Chapter Seventeen.
Two weeks later
Constance threw her head back and laughed as Faith and Undertakers ol’ lady attempted to get her on stage to dance on a pole. There was no way in hell she’d get up there. Everyone knew they had husbands, and ol’ men. But she hadn’t made up her mind yet about being labeled an ol’lady.
By the time the sun dipped low, the party was already half out of control.
It was the kind of gathering where someone’s truck stereo had been claimed as the DJ and nobody bothered arguing about the playlist. Country bled into classic rock, Lynyrd Skynyrd followed by Fifty-cent, the bass thumping just enough to rattle the windows of the clubhouse and shake loose a few old memories along with it.
String lights were hung back and forth across the rafters, along with being strung across the yard and porch, glowing warm and yellow as dusk settled in.
Folding tables sagged under aluminum trays of food—barbequed beef, fried chicken, mac and cheese, potato salad made from someone’s mama’s recipe and fiercely defended.
Red Solo cups were everywhere; some already marked with Sharpie names that were slowly being crossed out as the night went on.
The women were loud, unapologetic, and already halfway buzzed.
Denim and sundresses, leather vests slung over chair backs, boots kicked off in favor of bare feet in the grass.
Laughter cracked sharp and reckless, the kind that made heads turn and men wisely keep their distance.
Someone howled when a bottle popped open.
Someone else climbed onto a picnic table to finish a story that had gotten interrupted three times already.
Peaches, the birthday girl was in the thick of it, getting hugged hard enough to steal her breath, her drink constantly refilled whether she asked for it or not.
She wore the kind of smile that came from being surrounded by her people—women who’d bled together, cried together, and thrown punches when it mattered.
Every toast was half-sincere, half-profane, filled with “remember when” and “ain’t nobody else like her.”
At some point, the cake showed up—slightly crooked, candles shoved in at odd angles, frosting already smeared where someone had tested it with a finger.
The singing was loud, off-key, and aggressive, complete with clapping, whooping, and one woman yelling. “Take a shot!” before the last note even finished.
By the time the night deepened, the yard was a mess of empty cups, abandoned shoes, and women leaned together in lawn chairs, arms slung over shoulders.
The music kept playing, the laughter never fully died down, and the stars overhead watched it all—another party at the clubhouse night where love showed up loud, messy, and loyal as hell.
Constance hung closely by Faith and Grace while she waited for Frost to come out of his meeting.
*****
Frost sat in the metal folded chair, his natural casual position as always with his legs stretched out his arms crossed over his well-muscled chest. He listened as the minutes from the last meeting were read.
Adjusting in the chair he listened as the topic of Tiny and Booger came up.
Everyone agreed that there was more to just the two of the rustling cattle.
So, they were still digging into who was behind the whole thing.
Undertaker let the room know that all cattle had been returned to the rightful owners.
The one bull they were all glad they got back was Sweet Disaster.
The bull was a prize bucking bull and worth a small fortune.
When all the old business was finished and the meeting was about to be called, Undertaker asked if there was any new business. Frost raised his hand.
“Frost, you got something brother?” Undertaker asked him, curious what the nomad had to say.
Getting to his feet, Frost laid everything out. “I’d like the chapter to know I’m remaining in the area. But I don’t wanna change my status within the club.”
The way things sat, he only answered to the national president and the veep. He liked it that way. He had a great relationship with Cornelius and the other members in the national chapter in Tennessee.
It wasn’t really new business; it was more like him making them aware of what he decided.
“If anyone has a problem with this, speak up.” Undertaker put it out there where the chapter members could have a say. When no one had an issue with it, he called the meeting.
It was put in that Frost was remaining a nomad and would continue to answer to the national chapter, but he’d be residing in Broken Bow.
When he called the meeting, it was the scraping of chairs, boots thudding across the floor as the doors flew open letting in the chaos of the birthday party.
Maddog slapped him on the back, “let’s go find our women.”
“And a beer.” Undertaker said his voice was laced with humor at hearing and seeing the party in full swing.
They both grabbed Frost as they all made their way out of church welcoming him to the area. The trio was halfway to the bar when Frost spotted Constance standing by the pool table speaking with a patched member that he didn’t know very well.
Breaking from Undertaker and Maddog he made a beeline for his woman. Constance was trying to get the guy in front of her to understand she wasn’t interested in having a drink with him or doing anything with him, but he wasn’t taking the hints.
“Listen, I appreciate the offer but…”
“Come on sweetheart.”
She didn’t hear Frost walk up—just felt it, that shift in the room when he was locked onto her.
“You’re playin’ a dangerous game,” he said low, voice rough from whiskey and long nights.
She turned slowly, meeting his stare without backing down. “I’m not playing at anything.”
“I’m not talking to you, sugar.” Frost said as his eyes were laser focused on the guy refusing to walk away. “I’m talking to him.
The patched member raised his hands, apologized then stepped away—quickly.
Frost crossed to her in three steps and caught her chin, not gentle, not cruel—just firm enough to remind her who he was. The patch on his back came with rules, with shadows, with a reputation earned the hard way. His thumb brushed her lower lip, testing, claiming.
“You need to stay where I put you” he murmured. “What would you have done if he would have dragged you into a room?”
“I’m not helpless Frost,”
“Didn’t say you were,” he growled as he licked the side of her throat. ‘God, I love the way your skin tastes.”
Constance lost her train of thought, she’d fight with him later, right then she wanted him to strip her down and take her to bed. Fuck he could just find a dark corner if he kept licking and nibbling the tender skin on her throat. He crushed his mouth to hers, pulling a moan from her.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” he mumbled along her collar bone.
“Yes…” the moan was low, needy –desperate sounding. “I’ll be your ol’ lady.”
The kiss was all heat and teeth and barely restrained violence, the kind that left no doubt about intent. He crowded her back against the table, wood pressing into her hips, his body boxing her in. One hand slid into her hair, tugging just enough to pull a breath from her throat.
She felt owned in that moment—not trapped, not taken—but chosen. Chosen hard.
His mouth dropped to her neck, lips hot, breath deliberate, leaving marks he wouldn’t apologize for. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he growled against her skin, like it was an accusation and a promise all at once.
Her hands found his cut, fingers curling around the leather like it anchored her to him. To this life. To the danger. To the man who didn’t soften for anyone but her. When he finally pulled back, their foreheads touched, both breathing like they’d already crossed a line they weren’t supposed to.
“This stays between us,” he said.
She smiled—slow, knowing. “When has anything ever stayed secret in a clubhouse?”
Frost’s laugh was dark, satisfied. And when he kissed her again, it was with the kind of hunger that promised the night wasn’t anywhere near done.
“There’s rooms in the back!” Maddog shouted from the bar.
Constance laughed, “told you.”
Frost barely stopped kissing her before dragging her through the clubhouse then down a long hallway.
When Frost stopped in front of a closed door, he knocked once, then opened it, and peeked inside.
Seeing it was empty he pulled Constance inside.
Kicking the door shut he grabbed her, tossing her over his shoulder making her scream with laughter as he stalked towards the bed.
“Put me down, you fool.”