“What do you want today?” He looked at me in the mirror. “Been a while since you got a cut, huh?”
“Too long,” I laughed. “Beard and hair—just make me look respectable.”
“Respectable, huh?” The barber got out the clippers. “There must be a woman involved.”
* * *
Cold air blew across my neck and chin as I walked into the clubhouse. The Army had been the last time I had short hair, so it was damn weird. The old barber didn’t do a full buzz cut, but left it just a little bit longer on top. He seemed to know what he was doing, so I let him do it.
Roach, one of our recruits, had been assigned to keep the bar area clean. He looked up from his mop. “What the hell happened to you?”
I scowled. I wasn’t about to tell the guys that I’d just kissed Miri and couldn’t wait to see her tomorrow. I sounded like a lovesick teenager. “Nothing. Get back to mopping.” I picked up my pace as I walked back for church. I was late.
All eyes turned on me as I walked in.
“You’re late.” Tate glared over the top of his reading glasses. “What the hell happened to you?”
I shrugged and sat in my regular chair. I didn’t realize that cutting my fucking hair was such a momentous event for everyone.
Colt elbowed me, and I looked down at his hands. He made a circle and stuck his index finger inside. Sex. He wanted to know if I’d done the deed with Miri. I rolled my eyes. Colt laughed and got a dirty look from Tate.
When Tate got finished with reading the profits, he put the papers away. “I got some club business from the guys in California,” he announced.
The chapel room was silent.
“The guys from the Demon Horde are riding up and should be here in a few days. They’ll want to do our final patch-over and make it all official. Anyone got a problem with that?” he asked the room. Not everyone was happy about joining a larger club, losing our autonomy. “Speak now or forever hold your peace. This fucking silence has gotta end, guys.”
No one said a word. Speaking out against the Demon Horde patch-over would mean you were out of the club. I understood Tate’s reasons for wanting to join up with the larger club. It meant more protection for all of us. But having to play by someone else’s rules was not really how I lived my life.
“It’ll be good.” Colt smiled and tried to laugh. He failed. “Basically it’s just a big party. The judgment part is already over.”
I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Colt.” I turned to my friend, but kept my voice loud so everyone could hear it. “Have you considered what you’re gonna do if we decide not to go with the Demon Horde? We have to patch in, otherwise it’ll tear you apart. But I’m not sure we’re ready to give up our independence and take orders from a mother Chapter in Los Angeles.”
“Let’s talk about this.” Colt nodded. “I do have a lot to lose.”
“We’ve done pretty well on our own,” Clint added. “Why do we need a larger club? We’ve got no major enemies. It seems stupid to give our vote to them.”
It seemed like I opened the floodgates. The guys finally started talking. It seemed like a lot of people were having second thoughts about joining the larger club. Tate made everyone give an opinion, but Colt was the only one who knew what he wanted. He wanted the Horde.
Once everyone had their say, Tate banged the gavel. “Skeet,” he said as everyone filed out. “Meet me in my office.”
I groaned as I reached into the basket to get my cell phone.
“Hey,” Clint said, keeping his voice low. “Thanks for opening up the conversation. I know you have to go to the principal’s office, but I appreciated you saying something.”
“Thanks, man.” I nodded at him. “Let’s see what Mr. Tate has to say.” I followed Tate down the hall and into his office. It was a small room with dark wood paneling and stacks of papers all over the desk. He really should have had a big long ruler so he could rap my knuckles over whatever he was pissed about—just like the nuns back at the parish school.
“You got your hair cut,” he stated as he sat down behind his big desk. It wasn’t a question. He had a fucking point to make. “Is this about Englestein’s girl? You hoping to tap that, or did you do it already?”
Shit. It was gonna be best to be up-front and just admit it.
“Hope to. Haven’t done it yet,” I answered. I crossed my arms over my chest. I didn’t like talking about Miri like that.
“I told you to drop it at the party,” he reminded me. “Why the fuck are you still after her? Go find Asia and be done with this itch.”
“It’s not just a fucking itch, okay?” I ground my teeth. “You got a wife. You know how this goes.”
Tate rolled his eyes. “Fine. But this had better go all the way, you got it? Don’t fuck it up.” He rested his forearms on the desk and leaned in. “Englestein is the Demon Horde’s lawyer first. The Storm Kings could never have afforded him. If shit goes wrong between you and her and it upsets the patch-over, you’re gonna be dead to me. You got that?”
I nodded. “It’s not gonna go bad. I promise.”
Chapter Nineteen
Miri
Jean Luc’s house was way off the highway. It was an older single level, probably pretty small inside. Even though it was nearly five o’clock, the Pacific Northwest days were long in the spring, and I could see a fresh coat of paint on the house and neatly kept front porch.
I smoothed the wrinkles out of my blue skirt suit as I knocked on his front door. I was here both as a lawyer and for a date. I’d had no idea what to wear this morning. I didn’t want to go casual and show up in jeans when he was wearing a suit. So I wore my navy suit from work.
The door creaked open. Bare feet, low-slung jeans, Metallica concert T-shirt, and short hair, no beard. He grinned, and I melted. His jaw, which had been obscured by the beard, was square and strong. He had been attractive before, but now he was something out of a fashion magazine.
“You cut your hair.” I reached out to touch it and caught myself. That’s something a girlfriend would do. Not just his date.
He had a cleft in his chin and a tiny mole on his jaw. The warm brown eyes that I knew were still there, but I felt like I was looking at a different person.
“Come on in.” He opened the door wide.
I didn’t know what I was expecting, but 1970s grandma wasn’t it. I stepped into a cozy sitting room. One wall was papered in stripes and orange roses, the other walls were wood paneling. The carpet was shag, but clean. His couch was powder blue velvet with an afghan thrown over the back. Pictures hung everywhere. Old and new, some with motorcycles, some with fishing boats.
“You find the place okay?” he asked and invited me to sit on the couch.
“Yes, the directions were very clear, thank you.” I sat next to him on the couch and pulled out my clipboard. “Do you, uh, rent or own?” My pen hovered over the rent box, but I realized I was judging him. I moved my hand.
“Own,” he replied. “I bought it last year.”
I adjusted my pen and marked off my first question. “Square footage?” I looked up.
“‘Bout a thousand. Pretty small little place.” He smiled.
“Any tax liens?” I asked. “Or other issues that would come up at the county recorder’s office?”
He shook his head. “No, ma’am. All clear. Just a mortgage in good standing with the bank.”
“All right.” I smiled. “Would you show me the rest of the house?”
We stood up, and he held open a swinging door into the kitchen. As I passed through, I felt a little pressure on the small of my back, warm and reassuring. The touch was so fleeting, but it had been so perfect. I wanted to close my eyes and feel it again.
The kitchen was just as orange as the living room, exc
ept for the shiny black fridge. A small table and two chairs stood in the far corner. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Or maybe some vodka?” One side of his mouth quirked up, and I could see him trying not to laugh.
“Truly, I’m sorry about that night.” I couldn’t help it—I giggled. “Thanks for taking me home.”
“It was no problem.” He spread his arms wide. “So this is the kitchen. No dishwasher, so I just eat a lotta pizza.”
“Confirmed bachelor, huh?” I asked without thinking.
“I don’t know.” He shrugged and then gave me a heart-stopping smile. With his beard, he was adorable. With his face fully exposed, he could stop traffic and my heart. “There’s this girl I’m interested in.”
My skin burned and melted my knees. He turned and opened the fridge. His shoulder blades pressed together, and his back muscles stood out through his T-shirt as he opened the fridge door.
“It’s not vodka.” He offered me a beer. “But it is the end of the day. And hell, I’ve been cleaning all day, so I think I deserve one.”
Shrugging out of my blue blazer, I hung it over the back of a chair and grabbed the beer. “So you cleaned all day, huh?” I tucked my pen into the top of my clipboard and hugged it against my chest.
He nodded and led me down a tiny dark hallway. “Yup. I even put away all of my illegal weapons and drugs. Made the hookers go home.” He turned, and I saw him wink in the darkness. “Vacuumed for ya too.”
“Thanks.” I giggled.
His place was cleaner than I had expected. He stopped in front of a door, and I followed him in. It was a small bedroom that had been converted to an office. There was a laptop computer and a stack of papers on the desk, and a twin bed shoved up against the wall.
“Thought I’d keep the desk in here. He’ll need somewhere to do homework and such.” Jean Luc took a swig of his beer.
Homework. Right. I hadn’t really thought of what would happen afterward. Once he had custody, my job was done. But Jean Luc’s was just beginning and would never end. He would be a parent.
“Good idea.” I nodded.
We made our way through the completely yellow bathroom and then into his bedroom. Another afghan was folded over the foot of the bed. I walked over and ran my fingers over it.
“Do you knit?” I asked. “It matches the other one in the living room.”
He stepped into the room too, close. Then he touched my shoulder with his index finger. “My mama knits. She sends me care packages from home.”
He ran his index finger down my arm, sending shivers through my whole body. I gasped. Gently, he tugged the clipboard out of my hand and tossed it on the bed. He stepped closer to me, and I could feel heat from his body against mine.
“Miri?” He bent his head down near mine. Was he going to kiss me? “You’re shaking. Are you nervous?”
“Yes.” My breath came out shaky, and I swallowed, trying to calm down.
He ducked his head down lower, and I closed my eyes. Just like before, his lips were smooth and firm, but this time he started to move. He sucked on my lower lip and then I felt his tongue. Just a touch into my mouth.
“Babe?” He pulled away and said against my cheek, “You wanna get that?”
Ring. Ring. Ring.
I jumped. My cell phone was blaring from my skirt pocket. It must have been ringing for a while, and I hadn’t noticed it. I stepped back and answered it, turning my back to Jean Luc.
“Hello?”
“You’re out of breath. Are you at the gym?” Sheena asked. “Are you done at his place? Are there crazy biker babes living there? Pamela called, and she’s going to have the background check back by Tuesday or Wednesday. She wants to get the inspection scheduled for Thursday before her calendar fills up. I need to call her before six.”
“Right, yeah. Go ahead and schedule an appointment. He’s normal, nothing crazy at his place.” I looked around for Jean Luc. He was gone. “Anyway, I’ll see you on Monday.”
I found Jean Luc sitting on the couch in the family room, reading a motorcycle magazine.
“Sorry, that was Sheena.” I explained. “We had to get the inspection scheduled with Pamela.”
“It’s okay.” He put down the magazine. “Did I pass the test?”
“Yes. Just keep the illegal guns and hookers hidden, okay?” Behind Jean Luc was a big picture window. The view included a huge gray building next to the house that caught my eye. “Is that a barn? The county will definitely want to inspect.”
His lips parted into a slow grin. “It’s my workshop. Do you wanna see?”
Workshop? I imagined motorcycle parts everywhere, but then I remembered his occupation: artist.
“Is that your art studio?” I asked.
“Yep.” He grabbed my hand and went outside. “Let me show you.”
I was a little disappointed as Jean Luc led me out of the house toward the other building. More kissing in his bedroom would have been fun, but I was definitely interested to see where he created his art. He was a biker and an artist, so maybe he painted pictures of motorcycles? I had no idea. The woman he’d painted on his bike was beautiful, so I hoped I would like whatever he made.
He unlocked the door, and I stepped inside. The air inside was a little warm and stuffy from the sun, but it was bathed in light. Huge windows had been installed on each side of the building. Two rows of folding tables were set up on the concrete floor. Some equipment I couldn’t identify occupied the back wall.
“Not what you were expecting?” he said from behind me.
“Are those heads?” There was no blood, but they were definitely heads lined up on a table. What the hell was he doing?
“Come on.” He smiled and touched my elbow.
When we stopped in front of one of them, I got a good look.
“They’re busts,” I said. They were so lifelike, almost as though they would talk at any moment. “Who are they?”
He laughed. “They’re the ones who pay my bills.” Jean Luc winked. “Mostly founding fathers of various cities, old rich guys who gave money to colleges. Stuff like that. They go in parks, dean’s offices, city halls.”
There had to be forty of them, all lined up and watching us. “That one is made out of something different.” I pointed to a darker one that was obviously made out of some kind of metal.
“Yeah, he’s ready to ship. Meet Oscar Meade.” Jean Luc took my elbow, and we walked over to the bust. He patted the top of Oscar’s head. “He donated money for a hospital wing in St. Louis. I sculpt the clay ones here onsite and then drop them off at a foundry downtown to be cast in bronze. Then I ship ’em out.”
I touched Oscar’s cold cheek. Except for the dark dull gold of the bronze, I would think he was real.
“Do you want to see my current project?” He grinned and cracked his knuckles.
“Yes, where?” I looked around, expecting one of the heads to volunteer and start talking to me.
Jean Luc took my hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, like an old-fashioned gentleman. We walked through the middle of the big garage with the concrete floor and an audience lined up on the folding tables. I felt like a queen.
He stopped, and I was disappointed. I didn’t want to let go, but he stepped out of my grasp. He removed a bunch of plastic from something.
“This is Cesar Chavez.” He gestured to the lump of clay. It was a much darker gray, and the shape of the face and outline of the cheeks had been started, but not finished. “He’s going to a community college in Modesto.”
I put my hand out to touch Cesar’s cheek, just like I had done with Oscar, but I stopped.
“Oh, sorry. I guess I shouldn’t touch this one. But he just looks so real.”
Jean Luc leaned in and touched my hand with his fingers. They were warm,
a little rough. Little arrows of pleasure shot down my spine as he guided my hand to the cheek of the sculpture.
“He’s not gonna hurt you, I promise.” His breath was hot against my skin and sent feathery tickles up and down my spine. “He wants you to touch him.”
“What if I hurt him?” His hand was so different than mine. Tanned, strong, guiding my fingers over the clay while I felt the warmth from his body against my back. “Or what if he hurts me?”
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispered.
Dropping my hand, he slid his fingers around my waist and squeezed. His lips touched the extra sensitive skin on my neck. Then I felt him nibble on my earlobe. My knees were weak, so I relaxed back against him. He moved his hands slowly up my sides to my shoulder and turned me to face him.
Before it had been almost a fantasy. I could feel him, but couldn’t see him. Now that he was in front of me, I knew it was reality, and I nearly staggered.
Jean Luc slipped his arms around me and kept me standing. He ducked his head and then pressed his lips against mine.
He started slowly with just a gentle kiss, and then he ran his tongue along my lower lip, as though he was tasting me, testing to see what would come next. I knew he wanted more. The question was, did I?
I opened my lips just a little. Squeezing me against his chest, he began to explore the inside of my mouth with his tongue. It was thrilling—I’d never been kissed like this before. He wasn’t some drunken classmate at law school. He was sex and power, and he wanted me. The way his lips moved over mine, the way my body melted against his, it was all so new. My blood began to sing, and I couldn’t stop. He pulled back, and I moaned in protest.
“I want you. You know that, right?” He grabbed my hips and held me against him.
He was hard and tight, pressed into my belly.
I bit my lip and nodded.
“I want you too,” I said.
Chapter Twenty
Skeeter
Her hands had tunneled under my shirt, and she scratched up and down my chest, sending tingles through my nipples. Jesus Christ, I wanted her. I broke off our kiss and sucked in air. Just having her hands on me made it hard to breathe.
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