CHAPTER 17
SHADOW
Today’s the day, and it hasn’t started out well.
I woke up to several texts from Margot. By the last one, she was furious that I hadn’t responded.
She dropped a not-so-veiled threat that this was another legal strike against me.
Her exact words were, What kind of mother doesn’t have her phone with her twenty-four/seven when her children don’t live with her?
There was a lot buried in that. It landed exactly where it hurts most, which is what Margot does best. Keep me off balance and hurting.
It’s always been her method. And I do keep my goddamn phone with me, but I don’t always hear text messages.
I’ve told her a thousand times to call because I’ll always hear it.
I don’t tell her it’s because her ringtone is cheesy carnival music.
Whenever she calls, it’s bound to be a circus.
Of course she hadn’t reached out about the kids.
Her mother had fallen last night, and Margot wanted advice on walkers.
Damn it. Who texts about that at midnight?
And just because I work in a nursing home doesn’t mean I’m an expert on walkers.
Besides, her mom is barely in her sixties and was likely drunk when she fell, so a walker seems like overkill.
To keep the peace, I did some quick research and sent her a few links. Of course she greeted my help with more scorn.
Now I’m riding through Saratoga Springs to our clubhouse. I’m five minutes out, and with my nerves already on edge, I can’t calm my racing heartbeat. All week, I unsuccessfully tried to block out my assignment to shadow Storm today.
It’s my favorite event of the year, especially since it’s near and dear to my heart. I understand the need for women to seek shelter. My mom and I stayed in one when I was five. I don’t remember much. Other than how well I slept since I didn’t have to keep one eye open.
I push the thoughts from my head. This isn’t helpful, and it’s telling that it feels safer to think about my childhood than Storm.
Despite the Iron Thorns’ reputation, nobody I asked had anything negative to say about Storm, other than her reputation with the ladies, so why can’t I shake this uneasy feeling?
When I pull into the lot, several Graces’ bikes are already there. With all the visiting clubs coming in for the ride, we’re expecting nearly two hundred bikes.
We’d set up last night, so there’s little to do, but Wiz will find something that suits me fine. Registration begins at ten thirty, with kickstands up at eleven, but early birds usually roll in by ten. That suits me fine, too. More to distract me, so long as the Iron Thorns don’t arrive early.
I’ve barely parked my bike before Sloth, our sergeant-at-arms, lumbers toward me. I don’t like the concerned expression on her face.
“We can’t get the coffee machine to work,” she says in greeting.
I want to laugh, but Sloth can be sensitive, so I match her serious expression and refrain from asking if she plugged it in. They don’t expect my sarcastic sense of humor, so I keep it to myself.
“Do you want me to go buy another one?” I point at my bike. “It’ll be hard to carry.” With my 1979 Harley Shovelhead, I can’t transport much like some of the girls with much newer models.
Sloth shakes her head. “No, we sent a prospect, but I doubt she’ll return in time to get a good brew. We thought you could fix it.”
I chuckle to myself. If I’m the most mechanically inclined, it’s pretty telling how different the Graces are from the Thorns. Hell, they operate a garage. My guess is they could disassemble the coffee machine and have it purring like a kitten in under ten minutes.
Sloth slaps her hand against her chest. “Everything is starting out all wrong. This event is gonna be a bust.”
“Why?” Worry courses through me. Have the Thorns already started trouble? “What happened?”
Her expression turns from upset to puzzled. “I just told you.”
Got it. Sloth is overreacting, and I just need to go along with it. “Yeah, right? Let me look at it.”
For the past hour, I’ve been busy, which is good.
I was right. The coffee machine was unplugged.
In the girls’ defense, the extension cord was plugged into the outlet, but the coffee machine wasn’t plugged into the extension cord.
Now Sloth is on a mission to determine who’s trying to sabotage our run.
I tried convincing her it was an accident, but she’s hell-bent, and I don’t have the energy to argue with her.
It’s quarter till eleven, and most of the bikers are here and registered, but the Thorns haven’t arrived. I’m sticking close to the registration table, so I can connect with Storm when she comes to the table. Even though I don’t want the job, I’ll do my best.
I gaze out over the steel and chrome in the lot, and my chest fills. My eyes threaten to fill, as well. It’s hard to keep my tears at bay when I glance at the heap of donations piled beside the registration table.
Bikers are generous, and they know a good cause. We always get plenty of cash donations, but most women don’t want to show up empty-handed. I doubt an outlawish club like the Thorns will have the same generosity.
With the festive mood, I don’t hear the low rumble at first. But like a storm gathering in the distance, the sound becomes louder. My pulse quickens as the growl grows. The prospect next to me raises an eyebrow in question, and many in the gathered crowd glance toward the driveway.
As the roar moves closer, the vibration rattles in my chest. While they should throttle down, the metallic sound of revving engines pulses off the brick walls. Finally, I hear the sharp crackles and pops as they let off their throttles.
It’s still too loud for conversation, but the prospect leans toward my ear. “I bet that’s the Thorns.”
No shit. I keep that thought to myself.
Of course they’ll make a grand entrance.
Their pipes snap like gunshots, and the thump of their engines rolls in between the buildings.
The first bike appears. Storm, I presume, on a Harley Bob with Dimples to her right.
Their straight pipes, which were probably gutted, rattle the registration table.
The ground trembles and rises up through my shoes.
The line of bikes keeps coming. Looks like more than the twenty Wiz said would be attending, but I fix my gaze on Storm instead of counting. Storm idles to a stop in the corner of the lot. One by one, the Thorns kill their engines. The silence that follows is jarring.
All eyes are on Storm as she dismounts and pulls off her helmet.
The rest of the Thorns follow suit. When she turns and digs in her saddlebag, I check out her back patch, which is so different from the Steel Graces’ pink and black patch.
Their three-piece rocker features a dark red rose with ominous thorns overlaid across a gear.
The image and colors are so much heavier than our patch.
I watch with curiosity as the Thorns extract various-sized packages from their side bags. Storm glances at the others, waiting for the last Thorn to finish before she leads the group toward the table.
She’s several feet ahead of the rest as they fall into line. Dimples fades back as another woman with a white-blond streak in her dark hair slides in behind Storm. I assume it’s Frost, their VP.
As Storm comes closer, the first thing I notice is her presence.
It would fill a room without her even trying.
From what I’ve heard of her, it was expected, but what catches me by surprise is that her energy doesn’t feel dangerous the way Margot’s does.
Strange that the president of an outlaw club seems less volatile than my attorney ex-wife.
Perhaps it’s the adorable blue teddy bear in her arms that softens her energy.
When Storm approaches the table, she says, “We come bearing gifts.”
I give her a smile and glance behind her at the line of women, all with their hands full. I nod to the pile beside the table. “Everyone has been generous today. Thank you so much.” And I mean it. I’m touched that these badass women came with so many gifts.
Storm looks over her shoulder. “You heard the lady. The donations belong over there.”
The women file out of line, and the heap becomes a mountain.
Storm grins at me, still holding the teddy bear. She hands it across the table. “I’d hate to see this little guy get crushed.”
I take the bear from her, and without thinking, I hug it to my chest. Isn’t that what teddy bears are for?
Her smile grows.
When I realize what I’ve done, my face heats, and I struggle for words. “Uh…huggable…I mean, it passes the hug test, so the kids will love it.” I hurry from behind the table and place the teddy bear on top as if I’m putting a star on the Christmas tree.
I feel Storm’s gaze on me, but I don’t look at her as I hurry back behind the table. Once standing with the barrier between us, I resume my official pose. “Would you like to register?”
She smirks. “That’s what usually happens at the registration table.”
“Uh…yeah.” I pick up the clipboard and scan the list of Iron Thorn names. Only twenty on the list, but there’s definitely more in line.
Before I can say anything, Storm says, “Jax?”
Shit. I’d assumed this was Storm. She sure looked like the picture Wiz had given me. I scan the list, but I don’t see the name Jax. I look up at her, confused. My gaze goes to her name patch, which reads Storm.
She points at the ground. “Your shoes. Are you a fan of Jax?”
What is she talking about?
“Sons of Anarchy, you know, the TV show. Jax always wore white sneakers.”
“Oh. No. I mean, yeah, I watched the show. I wouldn’t say I was a fan of Jax. It’s not why I wear them.” I smile. “Everyone wears boots, so I wanted to make a fashion statement.”
Storm lifts her leg so I can see her well-worn boots. “Maybe I should trade these in.”
I laugh. “I think those suit you.”
She gives me another of her crooked smiles. “Old and worn out?”
I laugh. “Worn in and rugged. Those boots have character.” Knowing it was my job to make a connection, I continue. “If boots could talk, I bet those could tell a story.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I guess it’s a good thing they can’t talk then.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I pick up a registration packet. “Do you want to register your group?”
Storm shakes her head. “Nope. I’ll let them register themselves, so you have all the information you need.
” She pulls an envelope from her back pocket.
“Here’s the registration fees for everyone, plus a little extra.
” She grins and motions behind her with her head.
“Um…I’m sure you probably noticed I brought a few extras.
Their fees are in here, too.” She thrusts the envelope toward me.
As I reach for it, I jump when Wiz’s loud voice comes from behind me. “Storm. I’m so glad you and your club could make it.” Wiz pushes between me and the prospect and sticks out her hand. The charge in the air is palpable.
Storm shakes it. “Hey, Wiz. We’re happy to help such a great cause.”
I’m not sure what possesses me to speak up. “The Thorns have been very generous.” I point to the pile. “They turned our hill into a mountain.”
“The Adirondack way?” Wiz says with an edge in her voice, making me regret saying anything.
“You know it,” Storm says. “This lovely Grace…” Storm pauses and looks at my chest. Wow. That’s blatant. “Shadow.” She points at my patch. “We’ve not been introduced yet.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I’m feeling guilty thinking the worst of her and for not introducing myself. I thrust out my hand. “I’m so sorry. Yes, I’m Shadow.”
She takes my hand with one hand and rubs her chin with the other. She scrunches up her face as if thinking. “Shadow, huh? Is it because you lurk in the dark?”
I smile and am about to offer a response when Wiz interrupts. “I think you’ve found your mission for the day, Storm,” Wiz says. “Anything you need, Shadow is your go-to.”
“Perfect,” Storm says. “I’ve got my own shadow today.”
I stand rigid, swallowing down my nervousness at her prophetic response. When I realize Storm and Wiz are staring, my first thought tumbles from my mouth. “Keep walking into the sun, and I’ll be behind you.”
Oh, god, shoot me now.