Chapter 11 Callie #3
The sound of revving engines echoed as we came upon the back entrance to the club.
A large patch of grass with cornhole and yard darts stretched in front of us.
Off to the side, there was a nice, paved patio with cushioned furniture, and a fire pit that was contained to a circular stove, all neat and tidy.
My gaze kept bouncing from feature to feature, practically laughing as thoughts of some HGTV episode kept popping into my head.
How was this the same club that my grandfather had started?
Growing up, everything we had was broken, chipped, rusted, or busted.
Nothing was new, and the members of Stone Riders preferred it that way.
I couldn’t imagine they were happy with this manicured getup.
Up the stairs led to the club, and I noticed again, there was a partitioned privacy fence along half the back of the house, dividing it from the club and someone’s living space.
With hardly anyone out back, we went unnoticed as we slipped inside through the rear door. Creeping down the hallway, we rounded the back of the kitchen where Red was wiping out glasses, joking with one of the girls.
Several of the older members were scattered around a jumbled mess of tables all pushed together, playing cards, while the younger ones seemed busy around the garage area.
“This round there’s no cheating,” Hamish hollered around the cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Brooks and Raif laughed, staring at the cards in their hands while the overhead speakers played something older, drowning out the sounds from the garage across the building.
Laura came up to my side, giving me a curious look.
My eyebrows were arched too, confused as to how exactly we’d timed this so poorly. The place was practically empty. No sweetbutts were hanging around, no prospects were doing any projects or big overhauls. From what I could tell, it was just the old timers.
“Looks like you’re up.” Laura pushed at my waist, forcing me to move.
I skirted the bar top, sliding onto a stool as Laura busied herself around the club, likely snooping as much as she could before getting caught.
The men playing cards weren’t looking up, so they didn’t see me, but Red caught my eye from the kitchen. With a small gesture from her, I was off the stool and making my way toward the kitchen.
Once I was far enough back, I sidled up near Red and waited.
“You came back.” She looked up, palming an onion. The girl with her was about my age but seemed a bit skittish. With a quick glance up at me, she blushed and went back to sorting through a box of vegetables.
“I did…” I answered, letting my response drag out. I flicked my gaze back over the room to ensure Wes wasn’t around. “Red, you wouldn’t have a way to get into Wesley’s room, would you?”
Growing up here, the clubhouse was always my home, but it was the club first and foremost. The top floor had eight bedrooms and the bottom level had seven makeshift rooms, all for members.
Then there was the garage and attached spaces that housed even more, so I knew without a doubt that Wes had to have a room in the club somewhere, especially as the new president.
Red gave me a sly smile as she focused on the onions, sorting through a large box, tossing out the bad and bringing a few to her nose. After a few seconds, she let out a sigh.
“I was just telling Natty here how much things have changed over the years in this club.” Red glanced over her shoulder at the girl, presumably Natty. The girl with long hair the color of honey, smiled up at me and then ducked her head again.
Red continued talking. “Before, when your daddy ran things, the president would stay here in the clubhouse with everyone else. It was a family, a chaotic mess of limbs and smells I didn’t care for but had gotten used to after so many years.
You get used to seeing a pair of tits and a swinging dick or two.
Now, it’s not like that. The president lives privately from the club, in his own quarters.
There’s not even an entrance to his house from this side of the club…
you’d have to go outside and use the door or find a window.
He doesn’t have a room like our old prez, our new one needed half the goddamn club to call his home.
But he keeps us safe, and his fancy show paid for all these nice upgrades, so I can’t complain. ”
I was picking up on what she was saying. She was telling me how to get into Wesley’s house, without coming right out and saying it. I nodded along with her story, digging my hands into the box of onions and moving on to a smaller box of tomatoes.
“Do you think my dad would have approved of this new president?”
I wasn’t really sure why I was asking. Red had given me my answer, and I was free to go. It would be smart to try to snoop while Wesley was gone. Assuming he even was gone.
Red clicked her tongue, tilting her head to the side. “Your daddy loved that boy. He had wanted him to join after the first time he met him. But he knew Wes never would; he’d never risk losing you.”
My stomach flipped unexpectedly. I wasn’t prepared for that story to come up, and even worse, I didn’t want her to stop, so I stayed quiet.
“Your daddy often talked about how there was no love on this planet like the kind Wes had for Callie. The whole club joked and razed them for it, but behind closed doors, it was an awe-inspiring thing. Their love was the most solid thing we’d ever witnessed, and the way it kept flourishing year after year…
then everything changed when that Raider took you.
” Red’s gentle gaze landed on mine, and suddenly I was eighteen again, trying to breathe through another panic attack as memories of the kidnapping would slam back into me.
Red used to help me through them…after the event.
I decided that was enough story time for me.
I reached out and gently squeezed Red’s wrist while giving her a smile before slipping out of the kitchen.
I still had no idea where Laura was, but it was probably for the best. She wouldn’t know what to look for in Wesley’s house, but I did. I knew exactly where to search.
I just had to get in and out without being noticed.
It wasn’t until after I had snuck outside and crept around the privacy partition that I realized I never asked Red where Wesley was, or if he was home.
My shoes were stashed near the back of the house, on top of the gas meter. My tiny black ankle socks moved silently up the small set of stairs leading to the private patio. Once I was behind the lattice, I peered around and then tested the door. The handle held firm as I jiggled it.
“Shit.”
There had to be a key somewhere. When Wes and I lived together in the cabin, we’d always leave the key above eye level, simply because people always looked down when they were trying to find the spare key.
My hands moved along the surface of one of the beams, holding the awning in place, and sure enough there was a tiny scrap of electrical tape covering something shaped awfully similar to a key.
Tugging it up, I smiled at the silver key in my hand then jumped down from the patio chair and slid the lock open.
This part of the club was renovated into his personal apartment, from the looks of it.
I had assumed as much from the outside, but inside, there wasn’t even a hint that there was a chaotic motorcycle club on the other side of his wall.
Hardwood floors ran beneath my feet, but it was the laminate kind.
Still looked fresh with the light gray walls and dark, walnut-colored baseboards and trim.
“Why did he go this dark?” I mused out loud, taking in all the black-and-white photos on his walls, and the stainless-steel appliances in his kitchen.
There wasn’t a single dish in the sink or the drying rack.
The counters were clear, free of any clutter or personal items. It almost looked like he didn’t even live here.
Just to be sure, I tugged on the fridge door that had a touch screen on the front.
Fresh vegetables, beer, milk, eggs, condiments…
nothing spoiled or out of date. He definitely lived here.
I moved past the dining room area, where the small table and four chairs sat, and past the living room with a leather sofa facing a massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. There was another door, leading out to the backyard, but I moved to the staircase.
Pictures of restored bikes covered his walls, but there were a few of him and my dad, him and Killian, along with him and a few other guys.
None of any women so far, and for some reason I felt like I was holding my breath for the moment I came across something that would confirm that he’d moved on and had someone else in his life.
With seven years passing between us, I already knew he likely had other girlfriends, lovers, whatever they were to him…
but seeing evidence of it might be too much.
I certainly never framed photos of any other boyfriends.
I’d never even had another serious relationship after Wes.
I had a few one-night stands, and one time a guy stuck around long enough to fuck me three different times, but that was it.
They all left, and I wanted them to. My heart had never recovered after Wes, and I didn’t see the sense in trying to fix it just so I could risk it with someone else.
Once you love someone so thoroughly, there’s pieces of you they claim, and whether you work out or not, the tear in your soul can’t be mended.
If Wes had been bad to me, or mean and abusive, then I’d get over him and release those feelings, but he’d only ever loved me.
It was me who did the hurting when I told him to choose between me and the club.
Back then, it had gutted me, and I didn’t stick around long enough to challenge his words. But his lack of actions after I left told me enough of how much he’d meant them.