32. Wings
Bones
T he clubhouse is alive, the kind of buzzing chaos that only Mama can command. She's barking orders like a general preparing for war, and every single brother is scrambling to keep up. I should be helping. I should be overseeing shit. But I'm standing here, waiting.
Waiting for her.
We've seen each other twice this past week. First, she asked me for a ride to work. Said she was just in the mood for one, like it wasn't a big deal. Like she didn't just fucking resurrect my entire soul with those words. I barely had time to blink before I was already in front of her house and she was adjusting herself on the back of my bike, her arms wrapping around me like she'd never left. And when I dropped her off at work, she said "I'll need another ride back, obviously." Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Then, coffee. With the demon woman tagging along, of course. I complied, because I'd do just about anything Temper asks of me these days, but there was no fucking way I was drinking that coffee. I don't trust anything that woman hands me.
And then Ria fucking came clean about all those bullshit texts. I didn't really want Temper to know, but I couldn't stop the demon from talking now, could I?
She stole my number from Tank's phone a few months back and had been sending me updates about Temper and Griffin's supposed ongoing 'fuck buddy situation' up until before the paintball match. Photos. Old photos. Details. Old details. The kind of shit I didn't want to know but couldn't stop myself from reading. My finger hovered over that block button more times than I care to admit, but I couldn't do it. Because I wanted to see. Because I was a glutton for punishment.
But it was all bullshit. They weren't together like that in a long fucking time. I tortured myself over nothing.
I see the car pulling through the gates, and my heart slams against my ribs. My nerves are shot, my patience threadbare. Even Mama and Pops have been avoiding me today, sensing the live wire I've become.
This moment is big. For both of us. Sure, she came here two weeks ago, but it was empty. Just Tank. But now? Now, it's the whole fucking club. In a social setting. Not some revenge scheme. If she walks through those doors, she's truly stepping into our world again.
I don't know if she'll stay. I don't know if it'll be too much. But the fact that she's here at all? Fuck, that's everything.
Then I hear it — her laugh.
I swear my fucking soul goes up in a puff of smoke.
She's getting out of the passenger seat, smiling, the sound of her laughter cutting through the cold air like a blade straight to my chest. I don't even try to fight the massive grin spreading over my face.
She's in a good mood. That's a good fucking sign.
I move before I can think, closing the distance between us, but she beats me to it. She turns, eyes already on mine, smiling.
"Hey, we brought some cupcakes and other desserts. Help us bring them inside," she says, voice light. Easy.
My heart fucking sings.
"In a moment, baby," I murmur, and then I pull her into my arms.
She huffs in surprise, but she doesn't hesitate. Her arms come around me.
"Missed me, big man?" she mumbles against my chest, teasing.
"Like fucking air," I breathe, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before forcing myself to step back.
"Hey, biker boy!"
Here we fucking go.
The demon woman waves from the other side of the car, her evil grin locked right on me. Maybe it's just a normal grin. But all her expressions seem evil to me now.
"Hello, demon," I answer evenly.
Temper chuckles, shaking her head.
"When are you going to pull the watchdogs back?" Ria demands, arms crossed, brows furrowed. "It's been months since that freak incident and no one showed. I think we can safely assume they won't."
"I'm not taking any chances, Ria. Those fuckers are nuttier than a fruitcake." My voice is steel. "It's either the watchdogs, as you call them, or upgraded security systems at your home and shop, plus a GPS personal alarm with me or another one of the brothers as an emergency contact. You've refused those, so the watchdogs remain."
She lets out a dramatic sigh, throwing her head back. "You're impossible, biker brute!" And then she stomps off, but freezes after a few steps. Spins back around, arms in the air.
"The cupcakes!"
I chuckle, looking down at Temper. She's watching Ria with an amused glint in her eyes before turning back to me.
"Thank you for watching out for her," she says softly. "She's stubborn and very particular about her security measures. She likes to control them completely. But I know having someone physically watching her is an extra layer of safety. That cult is really fucking disturbing. Who knows what would've happened if someone more...proactive had spotted her instead of that guy."
I give her shoulders a gentle squeeze, voice firm. A promise.
"I won't let her bully me out of keeping her safe, I promise."
She holds my gaze for just a beat too long, and I feel it spreading through my chest.
Hope.
This is going so much better than I expected.
Temper is relaxed, talking with the brothers and the old ladies, even laughing at some of their dumbass jokes. No shadows in her eyes. No stiffness in her shoulders. No fucking anger aimed at me. She's just... here. With me. In my world. And she's okay.
Well. Except for Joker.
She's been giving him the stink eye all fucking day. He didn't even try to approach her. Smart move. I know exactly what that's about — Layla. Women's solidarity and all that. And I get it. I'm just glad she's not aiming that death glare at me anymore.
Ghost is still locked up in his room, wasting away in his misery. Nothing interests him these days unless it's about Adora or club business that can't be handled without him. I know he's been on a killing spree lately. I need to talk to him about that. Make sure his head is still on straight. Make sure he's not going to get himself killed.
Right now, though, I'm focused on her.
I make my way back to Temper, a plate of chicken wings in my hand. She's talking to Mindfuck, and I catch their conversation the closer I get.
Ah, fuck. He's up to his games again.
"Yes, I know what you fucking mean. But we still make our own choices," she argues, crossing her arms, her face twisted in stubborn defiance.
Mindfuck sighs, like he's carrying the weight of the entire universe. "Your body is actually tricking you into thinking you have free will. Your brain makes decisions before you are even consciously aware of them. Which means that your choices might be predetermined. Whether you eat the cupcake or not, the decision was already made for you before you were even aware of it."
Jesus fucking Christ.
I chuckle, taking a seat beside her.
Temper lifts her chin, eyes glinting with mischief, and fires back without missing a beat. "I arranged your spanking." Like that's the ultimate argument to make Mindfuck shut up.
It's not. There is nothing that could ever make him shut up.
He freezes. Narrows his eyes. And then smirks.
"We don't talk about that," he mutters. "But, for the sake of argument, you should know that I was never truly spanked. We never actually touch anything. The electrons in our atoms repel the electrons in other atoms, so what we feel as 'touch' is actually the electromagnetic force keeping everything from merging. In conclusion, that paddle never touched my ass."
And then the motherfucker bolts.
Temper doesn't hesitate. Grabs a cupcake. Launches it.
"I'M THROWING THE CUPCAKE NOW, ASSHOLE! WAS THAT DECISION ALREADY MADE FOR ME?!" she yells after him.
"YES!" he calls back, laughing his ass off as he disappears into the crowd. "I'll see you later, Temperance! It was great talking to you again!"
She turns to me, eyes wide, utterly baffled.
"I forgot how fucking infuriating that guy is."
I just nod, laughing.
Before I can say anything, Tank materializes out of nowhere like some dessert-seeking missile. His focus is locked on the last few cupcakes on the table.
"Hey, T, can I have some of those?" he asks, pointing at the plate like a starving man. "There aren't any left anymore, just these ones."
Temper sighs, lifts an eyebrow, and eyes him like he's an absolute idiot. "Sure. Right after you tell me why the hell you've been calling me just one letter."
Tank crosses his arms, raises an eyebrow right back. "Because your full name is a mouthful, woman. Couldn't you have picked something shorter? You went from Ely — simple, three letters, easy flow — to fucking Temperance — the whole damn alphabet!" He throws his hands in the air, exasperated.
Temper laughs, shaking her head, and hands over the plate.
Temper
I'm halfway through a chicken wing, minding my own damn business, when I feel it.
Heat. Intense. Scorching.
Like a fire crawling up my spine, licking at my skin.
I turn my head slowly, thumb still in my mouth, sucking the sauce from it, and my eyes find him.
Bones.
Looking at me like a starving man. Like a wolf ready to pounce. To own.
What the hell! I expect him to turn full werewolf and lick his fucking chops any second now.
My eyes go wide, then immediately narrow in suspicion. "Get your dirty fucking mind out of the gutter," I hiss.
He doesn't even pretend to feel bad about it.
"I can't, baby." His voice is rough, like sandpaper and sin. "I don't control it anymore."
I burst out laughing, body shaking with it. The sheer absurdity of him.
"You're impossible, Bones. I swear!"
He just grins, completely unapologetic. "Don't pretend you don't like teasing me, baby. Or at least your brain does. It made the decision for you to suck on that thumb just to torture me, without you even knowing it. Isn't that what Mindfuck said?"
I'm wheezing. Dying.
I can't even breathe properly, I'm laughing so hard.
Damn.
I haven't laughed like this in years. Carefree. Wild. With no weight on my chest. No thoughts of revenge. No anger looming over me like a storm cloud.
And, of course, it had to be Bones to make it happen.
The bane of my fucking existence.
When the laughter finally ebbs, I have to wipe tears from the corner of my eyes, and when I look at him, he's just watching me.
That stupid smile on his face.
"I like hearing you laugh," he murmurs, entranced.
Something warm spreads through me, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. I shake my head, smiling.
"I remember when I couldn't even look at you without my brain projecting filthy things at me." I take another bite of my chicken wing, licking my lips slowly. "Right from the first night we met."
I don't miss the way his jaw flexes, the way his fingers tighten around his beer bottle.
"You were intoxicating," I add, voice dreamy now, like the memory is wrapping around me, pulling me in.
His smile doesn't waver, but his eyes go distant, like he's sifting through the past, pulling threads from an old memory.
"I was gone for you the moment I saw you," he admits, voice gravelly. "Exactly when you walked through the door of the clubhouse."
He leans back, eyes drifting somewhere past me, reliving it.
"You walked in, looking a little lost. You stood there for a few minutes, just... observing. Taking it all in. And then, just like that, you took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and made your way to the bar."
His lips twitch, like he's holding back a smirk.
"You weren't a typical biker chick. You tried to be. Fuck, you tried." He chuckles, shaking his head. "But I could see it. Your dress wasn't slutty or tight enough for that place. You weren't eyeing patches to hunt. You looked like a woman on a different kind of mission."
He finally looks back at me, searching my face.
"Of course, I found out later you were looking for a job. When I first looked at you, it was obvious you wanted to blend in, you wanted to see what was happening. But at the same time you held yourself differently." He grins, eyes dark. "Made me so fucking curious."
His voice drops lower. More intimate. "You fit in, but you also didn't. To me, it was like you were this ethereal being from another world, too damn curious for your own good. Dropping into our chaos just to see what would happen." He laughs, shaking his head. "You drink wine, for fuck's sake. We didn't even keep wine behind the bar until you came. Had to start stocking up just for you."
I remember that night so vividly. The way my skin tingled under his gaze, the way his kiss made my head spin.
I shake myself out of it. Blink away the past.
His laughter fades, replaced by something quieter. "I was so fucking grateful to that clueless prospect who let you in that night. Even if it cost him his chance at a patch. You spent years with an MC. How come you never picked up the full biker style?"
I tilt my head, considering it.
"I realize now that I was always kept at a distance," I murmur, my voice quiet between us. "I told you... my first bike ride was with you. Not even my best friend back then gave me one. They lured me into their world, but I think some part of me, at least after a while, became reluctant. Creeped out. Looking back, I was really fucking naive."
I shake my head, lips twisting. I should have trusted my instincts when all those little creepy moments started stacking up.
"But I was looking for family in all the wrong places." I shrug, accepting that it happened, but it doesn't own me anymore. "There's nothing I can do about it now."
Bones watches me, something soft and understanding in his gaze.
"You weren't naive, baby." His voice is low, certain. "You were vulnerable. And they preyed on you."
I'm about to agree when I hear it.
A sound so hauntingly beautiful that it freezes me mid-breath.
Violin. Crying. Raw.
My head snaps up. The sound is drifting from one of the rooms in the clubhouse, pouring out.
"What is that?" I whisper.
Bones sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Ghost."
I turn to him, brows furrowing.
"He hasn't played in over thirteen years. Now, since the new Adora shit, he's been playing almost daily." He shakes his head, his jaw tightening. "I think it was something she liked. And he's trying to somehow feel closer to her. I don't fucking know. He refuses to talk about it."
Pain twists in my chest, but I push it down. That's not my story to carry.
"Do you need to go to him?" I ask, searching his face.
"If I go right now, he'll smash the violin over my head." He smiles, but there's something heavy in his tone. "When he starts playing, he's lost to the world."
And then, his whole energy shifts.
He stands and stretches a big, rough hand toward me, grinning. "Come on, baby, let's not let his music go to waste." His voice dips low, teasing. "Dance with me."
I stare at him, lips parting.
"Do you even know how to dance to this kind of music?" I arch a brow, skeptical.
He winks, all confidence and cockiness. "I have no fucking idea."
My laughter bursts out, and I let him pull me to him.
I get lost so fast. In his eyes, in his smile, in the way he moves against me, like he's weaving himself into my skin all over again.
And then the last snowflakes of the season start falling, swirling around us in the quiet hum of winter's breath.
I tilt my head back, watching the flakes melt the moment they touch my skin, and a thought sinks its claws into me.
Did he ever actually leave from underneath my skin?