Chapter One #3
brothers, it became about him and them and me.”
“There is no you,” Tyra told me.
That ticked me off.
“Of course there’s a me,” I snapped.
“Not when you belong to Chaos,” she volleyed.
I heard Mom take in a breath.
“I don’t belong to Chaos,” I returned.
“Honey,” she said softly, “even if the brothers, each and
every one of them, didn’t claim you because of what you did for the Club and
what you endured because they fell down in protecting you, which they do,
you’re Snap’s.”
Oh no.
Not on your life.
I started to say something but she lifted her hand and kept
going.
“I’m so sorry. This is a lot. So much is happening to you,
Rosalie, and I hate that for you. But you can lie to me. You can lie all you
want. Just never lie to yourself. You know where that stands better than I do.
A brother claims a woman, she’s owned by the Club, and when it’s Chaos, that’s
a good thing. Trust me.”
“I am currently, and for the foreseeable future, not
property of any member of the male species,” I declared, then, for good
measure, decided to add, “Especially not a biker.”
“I’ll leave that part up to Snap,” she muttered.
“Okay, Tyra, listen—” I started angrily.
“Rosalie,” she whispered. “Please, I’m begging you, let us
take care of you. We need to take care of you.”
At the sincerity in her tone and the look in her eyes that
shared she knew my pain in a lot of ways right then, I went still.
And when I went still, my mom’s pinkie released mine so she
could curl all her fingers around all of mine.
“I can understand that right now, you don’t want us, but for
us, you’re our family and you’re feeling pain and in a serious situation that
was caused by our issues,” Tyra explained. “Think about that. Think about how
you’d feel if the role was reversed, if you were me standing in front of a
woman who had what happened to you happen to her. How would you feel? What
would you need to do?”
“And how, precisely,” I began acidly, “did what happened to
me become about you?”
“Because we need to atone and you’re you and you’re the kind
of person with the kind of heart who’ll need to allow us to do it.”
Damn it!
I was.
I was that person.
That person Dad taught me to be.
That person Mom taught me to be.
Not to mention I hated it they were feeling this so deeply.
They didn’t beat the crap out of me and they couldn’t provide 24/7 protection,
I knew that from the beginning. I mean, I was living with Beck, for goodness
sakes.
I also hated being snarky.
So I clamped my mouth shut.
Mom giggled just a little.
I turned a glare toward her and saw instantly she wanted
Chaos to take care of me really, really badly.
Damn it!
Lanie took a step forward, digging in the slick clutch she’d
had tucked under her arm, a slick clutch that went with her slick outfit of
tailored trousers, fabulous feminine blouse, and magnificent heels that did not
say “Biker Old Lady” but instead said, “Givenchy Thinks This Chick Is The
Shit.”
She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me.
It was thick, almost like cardstock, and had a cool logo of
an advertising agency on the top with the name Elaine Kincaid, CEO
under it with something written below.
I’d missed that news.
She wasn’t just Hop’s old lady, they’d gotten hitched.
“That’s the address for your new place. It’s close to
Colombo’s and close to your mom. Actually, a lot closer than your old place,”
she said.
I stared down at the address and saw she told no lies. It
was probably a ten-minute ride from Mom’s place and the same from Colombo’s.
Last, it was the same from Ride, the auto supply store and
custom car and bike garage that Chaos owned where their Compound was also
located.
In other words, it was smack in what certain citizens of
Denver knew with zero doubts was Chaos territory, owned, controlled, and
patrolled by the brothers.
I’d lived in Aurora, a suburb southeast of Denver, with
Beck.
In terms of club turf, that address was like I was moving to
a different country.
Well, at least I could shave off forty minutes from my work
commute.
“My number is also on that, as is Tyra’s,” Lanie shared. “If
you like, we’d love to show you and Renae,” she gestured with a hand to Mom,
“your new space.” She gave me a grin. “It’s really cute.”
“And who do I pay rent to?” I asked pointedly.
Tack rejoined the conversation by growling, “That’s
covered.”
“Kane,” Tyra said under her breath.
Okay, this I couldn’t give in on. I paid my own way.
“Absolutely unacceptable,” I said on top of mine.
“For a few months,” Lanie cut in. “Just a few months. After
you settle in, get healed up, we’ll talk about rent.”
“How do I know it’ll be something I can afford?” I asked.
“It’ll be something you can afford,” Hop answered.
“Hop,” Lanie said sharply.
“We’ll hammer all that out when the time comes,” Tyra put
in.
“This is wonderful, thank you,” Mom said.
And that, as was Mom’s way, was that.
My voice was a lot like hers (in times not like this one,
but Mom’s never wavered), delicate and melodious. Soothing. Peaceful. I could
probably count on one hand how often she’d raised her voice that I remembered.
Even in heavy situations, when folks were upset or angry, if Mom waded in, her
calm, the tranquility of her voice, assured and settled pretty much any
situation.
And right then it said she appreciated what they were doing
for her daughter, but she and I were both done with this conversation.
I’d had years of Mom being able to pull that kind of thing
off.
I was still surprised to see it work on Tack Allen and
Hopper Kincaid.
“Appreciate you ladies givin’ us
time,” Tack murmured. “And good to see you’re healin’,
sweetheart,” he said to me.
“We’ll just head out,” Hop added, making a move with Tack.
“Call us when you go to your new place,” Lanie urged.
“Or…you have the keys, if you go, give us a bell and tell us what you think.”
“Right, thanks,” I replied.
“And if you need anything…” Tyra let that trail.
I just nodded to her and gave her a tight smile.
“Thank you for coming,” Mom said, making her own move to the
door.
I stayed where I stood.
“See you later,” Lanie said to me.
“Mm-hmm,” I hummed noncommittally.
“’Bye, Rosalie,” Tyra said.
I nodded to her again.
Tack and Hop gave me looks and jerked up their chins.
A week ago I would have found that hot.
Now I thought…
Men.
Mom murmured good-byes and thank yous
and see you laters and I stood watching her as she
ushered them out and closed the door on them.
Only when the door was closed did I walk through the room to
the front window.
I looked out, intent to watch them drive away.
But what I saw made me suck in breath.
Snap was out there.
Now talking in a close-huddle, heads-bent way with Tack and
Hop while Lanie and Tyra drifted toward the truck and SUV in our driveway,
Snap’s bike at the curb.
He was out there.
Shy was tall, dark and lanky.
Beck was tall, dark and stocky.
Snap was blond, shorter than both Shy and Beck, (taller than
me), with an athletic build that was both powerful and lean. He had thick
eyebrows darker than his hair and a blond beard that was dark under his jaws,
light everywhere else, clipped short and groomed, mostly, but long at the chin.
His hair came down to his shoulders and he almost always
wore it in a messy bun at the back, but if he kept it down, he slicked it back
with something so it stayed out of his face.
He had amazing cheekbones, a beautiful lower lip, and
gorgeous, strong white teeth that shone bright against skin that was always tan
due to his ride being a bike.
All that was fantastic.
But for me with Snap it was the eyes.
His eyes reminded me of a husky dog’s eyes. If you looked
closely enough (and until recently I hadn’t allowed myself to pay attention to
the fact that I did…a lot), they weren’t the light blue that they seemed to be
at a glance.
Most of the iris was almost like snow and the blue cast they
had came from a rim of sky at the edge of the iris
and the edge of the pupil, both that bled into the white.
I’d never seen eyes like Snapper’s.
You would think that snow would put you in a deep freeze but
he’d never, not once, not even for an instant, given me anything cold.
He was all warm for me.
It was a hair down day for Everett “Snapper” Kavanaugh,
slicked back, whatever he used making the light blond seem darker.
It was also an intent day, I could tell by the serious look
on his face while he was listening to Tack speak.
He wasn’t going to invade my space because I’d kicked him
out of my hospital room (God, that was so Snapper).
But he wasn’t waiting even for a phone call to learn how I
was. He was getting a briefing on me. Everything. From how I looked to how I
held myself to how I behaved to how I reacted to what they’d offered me (or,
more accurately, what I’d been forced to accept).
You’re gonna be in my life and
I’m gonna be in yours. Bank on it.
“Is that him?” Mom whispered from beside me, standing so
close our arms brushed.
She knew everything. Everything about everything. Around the
time I turned seventeen, she started the long process of morphing from just my
mom, to my mom and sometimes friend, to my friend and sometimes mom, to my best
friend who was also the precious being who had birthed me.
“That’s him,” I whispered back.
He nodded and I knew by the movements of his body he was
going to disconnect, so I quickly moved out of the window, doing it watching
and seeing his head turning my way.
Standing out of sight, thus losing sight of Snapper before
he caught sight of me, I watched my mother wave at him.
“Mom!” I hissed.
“He’s really cute,” she said.
He was. He was really cute in a hot-guy, badass biker kind
of way. Take off the leather cut, trim his hair, shave his beard, and he’d be
the boy next door.
The boy next door you were itching to get in your bed and
would sell your soul to earn the honor of having his ring on your finger.