49. Digger
49
DIGGER
“I got a message.” Rae ambushes me the second I step out of Tyke’s office, ushering me away from Minion with her body. “See.”
She offers her phone, and I read the latest bubble.
All clear. He’s on his way back.
You can show me how grateful you are later.
I resist the impulse to send the fucker a reply. Tamp down the urge to get on my fucking bike and make the delivery in person. “That all he has to say?” Asshole would probably add to her debt if she asked him to relay what happened. Has Terry kicked him out? Did they fight? What was said? Shit . I’ve got so many fucking questions.
“That’s all.” She pats my pockets with her free hand. “Where’s your phone? Don’t you have that tracking app thing?”
I take her wandering hand in mine. "As much as I love you feelin' me up, baby girl, no, I don't have that 'app thing.' Only Turnip had the one where he could pinpoint our whereabouts."
“Can he still do that now?” Her excitement turns sharply toward concern.
“Nope. Handed the device in when he left. It’s club property.”
“So, who has it now?" She jiggles her head, eyes wide, urging me to get to the point.
“Tyke.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
I can't help but smile. She's cute when flustered, even if the circumstances have had my chest knotted tighter than a beginner's knitting project since we first noticed him gone. "He'll be okay." He has to be. "Ask Connor if his old man's still home."
She frowns. “What do you mean? He said he was. They were talk?—”
“He’ll know what it means.”
Realization dawns, and Rae’s eyes widen. “Oh.”
Yeah, it's code. As in, is he still alive? Only a fool would ask a blatant question like that on an unprotected line.
Rae looks down, thumb flying across the screen. I take the moment to bask in her lighter mood. In her apparent ability to handle the situation better than when Maddie went missing. I want to say it's all for female reasons, given she said she's on her bleed now, but I get the inkling that perhaps we're conditioning her to this lifestyle, which is necessary. I can't expect her to be my old lady for life if she can't adjust to the chaos that goes down. But still… As I tuck her hair behind one ear, I get a strange sense of loss.
Of her innocence.
Her independence.
Her reminder of what it’s like to be a civilian.
Everything she does now evolves around the club. There are no plans for Rae that don’t first need to be run by me, Tyke, and possibly the officers. Every little thing she does is a reflection of us, and that means every choice she makes regarding her career, her hobbies—damn—even how she looks.
It’s vanity amplified. It's archaic but steeped in heavy tradition, for good reason.
Our people are our brand. That picture we paint when we ride down the road? It says so much more about us than 'motorcycle club.' It offers the scared and vulnerable hope and reminds the arrogant and righteous who's there to put them in their place when they step out of line.
Our choices, actions, and beliefs shape our moral code, and if Rae truly wants to be ours, then she has to understand that.
“You okay?” She slides her phone in her back pocket and sets both palms to my chest.
“Yeah. I’m good.” I side my arms over her shoulders, hands hanging limp behind her, and cradle her against me. “Thinkin’ on our future is all.”
She offers a small smile, chin tucking to her chest. “It still makes me feel giddy when you say that.”
“So it fuckin’ should.” I mean what I say. Wouldn’t give voice to it otherwise.
“He won’t be far away, right?” Rae’s brow tugs into a frown as she gazes up at me.
I smooth the lines away with my thumb and shake my head. “Naw, he won’t be long. You want to wait outside for him?”
“I mean, does a brown bear shit in the woods?” She chuckles. “What do you think?”
“Wait here a minute.” I nod toward the gathering near the fire. “Better go let them know what we’re doing.”
Rae takes in Maddie and Harvey in conversation on the sofas. Minion playing a game of pool with his daughter. It feels empty in the clubhouse—too many spaces. But it's how it should be; the officers are doing what they must, staying close to Tyke in case he needs assistance. Come night, and we'll have a dozen or so more faces in here—the people who hold day jobs or come to socialize, having run their last ride before retirement. But for now, it's how it should be. A gathering of the people who matter most to me.
To us.
“Can we keep this between us?”
“That he’s on his way home?” I lift an eyebrow.
She nods.
“Minin will know already, baby girl. The guys would have told him.”
"Oh." She chews the corner of her bottom lip. "Is it wrong that I want it to be just us out there when he gets back—you and me welcoming Tyke home?"
"Not at all." I give the others a final glance and slide my arm around my woman, ushering her to the yard before anyone knows where we go. "I'm sure they'll understand."
“Thank you.” She steps into the cloudy afternoon before me, offering her hand to take.
I weave my fingers between hers and lead Rae toward the picnic tables.
The prospect on the gate gives us a cursory glance and then returns to his job, eyes always on the road, reading, assessing. It's a shit job—one I remember having in the early days of my initiation. It teaches patience, persistence, and loyalty. It's a test for Buster as much as it's a hazing. A solid month working on the gate, and we'll know if he has what it takes to be one of us.
Dare say his judgment will come up at the next meeting. His patch will go to vote, and the club will have another reason to celebrate.
Fuck—as I settle Rae between my legs, ass on the tabletop while she perches on the seat below—it occurs to me how fucking busy our goddamn calendar will be over the Christmas period. We head out for the rally tomorrow; then there's Buster's potential ceremony, Christmas itself, the usual charity drives we do to keep up PR, and then the formalities of a new year: planning for the coming months, re-voting on positions, evaluating existing memberships, figuring out what projects we need to complete to keep up maintenance on the clubhouse.
And all that before we touch on the fucking contracts and obligations of our lifestyle.
“You want to share what’s got you stuck in your head?” Rae tips her head back, resting it on my inner thigh.
I stroke the strands of her hair caught on the chilly breeze away from her eyes. “Kind of worry that we didn't warn you enough about what it'll mean to be an old lady before we put that choice on you."
She sighs, flattening her lips. “Digger.”
“What?” I shrug. “It’s a valid concern.”
"Are you telling me you're scared I'll leave you?" She twists between my legs, setting an elbow to one.
“Nope. This is me tellin’ you that I’m worried you’ll freak out when you realize how big of a workload you get as an old lady.”
"Maybe I like being busy." She gives me a sassy look and spins back to face the gate. "Don't confuse how I am one week of the month with how I am always."
“Never said I did.” I crunch forward and set a kiss to her temple. “Just want you happy, baby girl. Not overwhelmed.”
“I am happy.” Her cool palm slides to capture my cheek. “ You make me happy. Tyke makes me happy. This makes me happy.”
“Yeah?” I drag my bottom lip along the shell of her ear.
She shudders, grinning a little before breathing, “Yeah.”
Buster rises from the stool he leans against, shoulders straightening as the distinct rumble of multiple engines steals the moment. Usually, I'd give Tyke shit for taking the limelight, but today? Yeah, I'm as content for him to take the spotlight today as the woman jerking forward on the seat beneath me.
“Is that…?”
“Away you go, baby girl.” I give her ass a firm smack after she rises to her feet. “Go show your man how happy you are to see him.”