CHAPTER 10
DIMPLES
The evening is wearing down, and I’m tired of smiling.
The scene at church lingers over the clubhouse, but the rivers of alcohol flowing lessened or at least numbed the effect.
A few girls are dancing seductively with one another, and one of our newer patches is dry-humping her boyfriend.
The rooms upstairs are getting plenty of use tonight, including by Flash, who disappeared with Frost’s friend.
For appearances, Storm stuck around, but she stayed away from me.
Half an hour ago, she slipped upstairs with one of the hang-arounds.
Typical. When Storm needs stress relief, there’s always a willing party.
I wish she’d find someone solid and settle down.
She needs to share her bed with someone she can trust. I don’t share my bed with anyone. Trust costs too much.
Frost and her posse left shortly after Storm called it a night. All evening, Storm and Frost’s posturing was exhausting. At least it was for me, and I suspect Nails, who’s finally sitting at the end of the bar, nursing her first beer. We were edgy, waiting for a confrontation that never came.
I consider sliding into the seat next to Nails, but it’ll only lead to a conversation neither of us wants to have. The issue is far from over, but for tonight, it’s best I let it lie. Instead, I opt for my favorite stress reliever.
When I slip outside, the air is crisp, making the stars more vibrant. I want to gaze at them, but I shiver. I wish I’d grabbed my jacket, but I don’t want to go back inside, so I hurry across the yard to the garage.
Inside, I flip on the light and heater. As spring marches on, it’s slowly warming, but the evenings still get cold. Tonight, I’m chilled to the bone, so I crank the temperature higher, even though I know it won’t stop the trembling inside me.
I grab my supplies and pull a stool up beside my bike.
My hands tremble as I shake the bottle of chrome polish.
Fuck me. At least it didn’t happen in the clubhouse.
I’ve learned to hold it together until I’m alone.
Only Storm and Nails have ever seen me lose it.
My body hits a limit, and then it just goes.
I smile, thinking of Storm joking that I should have more nameless, faceless sex. Sometimes I wish I could.
The first time Storm saw one of my episodes, we were still prospects.
She found me shaking on the bathroom floor and thought I was having a seizure.
I couldn’t convince her otherwise until I made her Google, Can someone talk while having a seizure?
Then the soft side of Storm came out—one that most people never see.
She asked if it’d help if she held me. At first, I bristled, thinking it was weird, but I was hurting, so I said yes.
It worked. The shaking stopped, and something between us grew deeper after that.
I’ve only had one episode that bad, after Aces told us she had stage four cancer. But Storm and I held each other together then.
Now, unless I’m pushed too far, I can usually control it.
I’ve learned to catch the worms-crawling-under-my-skin feeling before my hands shake.
Rubbing my hands together helps, and letting my leg bounce usually calms me.
But polishing my bike is the best therapy, which is why it’s the shiniest in the club.
Everyone thinks it’s because I’m road captain. It’s not.
“Is someone in here?”
I recognize Jazmin’s silky voice and glance down at my hands. An hour later, my hands still tremble.
I consider not answering, but when Jazmin calls out again, I say, “I’m back here.”
She pulls up and stares when she sees me. “Uh, polishing your bike again?”
I nod and rub my hands together. Shit. My leg starts to jiggle.
Jazmin must notice, but she doesn’t say anything. “Who needs a mirror with chrome like that?”
I smile. “What do you think I use to put on my makeup? My tailpipe.”
She laughs. “Want some company?”
My first reaction is to send her away, but I hear myself say, “Pull up a chair.”
She gives me a big smile and retrieves a stool. I expect her to sit on the opposite side of the bike, but she drops the stool next to me and sits. Our shoulders aren’t touching, but if I lean over, I’d brush against her. I don’t lean.
“Things winding down in the clubhouse?” I ask, looking for something to say.
“Pretty much. The stragglers are still battling it out.”
“Left Right Center? Those girls can play all night.” I pick up a cloth and rub the fuel tank, hoping to still my trembling hands.
Jazmin turns on her stool. “Are you okay?”
Fuck me. I should tell her I’m fine. Instead, I push my stool back and turn so I’m facing her. I can’t tell her the truth, so I say, “How’s prospecting going?”
She bites her bottom lip and gives me a knowing nod. “Good. I really enjoy the club.”
“That’s good. Great.” Ugh. Could I sound any stiffer?
“Permission to speak freely?” she says.
The request takes me off guard, so I answer sure without thinking it through.
“The meeting tonight stressed you out.” She nods at my leg that’s still bobbing up and down and then puts her large hand over mine.
I stare at our hands resting on my thigh. Her dark hand makes my skin appear pale.
She’s a prospect, so I should pull away, but I don’t.
“You wouldn’t be wrong,” I say.
Jazmin flashes a smile. “In other words, I’m right.”
I laugh. “Okay. You got me.” Though warning bells sound in my head, the laughter feels good.
“I’m not sure I understand what’s going on.” She doesn’t take her hand off mine.
“What don’t you understand?”
“I get Frost broke protocol at the meeting, and I get the Nomad patch means the Thorns don’t claim territory. But after listening to the patches after church, I feel like I’m missing something. Why is Nomad such a big deal?”
“It’s not that Nomad is special, but it lets us wear a third patch without claiming territory. Some clubs only wear two patches, like the Graces. Only their club name and logo. But the Thorns wanted a third patch. It came down to Nomad, Free Rider, and No Masters, and we chose Nomad.”
Jazmin’s brow furrows. “But when I lived in Chicago, the Leather Ladies wore a Chicago, Illinois, patch. Why can’t the Thorns wear one like Frost made?”
“Because it’s a territory thing. The Leather Ladies must’ve had permission from the local one-percenters. Outlaw clubs claim territory, and if we wear a city or region patch without their blessing, bad things can happen.”
“Why don’t the Thorns just get permission?”
“Because we don’t want the attention. Most of the outlaw action is downstate, and we like flying under the radar. With the businesses we run, we don’t need to pick a fight with someone who’ll outgun us or decide they want a cut.”
“So the Thorns don’t want to draw unnecessary attention?”
“Exactly. This is our home base, but by saying we’re Nomads, we aren’t infringing on anyone’s territory—not challenging anyone.”
Jazmin’s eyes twinkle. “Getting by on a technicality?”
“You’ve got it.” I lean back and hold up my hands. “Nothing to see here, boys. Move along.”
“Smart. Why not just wear two patches like the Graces?”
“Do you know the club’s history?”
“Absolutely. It’s the first thing you guys drilled into my head when I started prospecting. And I know the bylaws and code of ethics word for word.”
“Are you saying that to impress me or because it’s true?”
“Both,” she says with a crooked grin.
My heart skips a beat. I’ve been solo for so long, I almost don’t recognize my feelings—attraction. Fuck me. She’s a prospect.
I ignore her grin and stick to teaching. “Then you know Aces was adamant about having a three-patch rocker. She always said, what’s a rocking chair with only one rocker? For her, it was about prestige.”
“Did she want the Thorns to be one-percenters?”
I study Jazmin. “Shrewd.”
“I read between the lines pretty good,” Jazmin says with a smirk. “Do the Thorns want to be an outlaw club?
“It’s complicated.” I wink.
Her eyes widen, and then she grins. Is she having the same reaction? When her hand tightens around mine, I suspect the answer. Warmth rushes through my body, taking away the chill.
“Why’s it complicated?” she says in a low voice.
We’re not still talking about the club, but I pretend we are. “There aren’t any female one-percent clubs. They don’t exist, or if they do, it’s not public. Aces knew men wouldn’t welcome us into their space, and we don’t have the numbers or strength to hold our territory.”
“So women are weak?” Jazmin’s eyes flash with irritation.
“No, smart.” I gaze into Jazmin’s eyes. “Aces wasn’t willing to put the girls in danger, and neither is Storm. For what gain? We’re doing fine. Nobody bothers us. The community respects us. We do good things.”
“So what’s Frost’s angle?” Jazmin frowns. “Sorry. I suppose I shouldn’t be asking.”
I study Jazmin. “What are the girls saying?”
“It’s a mixed bag.”
My jaw tightens. I’d hoped to hear they all thought Frost was crazy. “Do some like the idea?” I refrain from asking if they have a death wish.
“Yeah, but most thought it was a bad idea.”
My shoulders relax.
Worry lines appear on Jazmin’s forehead. “But the ones for it are sellin’ it hard.”
Fuck me.
I’m still aware of her hand resting on mine, but I’m not sure if she is. “I don’t know why she’s picking this fight. I’m guessing we’ll find out.”
Jazmin’s dark brown eyes bore into mine. She squeezes my hand. “Is that why your hands were shaking?”
With her comforting hand resting on mine, I’ve stopped shaking. I could feign ignorance and pretend I wasn’t trembling or even blame the cold, but when I gaze into her sincere eyes, I don’t want to lie.
“I suppose so.” I take a deep breath. “I trust Storm with my life—she’s my go-to person—but I can’t burden her with my shit. She’s got enough on her plate.”
Jazmin’s face registers surprise. “Thanks for being honest. I’ve seen your hands shaking before, but it’s worse tonight.”
Fuck me. I should end this. “It is. Until you came out, I couldn’t get it under control.”
She squeezes my hand. “It stopped. Are you feeling better?”
Loaded question. My body has stopped shaking on the outside, but my insides are vibrating. I hold my free hand out with the palm down. “Steady as a rock.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“We shouldn’t be talking like this. You’re a prospect.”
“Say less.” Jazmin stands. “I’m a lowly prospect. Got it.”
As she reaches down to pick up her stool, I grab her hand. “Sit.”
“Is that an order?”
“No, a request.”
She sits.
“I wasn’t trying to offend you,” I say.
“Then what was you tryin’ to do?”
“Get this under control.”
“Why’s it need controlled?” She flashes her crooked grin and then brushes her thumb over the back of my hand, making it hard for me to concentrate.
“I’m a full patch. You’re a prospect.”
“Yeah, so?” She stands and pulls me to my feet.
I’m losing control of the situation. Butterflies replace the worms crawling under my skin. It’s cliché but true.
I need to stop this. She steps toward me, and we’re only inches apart. With the back of her hand, she brushes a strand of hair from my cheek.
“You’re beautiful.” Her thumb traces down my cheek and stops where my dimple would be if I were smiling. “I haven’t been able to get you outta my mind since I first laid eyes on you.”
I should back away. Stop it from going any further.
“I wanna kiss you,” she says.
Without thinking, I glance at her lips.
She chuckles. “Checking out my lips?” Then she licks them, and her full lips glisten.
“We shouldn’t.” My voice comes out hoarse and uncertain.
She backs me up against my bike, and I fall onto the seat. I’m a couple of inches taller than her, but we’re now at eye level. She moves between my legs.
When her lips touch mine, electricity courses through my body. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to be kissed like this. Her strength is comforting. I’m jolted out of my poor decision, and I pull away.
Jazmin’s eyes are full of hunger, but she steps back instead of pressing forward.
“I can’t,” I say.
“Why?”
“You’ve memorized the bylaws.” But it’s more than rules.
“Article nine?”
I struggle to stand since sometime during our kiss, I ended up sideways on the seat. She takes my hand and helps me up.
The gesture touches me, but I can’t let it cloud my judgment. I move to the other side of my bike, putting distance between us.
“Article nine,” she says again. “Relationships and conduct between members and prospects.”
I nod. “That’s the one. Prospecting isn’t about making friends or chasing tail. It’s about the club.”
She grins. “Not quite worded that way.” She holds out her hand and studies her empty palm like she’s reading from a book.
“Number one. The prospecting period exists for one purpose—to prove loyalty, dependability, and worth to the club. Personal entanglements distract from that purpose and will not be tolerated.”
She still doesn’t look up. “Number two. The club comes before personal desires. Drama, division, or romantic relationships with a club member, their family, or close personal friends violates this principle. It will not be tolerated.”
She stops and meets my gaze.
“You forgot to mention the consequences,” I say.
“Expulsion from the club.”
“I’m not worth it.” I hug my arms to my chest.
She doesn’t know how true it is, but by the fire burning in her eyes, she doesn’t believe it.
“Why dontcha let me decide that?”
I shake my head. “No. Please leave.”
She studies me without speaking. Sadness replaces the desire in her eyes. “I don’t agree, but I’m gonna respect your wishes.”
“Thank you.” I don’t smile at her. Somehow it’d seem cruel, or maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll do if she pushes.
Her eyes meet mine before she hangs her head and leaves the garage.
As soon as the door closes, my hands begin to tremble.