Chapter 12
Jasper
The moment we pull onto the main road, my world narrows down to the asphalt, the cool night air, and the weight of her body pressed up against mine.
This is the kind of experience that sticks with a man—the first time he puts his woman on the back of his bike.
I know that I shouldn’t think of her that way, but I almost can’t help myself.
Being this close to her only cements that right feeling of being with her in my gut.
My jaw almost dropped when she opened the door, and I saw what she was wearing.
In my world the women generally wear as little as possible—bootie shorts, tube tops, and platform shoes.
I’m a man, I won’t lie and say I never look.
But seeing Tessa dressed up all classy to meet my mom and dad touches something inside me.
And feeling her body press tight against mine as my bike hugs the corners does something else to me, to the extent I need to adjust my jeans.
As we ride, the air is cool enough to lift the sweat off our skin. The dying rays of the sun still light the edge of the skyline. My engine rumbles steady beneath us, sending vibrations up through our bodies.
Riding has always been freedom for me. Doesn’t matter what kind of hell the club’s dealing with, how many enemies are sniffing at our borders, or what I’ve got weighing down my chest. The second the tires hit the open road, tranquility overrides every other problem in my life.
I ride alone because it clears my head. It gives me peace.
Tonight, I’m not alone though. I get something different from riding with Tessa at my back. It’s hard to explain but having her with me—and our baby in her belly—feels like the closest thing to true happiness I’ve ever experienced.
Her arms tighten around my waist as I tilt the bike to crawl around a curve. I feel her weight lean into the turns with me. She’s not deadweight on the back of the bike. No, she’s part of the ride.
Most women I’ve had on the back of my bike are there for the thrill of being with a biker. They want a taste of danger, tall tales to tell their friends, and bragging rights.
But Tessa doesn’t give a damn about any of that.
She doesn’t see me as a status symbol or a prize to be claimed.
Hell, she didn’t even ask to be here. She’s here because the lab made a mistake, she’s carrying my baby, and because I asked nicely.
And now she’s on the back of my bike, dressed like she’s meeting the fuckin’ mayor instead of a biker matriarch.
She doesn’t know yet what she’s walking into.
My family doesn’t set out appetizers on crystal trays.
There’s no white picket fence waiting at the end of this ride.
She’s about to get a glimpse into how raw, loud, and unapologetic my life really is on a daily basis.
If she doesn’t like it, I’ll accept that.
But the one thing I’ll never do is change who I am to suit a woman.
I don’t know where this thing between us is going or if she’s feeling the same things I am, but I want to see where this leads. With her behind me, the road doesn’t feel as empty.
***
We pull off the main road and up to the front gate of the parking lot. One of the prospects opens the gate and waves us through. I stop on the other side.
“Thanks for dropping off that extra helmet today. I appreciate it.”
His eyes drift behind me to the woman wearing the helmet he brought. “You’re more than welcome. If you need any help fixing up that house, just let me know. I’d love the opportunity to prove my worth.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Rudy. You have a nice night now, okay?”
“Yes, sir. You too.”
I rev the engine and pull up to the front of the clubhouse.
A quick glance in my rearview mirror confirms that Rudy is closing the gate behind us.
Safety first is practically our club motto—or it would be if it sounded a little more badass.
I have a parking spot with my name on it, like all the other club officers, so I use it.
Our clubhouse is a tall two-story building with a basement that used to be a fire station.
Although it’s made of cinderblocks. We have a huge set of double glass doors so we can open them both to fit larger items inside.
There’s a gigantic hand-painted sign spanning both doors with the words Sons of Rage MC in bold block letters and our club logo beneath it.
We have a large concrete porch and steps leading up to it.
There are black chairs neatly arranged on the porch with urn-type ashtrays filled with sand, because this is where the brothers who smoke congregate.
Tessa is all eyes, and I don’t blame her. Our clubhouse is impressive if I say so myself. We’ve got a paved parking lot and landscaped grounds. Admittedly, a lot of that is my ma’s doing. If it had been down to my father, then it would probably look like a mechanic’s shop crossed with a dive bar.
I hold the front door open for her because I’m pretending to be a gentleman today. Fake it till you make it is my family’s mantra. I feel like that’s all I fuckin’ do some days.
When we walk through the door, a chorus of cheers erupts. Someone yells out, “Cheers for the brother who found the fuckin’ Hyenas’ hideout!”
I smile and wave. Although I’m about too tired for bravado tonight, I raise my voice slightly and let them know, “The fuckers weren’t doin’ a very good job of hidin’ out. They were strutting around like they owned this town.”
I get a lot of boos—not for me, but for the stupid fuckers who thought they could waltz in and take over our territory.
Tessa doesn’t flinch behind me, nor does she ask why we came here.
She waits patiently for me to finish talking.
Most importantly, she’s respectful. I give her a quick look as I wrap her arm through mine and begin making my way across the floor of the main room.
She flashes me a discreet smile. I love how calm, composed, and graceful she is right now.
That black sweater set still looks out of place here, but not in a way that makes her seem like she doesn’t belong with me.
The jukebox is blasting some old outlaw country song.
The kind of song that makes people hate the lawman and love the outlaw.
The clubhouse is packed tonight. Brothers are nursing beers and shouting over each other.
Two games of poker are going on in the far corner, and one of the nearby tables is covered in empty pitchers and ashtrays.
Pool balls crack occasionally over the low din of voices.
The club girls and hang-arounds are all mixing and mingling with the brothers, each trying to get noticed.
“Jasper!” one of my club brothers calls out. It’s Jinx, already half-drunk and grinning like he hasn’t seen me in months. “You’re late, asshole. Get your ass over here and rack ‘em.”
Another shout comes from the back. “Somebody better put money on him this time!”
I throw up a hand but don’t stop walking. “You shoot crooked even when you’re sober, Jinx. I’ll save you the humiliation.”
There’s laughter, and someone slaps a table hard enough to make the glasses jump. Tessa walks at my side, taking everything in.
Then someone does a wolf-whistle.
It’s quick and sharp, not subtle. Not exactly disrespectful, but enough to make my neck stiffen.
I stop and look over my shoulder at Jinx. “Try not to scare her off before she even gets a drink.”
There’s some raucous laughter, but Jinx mutters a drunken apology, and the energy shifts.
I glance over at Tessa, and she gives me a small nod. She’s not rattled. She knew I was a biker. This shouldn’t surprise her. But still, seeing her hold her own, even in a room like this, makes me like her even more.
We make it halfway across the bar before the sound of fists hitting flesh breaks through the noise.
Two of the prospects who helped me put on a new roof are swinging wild and fast near the back pool table.
Damnit, Tyler and Moose are usually best friends.
Someone yells as a chair goes flying through the air.
Tessa’s arm slips from mine as I stalk over without a second thought, and they barely register I’m coming until I’m between them. “Enough,” I bark, grabbing idiot number one by the collar and shoving him back. He stumbles but doesn’t swing again.
Idiot number two is breathing hard and red-faced. He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue.
I shut it down before he can. “You both just volunteered for gate duty. Starting now. Hope you like the night shift, dude.”
That sucks the fight right out of them. They look at each other, both knowing they screwed up. Tyler mutters under his breath, “We could have been drinking top shelf tonight, but you had to start a fight over a club girl.” They both walk off without another word.
My eyes lift to the one person still standing where they were fighting. Of course, it’s fuckin’ Silver, because it always is. I stare her down for a long minute before raising my voice, “You seem to get some kind of perverse thrill out of getting the prospects to fight over you.”
She opens her mouth to talk back, but I cut her off. “I want you out of this clubhouse until I have a chance to talk to Queenie.”
She has the unmitigated gall to smirk at me. “Gonna go running to your mommy to complain about me?”
The entire room falls silent because literally no one talks to me that way—not even fully patched brothers. They all want to see what consequence I give her.
I’m completely fed up with the one club girl who does nothing but cause trouble for our club. “No, come to think of it, I have a better idea. Remember what it was like when you first came to our clubhouse?”
That reminder causes her eyes to flash with anger. “I earned all my privileges. You can’t take them away.”
I tilt my head slightly, knowing all the way down to my soul that this is the best punishment I could devise for her.
“No alcohol and no hanging out with any of the club brothers. And you’re back to kitchen duties and cleaning.
If you don’t like it, then you can leave.
Just remember that once you walk out on us, you’re perma-banned. Your choice.”
She stands there, making distressed noises, but I don’t care.
Turning back to Tessa, I find her standing exactly where I left her.
She doesn’t look scared, just curious. Her eyes drop from mine and she glances around the room, like she’s doing some recon of her own.
My respect deepens for her, little by little.
I walk back over and hold out my arm, like they do in old black-and-white films. She slips her arm through mine. I tilt my head towards the hallway. “C’mon. We’re heading upstairs. My family all have suites on the second floor. They’re waiting for us. We’re probably holding dinner up.”
As we walk, she comments, “That was wild. Is she always like that? And what was that all about, making her a club servant?”
I like the way her heels make quiet taps on the wood floor as we continue walking across the bar.
“The club has history with Silver. She almost got my niece killed. Personally, I would have banished her, but my mom brought her here to try and straighten her out. That’s how we got most of the club girls.
They were strays, my mom thought she could fix ‘em all.”
When Tessa’s eyes get big, I clarify, “My mom believes in tough love—that discipline solves most problems—so you can probably imagine what that looks like.”
A wry smile curves up the corners of her mouth. “I’m looking forward to meeting your mom already.”