Chapter 8
Mad Dog
That little shit. Pops, not Rodney. Although actually, that little shit didn’t help the situation. He’s the reason why I’m currently astride a fucking hobby horse. I don’t even know what the hell dressage even is.
“So how does this work?” I growl to whoever will listen.
“It’s equestrian, you peasant,” Pops says galloping past me a lot damn quicker than a man of his age should.
“You ever seen those horse competitions where they walk sideways and stuff?” Cove asks, the skin around her lips a horrifying shade of green from whatever she’s been drinking.
“I think so?”
“Just do that.” She shrugs as if it’s that easy. “Besides, Rodney is judging, he’ll cut you some slack.”
Her little gang walks past, but Rodney hovers in front of me. “I’m not cutting anyone slack. You excel or you lose.” He gives me the stink eye and I wonder if I can maybe pay the Big Littles to stay away from that little asshole.
“I hate that kid,” Rider mutters, narrowed gaze on Rodney.
“What the hell did he do to you?”
His head jerks toward me before he mutters something unintelligible and stalks off toward the Ol Ladies.
“We can agree that was weird, right?” Pops says out of nowhere.
“I’m not fucking talking to you,” I growl.
“Hey! You wanted my services, which means you gotta listen when I tell you to do shit. How the hell do you think these other losers got their women?”
“Hey!” Marx growls.
“I’m talking statistically.” Pops waves him off.
“That doesn’t even make damn sense.”
“Lovely loves you, even with your shitty personality. Without my help she would never have looked past that flaw.”
“I loved him before you helped him pull his head out of his ass,” Lovely says, snuggling up to Marx’s side with a sweet smile.
“You’re a good girl, sweetheart,” I wink.
“Yeah, she fucking is,” Marx says before pressing a kiss to her lips.
I’m so glad my boys found their soul mates. Even if one of those soul mates bought into this goddamn hobby horse bullshit. Chewy smiles and waves goofily at me from her dick carved throne, Rhodie perched on Chomper’s dick carved stool, Chomper on one thigh, Laney on his other.
“That’ll be you one day. If you listen to my advice,” Pops says before shoulder barging past me and galloping away.
“Why the hell am I doing this shit?” I mutter under my breath.
“Because Pops is an evil genius,” Niko says, coming to stand beside me.
“That whole damn family is.”
“Aren’t you glad they’re on your side though?”
I grin at Niko, wrapping an arm around him. He’s a good kid, who put his life on the line to protect his family. He’s gonna make a fine MC brother one day.
“Hell yes, kid.”
We turn to stare at Pops doing some deep lunges to warm up while the Tombs brothers continue taking bets and Chewy rubs her giant belly.
“The first event for your viewing pleasure is dressage! Gentlemen if you could bring your horses to the front please,” Mira announces in a posh voice.
I stomp to the front, frowning at everyone, except Willa of course. I throw her a little wink and a smirk when she grins at me. She’s sitting with the Ol Ladies and some of my brothers are dotted around them. Good. That gives me one less thing to worry about.
I stand with my hobby horse clamped between my legs waiting for Rodney, who somehow is in charge. He’s leaning toward Rider who has his phone turned sideways, Rodney pointing at something and nodding. He murmurs to Rider who comes stomping over, and shoves his phone in my face.
“Jesus, Rider,” I grumble, grabbing his phone and pushing it further from my face so I can focus on the damn thing.
There, on the screen, is a rider on a horse who for some reason, is trotting sideways. One leg crosses over the other before it starts damned skipping to Beyonce.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whisper under my breath.
All this because I told Pops that I didn’t need his help anymore. I don’t. Willa and I are friends. And now I’m going to be filmed by my MC brothers with a stuffed horse head between my legs as I skip around the town center trying to beat a crazy old son of a bitch.
Rider’s hand lands on my shoulder, giving me a little shake. “Whup his ass, Mad Dog.”
I dip my chin and head to stand in front of Mira. Pops holds his fist out and I roll my eyes as we pump our fists, me throwing paper as he throws rock.
“Your choice,” Mira says, “first or second?”
“Second,” I say decisively. I need to know what moves he has.
Pops nods once then walks to where the kids have roped off a square for us to dressage in, or whatever you say.
“You got my song teed up?” Pops calls over his shoulder. Jovie gives him the thumbs up before AC/DC starts blaring out.
Pops throws his leg over his hobby horse, one foot off the ground, knee at 90 degrees, toes pointed before he minces off trotting around like he does this in his spare time.
“Wow,” Willa’s husky voice draws my attention as she brushes against my elbow. “I did not think this is what I would be doing today.” She looks up at me, green eyes sparkling.
“You’re telling me,” I grunt, unable to pull my eyes from her.
Would I rather be grilling her about what the actual fuck happened at her work this morning with that asshole Diesel? Hell yes. But, we’re in a good place at the moment and I’m not gonna fuck it up. Not when there are other ways for me to handle the problem.
“So, is this kinda thing, ah, common?” She waves at the old bastard skipping around with his hand in the air.
“I would love to say no, but hell, since Chewy landed at the clubhouse, well -” I wave at Pops and revel in the way she throws her head back, husky laughter ringing out.
“Yeah, well, I thought I was getting a sweet little neighbor, now somehow I’m part of…whatever the hell this is.”
“How does that make you feel?” I ask, searching her gaze.
“Better than I have in a while,” she whispers before giving me a small smile.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good,” I murmur, bumping her gently with my shoulder.
“Nine point four!” Rodney bellows and my attention snaps to Pops with his hands in the air in victory.
“Looks like you’re up,” Willa says with a smirk.
I suck my teeth, taking off my cut and passing it to Willa. “Hold this.”
I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck and shaking out my hands.
“Oh shit, Mad Dog took off his cut,” Rider crows.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, tightening my grip on my horse and stepping into the square.
Nine point four my ass.
Willa
I tighten my arms around Mad Dog’s cut, the leather in my hands familiar and yet foreign.
The last time I held a cut like this it was Diesel’s.
Soft, buttery. But the scent is different.
Diesel’s was sour. Smoky. Musty. Mad Dog’s smells like warm spice on an autumn day. Jesus, hell what is wrong with me?
“He is surprisingly good at this,” Blanche mutters, juggling her chubby little girl on her hip.
She’s not wrong. Mad Dog is fit for his age, illustrated by how graceful his leaps seem to be.
The fabric of his jeans bunching and tightening over his hard thighs, his large chest puffed out as he moves to Guns’n’Roses.
The whole sight is ridiculous and yet Mad Dog doesn’t stop.
Instead he leans into the ridiculousness, galloping close to the MC kids, Laney and little Bee clapping their hands while Nat and Savage’s little girl giggles with glee.
Gus and Ana’s little boy seems happier to eat dirt while that grumpy baby of Jules’ sits and frowns at the Big Littles holding up score cards.
“Shit, it’s close,” Tank murmurs, handing a wad of notes over to Blanche.
“Are you betting on this?”
Tank looks surprised and a little confused, “Ah, yes? We bet on everything around here.”
“Everything.” Mira nods.
I turn back to Mad Dog, he’s really getting into it now. “November Rain” must be damn near 11 minutes long and I know first hand the stamina that man has. Digging into my bra I pull a $50 note from my bra.
“Put that on Mad Dog.”
Tank snorts as Blanche plucks the cash from my fingertips. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
My gaze catches Mad Dod’s, his eyes on the exchange. He throws me a look and I mouth “Don’t fuck this up.” A slow grin grows on his face and he gives me a wink and a blinding smile, miming giddyup before taking off again.
“I think you may have just won this for us, girl,” Pops says, coming to a stop next to me.
“Us?” I turn toward him.
“Oh, I don’t always bet on myself.” Pops say before swaggering over to Debs, grabbing her ass and dropping a very wet looking kiss on her lips.
The last bars of Slash’s guitar vibrate through the loud speaker and hoots and hollers ring out as Mad Dog finishes his routine with a deep bow before handing his hobby horse over to Cove.
The grin on his face is infectious as he stalks toward me, and I don’t even recognise the laughter that flows from me.
He plucks his cut from my hands and the empty feeling shocks me a little until he slides his cut over his arms and bumps his shoulder with mine.
“So, what are you gonna do with your winnings?”
The way he manages to pull me from my spiralling thoughts to tease is much appreciated, so I raise my brow, full of bluster because that’s a good place to be. Safer.
“What makes you think your score will beat Pops’?”
“Oh, babe, I always win when it’s a bullshit competition.” He winks, making me snort. “And I grew up riding horses. But we didn’t do that with them.” I stare up at him.
“And the winner is…Mad Dog with nine point six.” Rodney announces, and I’m sure he looks disappointed.
“Yes!”
Before I can think my arms wrap around Mad Dog’s broad shoulders as I giggle with glee. His large hands splay across my back, his warmth seeping into me, grounding me in a way I haven’t felt in a damned long time.
“Congrats, sweetheart,” he says, pushing me back gently, holding me at arms length.
I grip his forearms, not wanting to let go, wanting to soak up his steadiness for a little longer, but I know that’s a terrible idea. So I step back, smooth my skirts and offer him my hand.
“Congratulations, Mad Dog. Can I interest you in lunch one day? I mean, it’s only fair. I won because of your skilled moves.” I smile up at him, his dark eyes crinkling down at me.
“Why not? I’m sick of lunching with these assholes.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder.
“Good, you can lunch with this asshole.” I point to myself and he throws his head back, his laughter scratching a spot in my brain.
His chuckles settle, his gaze searches mine. “Speaking of asshole, you gonna tell me what happened this morning?”
He knows? Shit. My nose crinkles, and I madly think about how much I want to tell him. Maybe I should hedge my bets. Or maybe -
“I already know, just wondered if you’d tell me.”
“How much do you know?”
He slips his hands into his front pockets, rocking in his boots, “That your asshole -” he coughs, “ex-husband showed up. And you burnt him with hot oil, I think? That part could be misinformation on Chewy’s end.”
“No, no, she’s right.”
His lips twitch and I feel every word when he murmurs “good girl” under his breath. “So,” he says, clearing his throat as we both watch Chewy slap Rhodie’s hands as he tries for the 100th time to help her up, “your ex, he a motorcycle enthusiast, or something more?”
I side eye Mad Dog. I know he saw Diesel’s cut, so I’m guessing he’s playing coy with his questions. “Something more,” I reply.
“Makes sense. You always seemed comfortable with the MC.”
That statement shocks me a little because after leaving Diesel I never wanted to see a motorcycle again. Yet here I am, with a whole ass MC, laughing and having fun with people who have somehow brought me into the fold.
“What MC is he with again?” Mad Dog asks casually and I can’t help but try to hide my smile. I know this shit is killing him.
“Sinister Wolves, although -” I frown, thinking back to the cut that he hung on the hook in my massage room, “his cut looked different.”
Mad Dog stiffens a little. “How do you mean?”
“When we were married he was a Sinister Wolf. This cut doesn’t have the wolf on it.”
He cocks his head at me, “Can you remember what it had on it?”
“Shit. I don’t know. My eyes were on him, not admiring his new cut.” I grumble. “Sorry, I’m being an ass.” I take a breath and blow it out, thinking about that piece of shit hanging his cut on the hook behind the door. “Something about a mile? Half Mile?”
“Quarter Mile?”
“Yeah, that could be it. Why?”
“Oh, no reason.” He gives me a crooked smile before resting his hand on my elbow, “Hey, you better go get your winnings before some cheeky asshole takes our lunch money.”
“Where are you going?” I ask, suspicion rising.
“Oh, just over here, gotta stretch out the old legs.” He plasters a smile on his face before striding off.
“Well that was weird.”
“You’re talking to yourself. That’s what crazy people do.”
I look down at the grubby faced ginger boy standing in front of me. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to talk to crazy ladies?”
“If I didn’t talk to crazy ladies I’d never talk to my mom.”
Shit. “Oh, sorry kid, I didn’t know.”
“Gotcha!” He blows a handful of glitter at me, covering my chest and clothing in the stuff before running away, stopping, flipping me the bird then running off again.
“Who the hell is that kid?”
“You have been Rodney-ed.” Vi says, coming to a stop beside me. “It could have been worse. He told me I had a moustache, a mono brow and then ruined my sex life with Jules for like a week.”
“Wait, what?”
“Exactly.”
“Rodney you little shit you better get back here!” Rider sprints past, his black boots thudding along the grass as the chubby ginger kid bobs and weaves out of his reach.
“Welcome to the club, Willa.”