CHAPTER 8
STORM
It feels like everyone’s eyes are on me, but I pretend not to notice. Just like I pretend I don’t see Dimples trying to catch my eye. As much as I love her, I just can’t right now. I can’t handle the concern on her face, not while standing in a room full of people.
Usually the girls clear out fast, rushing to the bar for a drink, but not tonight. Though my insides are churning, I take the time to talk with the girls.
Frost stands across the room, huddling with Jinx and a few others. The fuck. I figured she’d hightail it outta here and retrieve her Philly friends from upstairs. I’ve had about enough of her, but I can’t show it. She’s like a gnat, digging at my skin, but backing off right before I squash her.
After chatting a bit, I stroll out of the meeting room like I ain’t got a care in the world, even though I’m fighting the urge to shove Frost’s head into the wall. I intentionally avoid Dimples’ gaze. As I walk down the hallway, I consider whistling, but that might be overdoing it.
There’s a line at the bar as I approach, but as I step up, they part like the Red Sea. Shit. My mamma would slap me silly for even thinking such a thought.
“Um, I can wait,” I say.
Before anyone can respond, the eager prospect thrusts a beer into my hands.
I raise the bottle in thanks and take a drink before I glance around the clubhouse, looking for my escape.
My gaze falls on the dartboards in the corner; staying active might be the best thing for me.
Two younger patches are in a heated game when I show up.
Immediately, they thrust the darts toward me.
I shake my head. “Nah, I’ll take on the winner.” Then I laugh, hoping to seem carefree. “Or maybe I should take on the loser.”
They laugh with me, but I can tell they’re nervous having me around since one misses the dartboard on her next throw.
As I’m watching, Diesel saunters over to the nearby pool table and lays a ten on the table, waiting for a taker. I bet she could retire on all the money she’s won from the girls over the years.
I shoot the shit with Diesel until it’s my turn to play darts. With my back to the rest of the clubhouse, it’s easier to focus since I can’t see the stares or hear the whispers.
It doesn’t take long for Chipmunk to rout her opponent. Not a monumental accomplishment since the girl kept bouncing darts off the board.
“Three-oh-one,” I say to Chipmunk and take the darts from the loser. I usually play 501, but as jumpy as my insides are, I don’t know if I have a longer game in me.
“Your choice, President,” Chipmunk says, setting up the game.
First throw, I hit a triple twenty—sixty points. Second, I hit a double twenty for forty more points, and finished by hitting fifteen, missing the bull’s-eye by a hair. Ain’t nobody can say Frost took away my steady hand.
“Nice shots, President,” Chipmunk says. “One eighty-six already. This won’t take long.”
She’s right; after a few rounds, I only need ten points to win, and she’s down to eighty-seven.
I toe the line, hold the dart between my fingers, and take aim at the dartboard. As soon as it leaves my fingers, I turn toward Chipmunk and narrow my eyes. “Double five.”
I hear the dart hit the board, and Chipmunk groans. “Jesus, you weren’t even looking.”
“Ya don’t have to look when you’ve got the touch.” I give her a cocky grin, letting her know the Thorns’ president isn’t easy to rattle.
She smiles. “Best two out of three?”
Before I can respond, a loud ruckus breaks out behind me.
The fuck. Am I gonna have to break up a fight?
When I turn, I discover it isn’t a fight. Of course it’s Flash. It’s easy to tell how she got her club name. She’s dancing topless on a nearby table while the others cheer her on. Her tits are bouncing to the music.
I turn back to Chipmunk. “I better take care of this. Rain check?”
“Rain check,” Chipmunk says with a smile. “Thanks for shooting with me, President.”
I approach the table, and when Flash sees me, she stops dancing.
She motions to another patch sister, who hands over her cut.
Good. She’s taken proper care of her colors.
In an MC, only a full patch member handles a woman’s cut—not her girlfriend, not her boyfriend, and sure as hell not a prospect.
And it never touches the ground. If Flash had forgotten that during her striptease, I would’ve had to punish her.
Flash slips her cut on and zips it. Her boobs press against the leather, giving her some mighty fine cleavage. Several of the girls let out catcalls.
I shoot Flash a stern look, but I don’t come down hard. “Church just let out, save it for later.”
The girls let out a collective cheer, and Flash smirks. “Do you want a private viewing then?”
I shake my head. Not that I’ve never let Flash help me unwind, plenty of us have, but things are different now.
As president, I shouldn’t be dipping my fingers into that honeypot.
I’ll find some tension relief later. With church over, the doors are open, and there’ll be plenty of hang-arounds to choose from.
When I pivot, I bump into Dimples, who’s standing way too close.
The fuck. By her expression, we’re gonna talk whether I like it or not.
Before I can argue with her, I hear a deep voice say, “Hey, darling, you can come sit with me.”
I turn to see Frost’s large friend, holding out her hand to Flash. My chest tightens when Flash licks her lips and takes it.
“Don’t worry, baby,” the woman says as they walk away. “I know a fine woman when I see one.”
Flash giggles and leans into her. The woman’s hand slides down and settles on her ass.
The fuck.
“Come on.” Dimples drags me across the clubhouse and out into the night.
“That fucking Tank is hitting on our girls now,” I sputter. “That’s not right.”
Dimples grasps my arm and pulls me toward the garage. “You might hate it, but you don’t have any say over who the girls sleep with.”
I expect Dimples to duck into the garage; instead, she stops beside it, moonlight catching in her eyes. The worry is exactly why I was avoiding her. I shove my hands into my pockets and stare up at her.
“Well, that was a shit show.” Dimples doesn’t waste any time getting to the point.
I know what she means, but I say, “Yeah, I wish Flash would keep her clothes on.”
Dimple puts her hands on her hips and stares at me.
“Fine. What do you want from me?”
“How are you feeling?”
I spread my arms and look up at the stars. “Like I’m on top of the fucking world.”
“Cut the shit, Storm. What are we gonna do about Frost?”
I lean against the garage. “There ain’t much to do. I can’t kick the VP out for being an annoying bitch.”
Dimples’ eyes blaze. “She’s a cunt.”
“Whoa!” I throw up my hands. “Frost’s pissed. I thought she’d be over it by now, but she ain’t.”
“I’m telling you, she’s trouble.”
“Like I don’t know.” The words come out sharper than I mean them to. “But we’ve got rules, and she’s got followers. I can’t just toss her out.”
Dimples rubs her hands together hard. “But fentanyl…a territory patch…that ain’t right.”
“It ain’t.” I laugh without humor. “Wouldn’t it be great if the club blows up my first year as president? Aces would be real proud.”
Dimples’ expression softens, and she puts her hand on my shoulder. I want to shrug it off. Sympathy makes me feel weak. But I know the touch is as much for her as it is for me, so I let her hand stay.
“Ya gotta stop worrying about me so much. I’m fine.”
We both know it’s a lie.
I point toward the clubhouse. “You need to track down Wiz or a Steel Grace for the route. Before I ride down to Saratoga Springs and pound on their fucking door. Wiz wouldn’t have disrespected Aces like this.”
Before she can respond, I stalk back into the clubhouse.