Chapter 12
twelve
JUDE
White Dog Garage shares its back fence line with adjoining prospect houses, forming a second, smaller compound.
Except, of course, this one is in town, and patched members don’t hang out much.
I live in the quieter of the houses. It’s something I appreciate when trying to sleep in—a nicety I wasn’t given this morning.
After yet another fight outside the ring, everyone was banging on my bedroom door at the crack of dawn, asking to be fixed up.
The fights are getting worse. I don’t even want to think about what it’s going to be like on the weekends.
Bringing a bowl of ice to the coffee table, I submerge Three-Peat’s hand up to the wrist, ignoring the string of profanities directed my way. “Next time, maybe don’t punch a metal beam,” I lecture.
“I was aiming for the guy's ugly mug. He ducked.”
“My shoulder still isn’t right,” one of the Labadie brothers interrupts, working the joint with a grimace on his face.
“Doc’s calling something in for it,” I answer, already turning to escape the crowded rec room.
The kitchen is much more peaceful. Two of my fellow prospects are at the table with a mug of coffee. Archer has a gel pack on his jaw, but Goldilocks doesn’t have a hair out of place. You wouldn’t guess there’s a flesh wound on his shoulder from some asshole with a pocket knife.
“You comin’ to get something to eat with us?” Goldilocks asks.
“Nah, I got shit to take care of, man, maybe next time.” Eating out with Goldilocks is a lesson in patience.
He is the world’s pickiest eater. His coffee’s too hot, his eggs not salty enough.
Some people think he got his road name because he goes from bed to bed, but really, he’s just pissed off every waitress this side of the Mississippi River.
As soon as the kitchen door shuts behind me, I reach for my phone and message Greer.
Jude
You up yet, Baby Doll?
Greer
I’ve been awake since seven. I’m moving today.
Jude
What?
Greer
I know. I had to work around my family’s schedule.
Jude
Where are you now?
Greer
In my apartment.
Jude
I’ll be there in twenty.
Right as I’m reaching the side door that leads into the barrack rooms, the back door slams. Craning my neck to look around the edge of the house, I spot T-Boy storming off with a large duffel over his shoulder, less than an hour after coming back.
I drift to the backyard just as he crosses into White Dog’s parking lot, slams the gate closed, then tears off on his bike without the mandatory cut on his back.
I’m far from surprised.
Gravel crunches under Folgers feet as he approaches, completely out of character for him.
The man lives in stealth mode. Draped over his arm is a prospect cut, the patches still almost vivid white.
T-Boy’s character became evident when he tried to jump a fellow prospect from behind.
Arguments are expected, but fighting dirty is another.
Instead of heading to his own ride, Folgers turns to me, his voice amused. “You did too good a job last night. They’re talking about having you work all future events.”
“Helping out the club is never too good. Is Sully taking over from here?” I ask.
I’m desperate for more time with Greer. If I have to be at every bout, it’s going to spread my time even thinner.
The fights are more frequent this time of year, but they occur year round.
My feet start to feel antsy. Half wanting to get to Greer, but half wanting answers from my sponsor.
“We’re sending you on the run up to Missouri with Couyon. Pack your bags. You leave tonight.” Able to read anyone like a book, Folgers adds with a laugh, “What, thought you’d get to hang out with your woman?”
“A man can hope,” I admit.
Folgers adjusts his stance. “Been talking to Prez. When you get back from the run, you’re wherever I am for the day.”
The right hand of the VP. An honor. “I’m happy to help the club any way I can.”
“It’s going to be needed with Prez finally delegating more…”
He ends with a light chuckle and a headshake we can all understand.
Our Prez, Odin, has a baby that’s not walking yet and another on the way.
On top of his growing family, he’s trying to manage all our businesses (legitimate and otherwise), including a new warehouse and parts store.
If he’s appointing others to tasks, it’s past time.
“Thank you for the opportunity,” I say with a head nod.
I’m Folgers second prospect, but the first to make it the year required for a vote.
I’ve been by his side more and more over the last twelve months and hoped this would be offered to me.
It says a lot about what Folgers and Odin think my future with the club might look like.
When I got out of the military, I was eager to find a job that didn’t involve my family’s business. I started working for White Dog, doing whatever they needed me to do in the garage. I now work for a business my found family owns.
The irony isn’t lost on me.
The drive to Greer’s apartment is a half a block and one street over.
Instead of the expected moving truck in the alley, a shiny black Audi is slid in next to Greer’s car.
On her stoop, a man is standing with a paper takeout bag in one hand, his palm resting on the door.
“You need to eat…” he insists, trying to step inside.
Greer blocks him, “I’m not up for company.”
His attention is so focused on my woman that he hasn’t heard my approach. Greer’s eyes turn to me for the quickest of seconds, then stay focused on the dickwad with a death wish.
“Let me take you out to dinner next weekend then…” he says, a hint of demand behind it.
“She already has plans. With me,” I declare, marching to the door.
The smile I aim at the asshole trying to move in on my woman is slow, dangerous. He stares at me with his mouth open before turning to Greer and screeching, “You have a boyfriend?”
“You can say I’m her man, yeah. Mind telling me who you are?”
“The man who just carried her heavy as fuck couch up the stairs while you were nowhere around,” he dares.
“Funny, I’m the man who knows what her pussy tastes like. We’re not the same. Now, you can carry yourself out of here in that prissy ass Audi of yours and forget this address. You don’t show up here again.”
Cold fury washes over me. At him for daring to enter her home before I have, at Greer for letting him do what I should be doing. He swallows nervously before turning and walking to his nearby car. He stops to glare in my direction before pulling out.
The relief on Greer’s face morphs into annoyance at me,
“Did you seriously say that to him?”
“We’ll talk upstairs,” I say in an icy tone. We may be in a side alley, but Main Street is only a few yards away. Fuck overhearing us…in Parran, our business will be all over town in a matter of hours if someone as much as reads our body language.
Her hair is wet from the shower, her skin pink.
She’s wearing cut off shorts, barefoot, her nipples alert beneath the padding of her bra.
He saw her like this, fresh faced and rumpled, looking aroused.
It only adds fuel to my anger. Nobody should know this side of her but me. “You answered the door like this?!”
“I thought it was you!”
“You didn’t check the peephole?”
“I did, but he had to-go bags covering his face. At a glance, it’s an easy mistake.”
I grab her hand and let myself in, up the stairs to the landing, getting more and more angry as I get into my own head. Her hand is my only comfort, grounding me with its delicate touch.
I’m relieved to see another door blocking entry into the apartment.
When I turn the knob, it lets me into a large room.
I’d expected to walk into disorder, but there’s a kitchen towel hanging from the oven, and a pile of cardboard boxes neatly folded by the door.
It smells like… home, and, shockingly, the vibe feels the same.
My temper stews again. I shouldn’t be surprised.
The average military dependent can pack a home in zero time flat and unpack it even quicker.
I wanted to be the one to take the burden of yet another move from her, to lift the heavy couch up the stupidly steep stairs while Greer supervised.
She’s even used a tension rod to hang a comforter from the window as a makeshift curtain. Another job that should have been mine. “Who is he?” I demand.
“That was Allie’s boyfriend’s brother, Andrew.”
Thunderstruck, I ask, “Your cousin’s boyfriend’s brother got a call asking for help moving, but I didn’t?”
“My uncle asked P.J. to help me move, but Andrew just showed up. ”
“So that’s two…”
“Two what?” she asks, confused.
“Two men who knew you were moving today, but not me.” Including Andrew…The word rolls around in my brain as toxic as hemlock. Who the hell is that guy? He was wearing loafers for fuck sake.
“I didn’t want Andrew here. I keep brushing him off, but he doesn’t take a hint.”
“Oh?” With a woman as beautiful as Greer, I should expect other men to hit on her. Expecting and accepting are two different things.
A crazed part of me, darker than anything I once thought possible in my soul, seeps to the surface for the second time in twenty-four hours. “Has he ever tried to kiss you?” I demand.
“What does that matter?” She tries to deflect.
“It matters because he’s at your door and moving your furniture.”
Her lips turn flat, telling me I won’t like the answer. My stomach does this weird jump while I wait for her response. “He tried to kiss me once. I broke it off and made excuses.”
“He tried to kiss you, or your lips touched?” I seethe.
“There was some brief lip contact, but I shot him down.”
“When?” I clip out.
“Two years ago, I think.”
I knew they hadn’t fucked. He’s too eager. Right now it’s the only thing saving him from a one way trip to the bayou.
“So explain to me again why he knew you were moving, but I didn’t?”
Greer defends, “My family organized everything, trying to help. I was trying to persuade them to put it off for a week, but my grandmother is having hand surgery,” she argues. “Honestly, it didn’t cross my mind when…”
“When I let you on the back of my bike and made you come, or when we ran into one another just yesterday?”
“I think it’s safe to say the subject never came up,” she seethes. “You said you were working, I didn’t want to bother you. It was handled.”
“I want to take care of what’s mine,” I growl.
I wipe my hand down my jaw, anger, frustration, and exhaustion creeping into every pore of my being. I can’t argue with this woman when she has the audacity to be rational.
Doesn’t she understand another man was at her door? Instead of slamming it in his face, she was being polite to a man who doesn’t deserve niceties. Not when he was trying to push his way into the apartment after she refused.
I have very little time before I need to leave, and the last thing I want is to fight over some prick I can deal with later…alone.
I could be introducing myself to the rough, tough cream puff staring at me from his playpen. I could have her pussy on my mouth before we nap together.
Suddenly, that’s what I want more than anything in this world…to sleep with Greer, her softness pressed against me, our scents mingling together.
If you want something in life, sometimes you have to grab it with both hands and refuse to let go. That’s exactly what I do with Greer.
Fuck arguing.