CHAPTER 6
SNAKE
I’m wiping my hands on one of the shop rags and can’t help but wonder what Graycie would think of the oil and grime on my hands. Would she think they’re too dirty to touch her delicate skin? Is it wrong that I want to dirty her up just to see how she would look with grease smeared on her?
Fucking hell. Just the thought of it, of mussing her up, makes my cock hard as fucking stone behind the fly of my jeans.
I don’t know what it is about her, but she has me all tied up in knots.
Before I found out she works at Bunz Out, I wouldn’t have been caught dead in that bakery. It’s too fucking girly and pink for me or any of my brothers to feel like they belonged in the space.
Some pink and frilly shit wasn’t going to stop me yesterday from seeing my Graycie. It had already been too many days and I was getting antsy.
I didn’t head out of my room at the clubhouse with the intention of anyone joining me. I should have known better.
The moment I stepped into the main room, Ryker sat up a little straighter and Playboy looked like he wanted any excuse to get away from Lola.
That shit backfired because Lola begged and pleaded to come with us.
She said she just wanted to get out of the clubhouse for a while, but my gut was telling me she had another reason for wanting to go.
Considering Playboy was all in on riding into town, I figured she just wanted to be close to him since she hasn’t given up on getting on his dick. And he doesn’t seem any more interested, which only makes her more determined.
It’s kind of hilarious.
Her entire face fell when Ryker told her, “You can drive the SUV into town. We might as well pick up some things while we’re there.”
Playboy smirked, knowing Lola was angling for a ride on the back of his bike. I could have told her it wasn’t going to happen.
Outside of extenuating circumstances, the only women any of us will ever have on the back of our bikes are our Old Ladies or family. It’s just the way it is, the way it has always been.
It’s a seat with a lot of respect and trust tied to it. You can’t put just anyone back there. Opal is the only woman I’ve had on the back of my bike, but I’m planning to change that very soon.
Having Graycie’s arms wrapped around me while the sun shines down on the asphalt and the wind whips around us is going to be a revelation. It’s like I can already feel the ghost of her hold around my middle.
When I walk into the reception area of the shop, Hank looks up at me and grins. This is no longer his business since the club bought it from him. But the only place he’s ever belonged is at his shop. He’s now front of the house after spending decades working under the hoods.
He’ll always have a place here as long as he wants it.
“The oil change is done. Any word on the rust bucket’s arrival?”
The scowl Hank gives me would scare someone who hasn’t known him their whole life. I have. He only scares me a little. Not enough to stop me from giving him shit.
“You shouldn’t speak ill of a classic,” he admonishes me.
“I’m not, just stating facts,” I throw back at him.
He huffs and shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me, but I can see the smile he’s trying to hide. It’s in his eyes. He knows I’m just giving him shit.
“If anyone can fix it up again, it’s Sidewinder,” he deadpans.
I scoff, knowing he’s just trying to wind me up. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it works.
“I’m sure it’ll be a masterpiece when all is said and done,” I admit. “I’m just waiting to watch the show as Sidewinder has to deal with the client.”
Hank lets out a low whistle. “It’ll be a show alright. He’s catering to daddy’s little girl and Sidewinder better deliver.”
“I need to check the breakroom and make sure we’re stocked on popcorn,” I joke.
Hank tilts his head back and laughs. It’s a big belly laugh and has always reminded me of Santa Clause. Or maybe that’s because Hank has been the town’s Santa my entire life. The parade? It’s Hank. Pictures at the firehouse? Hank really is the only option.
The door opens and I turn to see Lorraine Martin stroll in. She doesn’t even look Hank’s way, and I have to smother a grin. But then her eyes lock on me and light up in a way I’ve learned means she’s up to no good.
“Uh-oh, lad,” Hank pipes up, “she has that look about her.”
Nana, which is what I’ve called her as long as I can remember, gives Hank a withering look. “And what look would that be, brother of mine?” The words come out sweet as pie, but it doesn’t take a genius to hear the threat in her words.
I almost let a chuckle slip out. The two of them picking at each other is nothing new; it’s been going on their whole lives. Considering they’re both octogenarians, pretty much everyone has a story about the two of them griping at each other.
Hank never understood what his brother-in-law was thinking when he became a biker, but Lorrie was happy and was treated like a queen. Not just by her Old Man, but all the old timers.
He’s always been family and he always will be.
“The one that says you’re up to something, and it probably involves a man’s love life. A love life no one wants you getting involved in,” Hank teases his sister.
Nana rolls her eyes and flaps her hand in Hank’s direction. “You’ve never known a damn thing. Not once in your entire life,” she snarks at him.
“Are you here for your car, Nana?” I step in between the two of them because I know if I let them really get going then I could be here for a while.
I catch her glare and have to stop myself from taking a step back. She purses her lips and looks at Hank like she’s assessing whether it’s worth ignoring me in favor of arguing with him. When her shoulders slump, I know she’s going to ignore her brother.
“I do need my oil changed,” she tells me, but it’s begrudgingly.
“And you just happen to have the perfect girl for our boy here?” Hank belly laughs again.
Nana hisses, “It’s not Christmas, St. Nick.”
When Hank laughs again, Nana makes a slashing motion in the air and turns away from him completely. She steps closer to me and holds out her keys. I don’t hesitate to take them from her and grin down at her.
“I’ll get your oil change done quickly, Nana,” I promise her.
“I know you will, but I wanted to talk to you about something else.”
My eyebrows shoot up while Hank barks out, “See? This is what I’m talking about. She’s on the hunt for a love story because she’s bored. If someone would just give her grandchildren, maybe she wouldn’t meddle so much in everyone’s lives.”
Nana huffs out a breath but keeps her eyes on me. The man can’t stand to be ignored. I can already see that he’s on the verge of losing it.
“What do you want to talk about?” I’m not even curious, I’m just trying to buy some time to figure out how to get out of whatever scheme or match she’s concocted.
“I believe I’ve met the woman you’re meant to be with. Your Old Lady,” she says it like she’s practically holding a trophy in her hands.
Internally I cringe because there is only one woman meant to be on the back of my bike. And I don’t need Nana’s help finding her. I’m not sure I want her help with making her mine.
“Nana,” I start to say, unsure of how I’m going to finish the sentence considering I don’t necessarily want to advertise my intention of going after Graycie.
“You don’t even know who I’ve found,” she cuts in, not giving me a chance to figure out what to say. “What if she is perfect for you? I just have a feeling, you know? I knew Patsy was the one for Warden, but I didn’t say anything back then.”
Yeah, I’ve heard this before. Many times.
And, conveniently, who can really refute her? If she never said anything, how would anyone know if she really did know?
“I knew about my son and Vera, too,” she points out. Again. “If my grandson would listen to me, he’d be happy as a pig in mud too,” she grumbles under her breath, but I catch it.
I almost snort. Her son, Jackal. But she has never called him by his road name unless another chapter or club is in the building. When it’s just us? Never. The woman can wield a wooden spoon, if she needs to.
“I don’t need your matchmaking resume,” I tell her.
“Are you giving me lip, Turner Garner?”
My spine straightens and I shake my head slowly. “No, ma’am. I would never.”
“Good.” She gives a nod which makes her look way too pleased with herself. “Now, this girl is so sweet,” she starts to tell me. “She’s a good girl which is exactly what you need since you’ve been given things far too easily for far too long. Easy is just that, and it usually lacks substance.”
A groan rumbles out of my chest as I scrub my hand down my face. Nana makes a tsking sound, and I drop my head back on my shoulders.
“She needs you.”
Something in Lorrie’s voice has me looking back at her. There’s a plea in her eyes, like she needs me to believe in this as much as she does and not because of ego. But because whoever she’s thinking of needs me.
Sweet.
She’s sweet.
No way. it couldn’t be. Could it?
I blink at her a few times, and something must change on my face because her eyes widen. “What is that look about? Have you met your Old Lady?”
When I swallow hard, she lets out a squeal that no one at her age should be making. Hank must agree because he lets out a sound full of annoyance.
“She works at the bakery,” Lorrie tells me.
Even though I try, really fucking try, to keep my face neutral, one corner of my mouth twitches. This time she claps and does a little dance.
“My god, woman,” Hank grunts. “You need to remember that you have two fake hips.”
She snaps her head around and throws sass at her brother, “Doesn’t that mean I should be using them to dance?”
“At least warn me. I don’t want to see all of that.” Hank shivers.
“I swear,” Nana complains, “you get ornerier the older you get.”
“I won’t even comment on what has happened to you as you’ve gotten older,” he lobs back at her.
When she turns back to me fully, she reaches out and squeezes my arm. “You’ve met her?”