Chapter Four #2
“They wanna be second best? They gotta know how to move a body…just in case.”
“In case what?” Vex asks, looking all concerned. Then Loyal smiles at him and he goes all gooey so he’s not gonna be a threat.
“Well, now, sometimes I leave carnage. Gotta have friends to help clean that stuff up.” Damian drops his head to the ground then wriggles his hands and feet which are up in the air.
Joe and I share a look then both head to the porch for the girly drinks Justice made us.
“Aw, that’s just rude.” Damian grumbles, getting his big body off the ground, not even bothering to dust himself off.
“Not our fault you’re heavy as hell and Justice made us these pretty drinks,” Joe says, holding one up.
Loyal grins at Vex and I hand her hers while I sip on mine.
Ignoring Chef. I mean deep down I know I probably shouldn't. We’re both in a crappy situation together and he’s probably feeling some type of protective way about me because of what we shared.
And guilt. Definitely guilt on his part, but, well, it’s not like my life was over when he broke up with me.
I went to school, I went on dates, I started some hobbies, I lived the life I had prior to meeting him and I know myself better now.
I know I’m only twenty, almost twenty-one, but it’s not like I’ve lived the normal life of a twenty year old, no matter how much Mom tried to keep things normal for us.
It’s not normal to be trained from a young age in self defense.
It’s not normal to have go bags hidden around your home.
Life got a lot more complicated and yet safer when Mom met Tav.
All those fears that we’d get snatched up every time we left the house seemed to evaporate once we were in the DRMC fold.
That’s when all that stress of having to watch mine and my siblings backs while still trying to maintain a semblance of a normal life seemed to slip away.
Niko found his place in the MC, and to a certain extent so did I.
Yeah, OK, I thought my place was with Chef, but he left and I still had my place, my role.
That’s the thing I don’t think people realize about MC clubs.
It’s not just a boys club full of guys who love getting drunk and riding motorcycles on the weekend.
It’s a family, and in some ways, it’s an army.
An army of people who will have your back when you need them to.
Everyone brings something to the table, no matter how loud or quiet you are.
I have my place at the DRMC, and for as long as I’m here, I guess I’ll have to find my place here too.
I’m broken out of my thoughts when the first bars of Thunderstruck start blasting out of loud speakers I didn’t realize were dotted around the compound.
“Yusss, dinner’s up!” Saint says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “I’m out. Sagey Girl, all your stuff is there, make the prospects take it all in.” He throws peace signs over his shoulder and starts the walk to the clubhouse.
Justice moves to my car but I stop him with the loud whistle Marx taught me one afternoon not long after we had moved into the clubhouse.
“Hoooly girl, that was im-puhressive,” Joe says, “you gon’ teach me that.” She jabs a finger in my direction as I beam at her.
“Anytime,” I offer before turning to Justice. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll grab it after dinner. There isn’t much in there,” I lie.
Nearly all my earthly belongings are shoved in the trunk of that little car.
My clothes and makeup, books, photos of my family.
Then the usual stuff girls my age love - soft furnishings.
The sheer number of cushions is overwhelming but I know each and every one of them will match the decor in the little cabin behind me.
It’s like Justice and Damian peeked at my pinterest board and then went to town in there.
Collecting two empty fancy girl drink glasses, I take them inside and put them in the sink for later, trying to ignore the smile on my face as I picture living in my own place for a moment. The air changes in my little kitchen, and Chef’s cologne fills the space.
“Just helping out,” he murmurs low as he places two more girly glasses on the benchtop beside me.
“Thanks,” I say brightly, a little too brightly.
This is ridiculous. We were friends before we were anything else.
I know things about Chef and he knows things about me.
Did he hurt me? Hell yes, but you know what?
That dumbass hurt himself too. I can see it in the way he carries himself around me.
If we’re gonna get through this we just need to put the past behind us.
Does that mean I’ve forgiven him? Maybe.
I mean, you can forgive people, but that doesn't mean you should forget what happened. I’ll never forget how that night started off magical and ended so badly.
And then it hits me. He did it on purpose.
Maybe not to hurt me as such, but probably to put a wall up.
A wall between us to make it easier to walk away.
To start again in another state, to give me a chance to grow and learn and live a life without him.
What a complete fucking idiot. It’s almost dumb enough to make me laugh, but I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath and look up at him.
“Friends.” His eyes grow wide, but he doesn’t say a word. “We started off as friends, then some crap went down, and now we have more crap to face. It’ll be easier to get through if we are friends.” I hold my hand out in front of me, ready to make a truce.
His gaze moves from my face, to my hand, before returning to my face.
Not my eyes, not immediately. Instead I feel his gaze like a caress as he studies me, my hand hanging in the air.
Inhaling I’m about ready to take back the offer when his much larger, rougher hand slips into mine, squeezing gently.
He doesn’t say a word, just gives me a slightly sad smile before pulling back and clearing his throat.
“We better get going if you want to eat. Meatball night is insanely popular and Justice plays dirty when it comes to helpings.”
“Justice?” I say, head snapping toward Chef as he follows me out the door.
“Don’t let an innocent face and impeccable manners fool you. He eats twice as much as everyone else and he will steal off your plate if you’re not looking.”
“No!” I laugh, trying to picture Justice, who looks like in another lifetime he would have been an accountant or something, stealing food off bikers’ plates.
“You watch him tonight. He’ll mainly sneak from Damian these days after Flack slapped him upside the head.”
I throw my head back and laugh, knowing that’s exactly what Flack would have done. I missed him when he left DRMC to move out here. He was like a second Pops to me.
“Sage, I’m sorr-”
“Don’t say it,” I cut off Chef, eyes on the path ahead of me.
“I don’t want to hear it. They’re just words, Chef.
Actions hurt me, and I guess, one day actions will be enough for me to know that you’re sorry.
Until then, we get along like we do with everyone else at the Keep.
” I shrug, because that’s how I feel. Words ain’t gonna fix what he broke, but I’m tired of being angry at him.
Especially when I have a new target for my anger.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Chef says so quietly that I almost miss it.
Stepping up to the clubhouse door, I ignore all the feelings that come with his statement, instead plastering a smile on my face, “Give me half your meatballs and we’ll call it done.” I don’t wait for his answer.
Instead I throw open the door to all the noise and laughter spilling out of the room and make my way to the empty seat next to Flack, stopping to give him a little hug before sitting my ass down.
“Right, someone meatball me.”