Chapter 7 Callie #2
Max started barking immediately as more eyes were drawn to us, but I didn’t care. I grabbed his leash and helped him exit the car.
“Just stay close to me, okay?” I whispered to Laura.
The sound system from inside the house was blaring Hozier, and there was something weirdly soothing about the fact that it wasn’t the same classic rock I grew up with.
Maxwell had calmed as he walked next to me, his head reaching my waist. I kept my eyes forward, not bothering to give into the men whispering, laughing, and milling around me.
I heard a few whistles and a few cat calls, but my eyes stayed ahead.
Laura was right next to me as we pushed forward into the club house. Her gait was looser than mine, almost like she was comfortable here. Or like she wasn’t concerned in the least that danger surrounded her.
Through the wide-open doors was what looked like a high-end mechanic shop, with waxed floors and several motorcycles being worked on.
On the opposite side was a long bar filled with a dozen or so different people scattered around it.
Two women were dancing on top of the bar, pouring drinks into glasses like they were extras in Coyote Ugly.
There were couches, pool tables, a massive flat screen, but there were still a few original fixtures from when I had lived in this house. The fireplace under the mounted screen was one of those things. The brick was still exposed, but inside was screened off, as though the chimney had been removed.
“Is that a fucking horse?!” someone slurred, and Max barked as if he knew they were referring to him.
Another shout echoed through the loud space. “Yes, new sweetbutts! Who the fuck brought them, and how do I thank you?”
I heard a few members curse and then someone ran out the back door.
Wes was around here somewhere, and I didn’t want to see him before I saw Red.
“Why did he call us Sweetbutt?” Laura asked in a rushed whisper, stepping closer to me, “They aren’t going to do stuff to our butts, are they? I’m a kinky, girl, but only for the right guy and only if I’m lubed appropriately.”
Biting back a laugh, I whispered back, “Sweetbutt is just a term for girls who come by to fuck the guys. They’re just passing pussy, essentially.
” I hated summarizing the term so dully, especially after knowing so many kind women throughout my life that were just considered a Sweetbutt, never transitioning into a property patch or becoming an old lady to any of the members.
Still, I couldn't change what the term meant.
“So they think we’re here to fuck?” Laura gripped my arm.
I ignored her as I searched the faces, a few familiar…
a few finally processing who I might be.
I had my father’s eyes and my mother’s lips.
It was something the club members had commented on regularly, and I had no idea what their fascination was.
I also had a tattoo on the inside of my wrist of their patch.
I had gotten it done when I was eighteen in an attempt to grow closer to my father.
“Holy fuck, that’s Stone’s daughter!” boomed someone from behind the counter, and right as they did, three things happened at once.
The back door slammed open, the music cut, and I heard a familiar voice that had my head swiveling and relief swimming through me.
“Cheese, rice, and all the holy saints, is that you, Callie Ray Stone?”
Red made her way around the bar right as Wes stormed down the hall, coming in from the back.
He wore his leather cut over an oil-stained T-shirt and dark denim jeans that were tucked into untied motorcycle boots.
His dark hair was greasy, with pieces falling over his dark, furrowed brows.
His face was cut into angry strokes of determination and chiseled perfection, but I was determined, too, and he could go fuck himself.
I focused on the woman behind the bar who had sugar-white hair tied up into a high bun, and a face done up beautifully with exaggerated makeup.
Huge lashes; filled, arched eyebrows; contoured cheekbones, and of course, apple red lipstick, which didn’t hide her age at all but also didn’t dull her shine.
“Honey, how the hell have you been?” She swept me into a tight hug, which made Maxwell bark and nudge my waist with his head.
“That fucking horse can’t be in here,” Wes roared, storming up next to us, aggressively pointing at my dog.
I put my hand on my hip, noticing that Laura had her arms folded over her chest, her resting bitch face firmly focused on my ex.
I looped Max’s leash around my knuckles. “Well, we wouldn’t even be here if you didn’t blacklist us from every single hotel and establishment in the city.”
Wes smirked. “Then better go find a different city.”
“Wesley, you didn’t!” Red scolded, throwing a hand to her hip, her voice going stern.
The other club members began flitting in and out, trying to catch onto what was going on. The music restarted, but it was softer now.
Wes didn’t reply. His arms were linked over his chest, his legs spread apart, and his face unmoving.
I tried not to notice his eyes or the way the whiskey brown seemed so stark against his features.
He looked older. The tiny lines around his mouth, the few days’ worth of growth along his jaw that he never allowed to grow before.
The scar running through his lip, even the arch of his dark brows, felt like he’d lived an entire lifetime already. All without me.
“She’s trying to sell the club,” he finally explained as Red’s glare intensified.
“He hasn’t even given me a chance to figure out what I want to do. But this is my home, always has been,” I argued.
Wes threw his hand out, stepping closer.
“Look around, Princess. Does this look like anything you grew up with? This hasn’t been your home for a long fucking time.”
Hot rage reached for my heart, making me feel like a bullied teenager again, fighting against horrible insults and rumors that were never true.
I was always the outcast, the freak. The girl being raised by wolves.
Boys used to ask me to spread my thighs and show them what biker princess pussy looked like.
Others would ask if my knees hurt from sucking club cock.
The kids I grew up with were vicious, and Wes knew this.
He understood my past, and it felt like he was just throwing it all in my face.
Of course this modern, recently remodeled place didn’t resemble where I had grown up.
We had mold in the bathrooms, odd stains in the tub, broken mirrors, mice, and shag carpet.
This place looked like it belonged on Wesley’s television show.
Red’s expression turned glacier as she snapped, “Wesley Ryan! You better watch how you speak to this girl. She is the bones of this place, no matter how much money you throw at it. She is Simon’s blood, and you’d be dead where you’re standing if he ever heard you speaking like this to her.”
Wes looked like he’d been slapped across the face with the way his eyes lowered and the muscle in his jaw began to tick.
The members around us went quiet until suddenly there was a loud shout that went up from the back.
“If it isn’t our Little Fox, finally back home, with a pixie and a horse in tow.”
I watched as three men crossed the room.
All in their late sixties, with graying beards, scruff, pot bellies, and faded leather cuts.
These were the Stone Riders original members, who had ridden with my grandpa as young prospects.
They used to tell me stories about how cruel and hard my grandpa was, especially on my dad.
“Brooks, you’re still here?” I asked jokingly and opened my arms as one of my father's oldest friends swept me up into a hug.
“He’s still making me miserable, too.” Red joked, pulling Brooks in for a kiss.
They had been together long before I even knew what a property patch meant, or the term old lady. I just remembered the obsession Brooks had over Red, and the way she wore her vest that boasted of being his property. She was his, and it was nice to see that he had only ever been hers.
“Don’t forget me,” a shaky voice requested.
I turned and found a pair of soft brown eyes on a weathered face attached to a beard so long it nearly reached his navel.
“Hamish, I would never forget you,” I rasped, emotion clogging my throat.
Memories of him helping me read came back swift and harsh.
Me on the back porch, him tipping a glass bottle, the dim light of the porch light catching on the amber.
He was the only one sober enough to help me with my homework.
Each night, he’d hold off on hitting the next beer until I’d gotten through all my work. My father made fun of him for it.
“How are you, my girl?” His tight embrace had Maxwell growling.
I stepped back and patted my dog’s head to put him at ease.
“Nice hound you have there.” Hamish dipped his face and lowered to get a better look, then he laughed. “The fox and the hound. Where’s Killian? He’s going to shit his pants when he sees you.”
I looked up in time to see Wes whisper something to a guy standing next to him.
The man wasn’t listening to Wes. His eyes were on me, and as I caught his expression, a small smile crept along his face, and I felt mine do the same.
This time I moved first.
People parted, and Wes stood staring, as if I’d grown horns, but the man next to him took a long step forward and then scooped me up.
“How the fuck have you been, Little Fox?”
Tears finally broke through and were trailing happily down my face. I heard Wes mutter a curse next to us, but I didn’t care. He could fuck all the way off.
“I’ve been good.”
He set me down and continued to smile at me.
“You look good. You miss me?”
His eyes quickly flitted behind me to Laura, who was still standing with her arms crossed and her lips thin. She was watching our interaction with both wariness and fascination.
“I’m always missing you, Killian.”