Chapter 4
four
JUDE
Greer’s eyes dart from the car back to me. Her shoulders slump in surrender before she shakes her head in disapproval. I may be a tool for blocking Greer in, but I’m not letting her slip away. Is it really such a crime that I want to steal a few seconds in heaven before a hectic night at work?
Folgers and I have been putting out dumpster fires at the casino all morning. We’ve only left long enough to pick up supplies at the hardware store. Thank fuck Folgers decided to run to the market next door for a deli sandwich. It allowed me to see her car and organize our little get together.
The rain’s slowly cascading onto the cement in a melodic rhythm, emptying the street and encasing me and my Baby Doll in our own little world. She's wearing some dressy outfit that looks all wrong on her, biting her plush pink lips the way I do in my dreams.
Job interview or church. It’s not Sunday, so I’m pretty sure it’s the former. The moment our eyes lock, I feel it…the unearthly shift in the air that appears when Greer is around. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, but it makes goosebumps rise on my skin.
“You’re blocking me in,” she points out, her gentle tone washing away any intended annoyance.
I feel the side of my lips twitch with amusement, “I know.”
“So, are you gonna let me out?”
“You take the apartment?” I ask.
“Did the president’s sister-in-law tell you I was looking at it?” she redirects.
“Her name is Delia, and I made her tell me where you went. Now, did you take the apartment?”
“You realize you’re asking a woman you barely know where she lives, right?” she says in a light but pointed tone.
Taking another step closer, I pronounce, “Believe me, we’re going to get much better acquainted.”
“I think you’ve garnered quite a bit about me already from the way you stalked my profile this morning.”
“You seem to be watching mine closely too,” I remark, not able to stop the smirk growing on my lips.
Playing coy, she defends, “I accidentally double tapped one picture. I was curious about your Lovers of Valdaro tattoo.”
“Uh-huh,” I reply, moving forward again. “Tell you what, why don’t I let you see it in real life.”
Greer’s eyes grow even larger, her jaw drops open, and I imagine feeding my dick to her while she’s on her knees. God help me, this woman is like a drug. Every second I spend in her company only makes me crave more of her.
Greer’s interested in me. I can see it in the dewy gentleness in her eyes, the small hitches in her breath…
the way she hasn't called the cops. We’re toe to toe now, so close I can make out the dilation of her pupils.
The slow draws of breath she’s pulling in while searching my upper body tell me she’s imagining finding the tattoo. With her tongue.
“You’re dodging my question. Did you take the place?” I demand.
“Yes, I did. But I’m only answering because I hope you’ll get what you want and find a different parking spot.” She gestures toward my ride with her thumb, a little annoyance in her voice now.
“When are you moving in?”
“I’m not sure. Signing a lease wasn’t on my agenda today.”
“Send me a message. I’ll be over with help.”
The first rumble of thunder reminds me that the weather may become more of a problem for us both very soon. There’s no lightning, just one of those summer storms that linger. That doesn’t mean much here, though. Sometimes the roadway floods within minutes.
There’s worry laced in my voice when I remark, “Your pump and CGM can’t mix well with water.”
Greer hasn’t brought up her diabetes yet, but her insulin pump and CGM haven't escaped my notice in the pictures on social media.
“It’s all waterproof,” she says, her head tilted to the side. “I’m surprised you know what it is…”
“I have an older sister with diabetes,” I explain. “How long ago were you diagnosed?”
She draws in the difficult breath the same way my sister does before discussing diagnosis, “Fourteen years ago. I was eight.”
“Only twenty-two, Baby Doll? Guess I’m robbing the cradle a little bit,” I tease.
She blinks at me, “How old are you?”
“Just made thirty,” I answer, not feeling guilty at all for the years between us. Maybe knowing my age will help her realize how serious I am about settling down. I don’t want there to be a doubt in her mind that this is a game or that I’m not in this for good.
For the first time in my life, I wonder if reincarnation is real. There's no way this is a woman I’ve only seen once before. Every time I look at her, there’s a tightness in my chest that consumes every breath of air I try to drag into my lungs.
I know deep in my bones this woman is it for me. I want Greer’s soul so tightly wrapped in mine you don’t know where one starts and the other ends. After three decades on this earth walking solo, I feel like a man drowning without Greer by my side.
We’re close enough that her ever hardening nipples are visible through the cotton of her dress shirt. I haven’t touched her yet. I want to more than anything, here and now.
I want to pull her into a quiet corner of the shop and keep her there until we go upstairs to her new apartment and properly christen it.
I want to drag her to me for a kiss until the touch of her lips is as familiar as the sound of my own voice.
Until I can recall every detail of her scent…
taste. Until she craves me as much as I do her.
The sound of tail pipes is like a cold bucket of water, telling me that our short time together is already up.
“I’m working tonight,” I say regretfully, hoping to explain why I’m not asking to spend time with her.
I loathe that I can’t bring her with me to the casino.
“I’ll follow you home to make sure you don’t flood the engine of Barbie’s Dream Car. ”
Her laugh is light and shy over my mocking of her Beetle. “I’ll be okay. You’re both going to get soaked riding. You’ll get sick.”
Folgers stops right ahead of my bike, letting his engine idle, his chest already jerking with laughter. I have no doubt my sponsor has sussed things out. You can see the sparks fly between us from the International Space Station. So much for keeping things to myself for now.
“Go start your car. I’ll follow behind you,” I tell Greer.
Folgers pulls at the throttle, telling me it is time to go.
“I’ll just message you when I get home,” she bargains, digging through a leather purse for keys.
With her first step towards the street, I circle my hand around her wrist. Dark blue eyes snap to mine.
Her pulse hammers under my thumb. I drop her arm and run the pad of my finger across the line of her bottom lip.
I dream of tasting them for the first time.
“I like taking care of what’s mine. Get used to it. ” Her entire body shivers.
“I’ve run into you twice for a few moments each time. We barely know each other.” Her breathy words lack any sincerity, merely lip service.
“Oh, Baby Doll, I may not have claimed you yet, but I promise, I will. One way or another, we’re following you.”
I let her go and straddle my bike, hating the rain in the sky, the road beneath our feet, and the woman at the deli counter for seeming to rush Folgers' order. Any other time, BethAnne takes a good twenty minutes to make a sandwich. The one time she’s not feeling talky is the one time I need it.
I’ve paid little attention to the women who surround the club.
The fact I’m giving Greer the time of day will open the door to an insane amount of smart ass comments.
Which is why it’s no surprise when Folgers doesn’t bother to hide his grin as I pull up next to him.
“Finally getting your dick wet? Maybe you’ll stop being such a mean motherfucker in the morning. ”
Ignoring his smart-assery, I answer, “I want to follow behind to make sure she’s okay.”
Folgers groans, but never one not to look after a lady, he agrees. “Couyon’s going to have to okay it before you bring her around.”
I nod in acknowledgment. Everyone gets approved by the Sergeant-At -Arms, no exceptions. “I want to keep it just us for a little bit.”
My woman is inside her car now, the wipers going, headlights on. I gesture for her to go ahead of us, following far enough behind that we can stop if she hydroplanes. She drives carefully, sticking her hand out the window to say goodbye once she’s at the entrance to a small country road.
The rain falls fast and hard as we U-turn in the median to head back to the casino. Even my ass is wet by the time we park our Harleys.
Folgers must have texted to let the others know we were delayed, because the bullshit starts the moment we walk inside.
From behind the membership desk, Three-Peat’s beer belly rumbles with laughter. “Hey, heard you had to walk your prom date to the door before curfew.”
“Yeah, your Mom’s real picky about your sister staying out late,” I shoot back.
We stop to grab towels from the back room, trying to dry ourselves off before going into the office.
It’s crowded with patch holders and prospects with only room to stand.
The club’s Road Captain, Mudbug, took over the daily operation of the casino recently.
He’s sitting at the desk covered in paperwork, explaining something to the brothers surrounding him.
It’s been a bit of a cluster fuck, but Mudbug is diving in with both feet. At least it keeps him sober longer. Come to think of it, it’s been a while since I’ve seen him passed out downstairs at the clubhouse.
After giving marching orders to several of the brothers, he swivels the chair around toward me, a smug grin on his face. “Heard you got waylaid by a ginger. Been there a time or two myself. Brave man for taking on a little firecracker.”
“I can handle her.” I don’t say Greer’s name. I don’t want her name on their lips. The thought alone makes me ball my fists at my side.
From a few feet away, T-Boy laughs without humor. “Not so sure about that.” He lets the words hang, cold, repulsive. “Why don’t I help you out? You ain’t opposed to sharing now, are you?”
All of the teasing before this was just good fun, ribbing, but the thought of sharing?
My heart hammers loudly in my ears, a surge of heat rises across my neck.
T-Boy’s smug smirk burns like acid in my eyes.
“Maybe I can take her mouth while you….” His voice turns distorted, like a vinyl playing at the wrong speed.
I try to shake off the flashing lights dancing before my eyes until T-Boy's smug expression disappears into darkness.
A thick Cajun accent breaks through the static first. I blink the last dancing spots from my eyes. “Step away from him now,” the Sergeant-At-Arms orders.
Something scrapes against my knuckles, clawing into the raw flesh.
T-Boy is against the wall in front of me, frantically pulling at my ever tightening hands around his neck.
The military taught me how to injure and how to take someone out.
I realize what I’m doing, but feel no inclination to stop.
A temporary solution to T-Boy’s disrespect isn’t something that interests me.
Odin’s voice is low and calm from behind me. “There are civilians inside the casino.”
I’m not sure when he walked in, nor did I notice as everybody slowly crowded around me and T-Boy. How long was I blacked out?
Couyon demands, “Enough. You’ve made your point.”
Not nearly satisfied, I pull my hands from around his neck, letting him fall onto the ground. My voice is icy cool, “You don’t look in my woman’s direction. You don’t say her name or breathe the same air she does. Are we clear?”
I stare at T-Boy, trying to appease whatever darkness has crawled across me. My stomach turns at the sight of his body crumpled at my feet. He nods, his eyes refusing to meet mine. Turning to leave, I brace, expecting him to jump me as soon as I give him my back.
Hurried feet scratch across the floor. Turning to look, I find Couyon blocking T-Boy’s path to me. It’s sad that I expected this of T-Boy. I’m supposed to eventually share a patch with this piece of shit? After trying to jump me when my back is turned, T-Boy will never make it through prospecting.
Couyon has a finger pointed at T-Boy’s chest. “This is over. I don’t see you anywhere near him for at least two days, you hear me?”
I don’t wait around to hear T-Boy’s response, still working to control my anger. I head straight to the back area we use as a makeshift locker room and busy myself preparing for tonight.
I’ve never once in my entire life lost my temper that way. I’m the person who jumps in to help a friend in a bar fight, not the one to throw the first punch. Not that I regret my actions one bit. Fucking piece of trash.
There’s a strange calmness inside of me now, any anger long gone and replaced by pure disgust.
Folgers stands in the doorway and waits to be acknowledged. “I’m not apologizing.”
“Didn’t ask you to. But I am going to remind you of the rules regarding women. They’re in place so that shit like this doesn’t happen. I want you to go over every damn word of chapter eight of the prospect handbook tonight.”
I am very aware of the club's bylaws. You have to sleep with a woman twice before you’re allowed to claim her. Until that happens, any of the brothers or prospects can, in theory, approach Greer.
I dare them to try.
Once I’m prepared for the fighters, I sit in the locker room and pull out the handbook I was given a year ago. It’s small but thick, held together with a plastic spiral. As professional as the book appears with the club’s logo on the front, the contents are far from it.
There is the Old Testament, as we like to call it, with bylaws on voting, member responsibilities, etiquette, and prospecting.
They sound well written by cool heads. The other addendums added after the inception of the club…
well, let’s just say things get colorful.
There are long paragraphs about who pays the tabs when out.
There are even rules about what type of beer we’re allowed to drink in our colors because consuming unapproved brands “makes you look like a pussy ass.”
In the chapter that covers regulations for living in the clubhouse, one line actually reads, “No house mouse or old lady may wash clubhouse laundry with shit that smells like flowers.”
Important things are flagged so I can reference them if need be, so I flip the heavy pages to the desired section. The rules about “family business” are extensive and cover everything from the appropriate treatment of a house mouse to the details of bringing in an old lady.
I’ve never paid attention to the precise verbiage before, not while looking at it from a single man’s perspective. Now, the wording feels more poignant than ever, each letter spelling out how and when I can claim Greer as mine.