’s intentions, I know one thing for sure.
I came, I tried, I definitely get to find a corner now.
I scan the room for a relatively quiet spot where I can wait out the rest of this party. There’s a small table in the far corner, partially hidden behind a support column. Perfect. I start to make my way over there.
Suddenly the music cuts off. Turning, I watch as Atlas steps up onto a platform at one end of the room, his imposing figure commanding attention without him having to say a word. The conversation dies down as everyone turns toward him.
“Brothers!” his voice booms across the space. “We’re here tonight for something special.”
The crowd shifts, people moving closer to the makeshift stage. I remain where I am, watching as Roman moves to stand near the front.
“You all know my daughter, Naomi,” Atlas continues, gesturing towards his daughter, who is now standing near the platform. She steps forward, a smirk on her face. “She grew up in the club. And for years, she’s been proving herself valuable to our organization with her… technical skills.”
There’s knowing laughter from the crowd. I’ve gathered enough from snippets of conversation over the past few years to know that “technical skills” likely refers to something not entirely legal.
“Tonight,” Atlas says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “we’re making history. The Devil’s Rejects was founded as a brotherhood. But times change, and smart organizations adapt.”
I notice some of the older brothers exchanging glances, their expressions unreadable.
“Naomi has earned her place among us,” Atlas continues. “As a full member of the Devil’s Rejects.”
A collective murmur ripples through the crowd. I straighten up, surprised. I hadn’t realized women could be full members of the club. From the reactions of those around me, it seems like this isn’t a common occurrence.
“And who better to present her with her cut,” Atlas says, “than the man who knows better than anyone that she can be depended on in a fight, my second-in-command, Viper.”
My stomach does a strange little flip as Roman steps forward. I have no idea what Atlas means by “knows better than anyone that she can be depended on in a fight.” Not for the first time, I wish I knew more about my husband’s life in the MC.
Atlas hands Roman a leather cut, identical to the ones worn by the male members, with the Devil’s Reject patch prominently displayed on the back. Roman holds it with reverence before turning to face Naomi.
“Tech,” he says, using what must be her road name, “you’ve earned this. You’ve proven your loyalty, your skill, and your dedication to this club. You understand what it means to put the patch first, to live by our code.”
His voice carries clearly across the now-silent room. There’s pride in his tone, a warmth I rarely hear him express publicly. It makes my chest tighten to hear it directed at someone else.
“Once you put this on,” Roman continues, “you’re one of us completely. Your brothers will die for you, and you for them. There’s no halfway, no turning back. Are you ready for that?”
“Born ready, Viper,” Naomi replies, her voice steady and confident.
Roman nods, then helps her slip on the cut. When she turns around to face the crowd, the Devil’s Rejects patch gleaming on her back, a roar goes up from the assembled members.
Looking around, I realize several of the brothers aren’t celebrating. They are simply clapping politely, their expressions strained.
The music comes back on, louder than before, and people surge forward to congratulate Naomi.
Drinks flow freely, and the celebration kicks into a higher gear.
Roman is surrounded by his brothers, accepting backslaps and congratulations as if he were the one being honored.
Naomi remains at his side, basking in her new status, occasionally shooting glances my way that I can’t quite interpret.
Suddenly desperate to leave this place, I start to make my way to my husband, but the crush of the crowd prevents me from reaching him. As I try to push through, I can see Roman and Naomi laughing together at their own private joke.
The distance between Roman and me suddenly feels like miles instead of yards. This is the compromise I made to be with him. I come to these events; I try to fit in, and I wait patiently until we can go home to our real life. The one where I don’t feel like an intruder in my own husband’s world.