A beeping sound rings out between us.
“There, sent over a voice message.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“It’s not a problem at all. So, I have something I’ve been meaning to chat with you about . . . and considering you’re here, I think I need to have a serious talk with you.”
“Go ahead,” I tell Zane.
He takes a seat at his kitchen table and motions for me to take a seat across from him, so I do. The little guy in his arms is quiet as hell. He just stares at me like I’m a green troll or something.
“As you know, we have some openings in Mexico. Given the way you and Amara work together, I think it’s safe to say you’d make a standard VP. And before you say anything, I’ve already spoken to Damon about this. If you want the job, it’s yours.”
Fucking Christ. She was right.
I want to say yes, I really do.
“I appreciate this, Prez, but . . . I can’t accept this. I’ve got some personal shit going on that I need to sort out, and it wouldn’t be fair for me to take such a responsibility if I’m just going to pass it off to someone else.”
Zane raises both eyebrows, “Wow. I thought you were going to jump at the opportunity.”
“I’m sorry, Zane, but this is for the best.”
“No, I agree. I’d rather have the honesty. I’m just a bit shocked.”
I laugh, “Yeah, I can only imagine. If you don’t mind me asking, are you having difficulty filling the spots in Mexico?”
He shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t think difficulty is the word. Amara is picky as fuck, so whoever does go down . . . they need to be an outcast, like her. She wants people who aren’t generally accepted by others.”
“Like eighty-sixed members?” I question.
“God, no.”
“Okay, just making sure.” I comment. “If you’re open to it, I could help her find reliable people. Men, and maybe women who would make the Reapers proud.”
Zane rubs his hand over his jaw, before ultimately nodding in agreement. “If we can’t have you as a VP in Mexico, I think it would be a damn good thing for you to help us find the type of people we’re looking for.”
I smile, “Awesome. I have a Nomad in mind. He’s been in a couple clubs and he’s never really found the right club to commit to. He’d make an awesome VP if you ask me. His name is Razor, and I believe he’s from Mexico if I’m not mistaken. I think he’s in Maine right now, but I could reach out. He’d make a stellar VP, if he’s willing to jump in.”
“I’d want him to meet myself and Amara first. Can you arrange for him to come out here?”
“I sure can,” I comment but notice Zane looks past me.
“Looks like your ride is ready.”
“Cool. Thanks, and maybe I’ll see you soon.” I rise and extend my hand, shaking Zane’s.
“Hope so, and I’ll get your bike fixed up. So, no worries there.”
Fuck, this shit with Chey’ and Crina has me so messed up in the head I forgot about my favorite lady. “Thanks, Prez.”
Chapter Twelve
Their eyes met, and in an instant, with an inexplicable, only half conscious rush of emotion, they were in perfect communication.
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
Frost
Leaving is the worst part and as I passed every mile marker on my way back to Montana, the reality I wouldn’t be seeing them for another six months or so was agonizing. It fucking sucked more than I can find the words to express. I’m like that, though. Sometimes saying the right things doesn’t come so easily. I was better at it when I was younger, but with age comes wisdom, and the ability to not give two fucks about what comes out of your mouth. On top of that, my filter is gone too.
I watched the weather closely when I stopped for the night yesterday at a hotel and opted to rent a truck the rest of the way back. We have another snowstorm on its way to Billings and I won’t be caught dead in it. Nope. That’s one stupid way to get yourself killed. I’m a few minutes away from the club and I’ll be happy to get there. My lumbar is aching from the sitting I’ve been doing being behind the wheel. One of the great things about getting older—aches and pains that never seem to dissipate.
I turn down onto the lane that leads back to the club and pull up directly in front of the clubhouse as soon as I get there. My bike is tarped down, so I’ll leave it there for now, and if the snow isn’t too bad tomorrow, I’ll have a couple of the guys help me get it into the garage. I don’t have to return the rental for a couple days, figuring we might get snowed in for a bit.
Grabbing my duffel bag from the passenger seat, I open the door and turn off the truck. After getting out, I go straight into the clubhouse to shield myself from the chilly Montana air. I walk through and shut the door firmly behind me. Sometimes the wind out here is so bad it’ll blow right open. I don’t know from much experience, but Zane’s warned me about it.
“Hey, how was your trip?” Axel asks. He’s sometimes the resident shit stirrer, the other one being Zorro. I heard a rumor about those two and Grim sharing Shiloh, who used to be a clubwhore. Now she isn’t with any of them, but she works for Octavia’s company. She does spend a lot of time around Hammer, though, so I sense some shit happening between the two of them really soon.
“It was good. Definitely much needed.” I reply with a smile as the punch in the gut settles in. I won’t see them for ages and I know it. I mean, it’s kinda obvious when I leave . . . but man, I don’t think it’ll ever get better.
“Shit, I bet.”
“Did you go anywhere for the holidays?” I question, figuring he didn’t. But it’s the polite thing to do, right?
“Nah, my ass stuck up here. My pops isn’t someone I enjoy seeing if you know what I mean.” His answer takes me by surprise. He has a good relationship with his brother, Grim, and their younger sister, Ruby, so I figured everything was fine with their family.
“Sometimes it’s better that way,” I reply, hoping it’s my way out of a conversation I don’t want to get involved in. Walking forward, Axel doesn’t stop me by awkward conversation, so, I walk through the club until I’m at the bottom of the stairwell, ready to go up.
Out of nowhere, I spot tanned skin with long, straight hair as dark as burnt coal. A few of the Vixens have dark hair, but I know this isn’t one of them. If it was, I would’ve gotten a text from one of the guys already.
She’s wearing a cotton looking cami with sweats and her hair is in a half up, half down sort of style. I watch as she fumbles in the kitchen, moving a few things around and curses under her breath.
“Sorry, Cheyenne. I was rushin’ I guess.” Bull mutters, holding a white rag over his hand. A pink color is coming through it, and as time passes the color turns to a dark cherry.
She looks over her shoulder and her eyes almost pop out of her head. “Jesus, Bull! I said apply pressure, not throw the damn rag on top and hope it works out.” This Cheyenne woman rushes over and squeezes his hand.
“Gah! Ouch. That hurts!” Bull complains, narrowing his eyes in on her.
“I bet, and it’ll hurt more if we don’t stop the bleeding. So, keep your ass planted in this chair and do as I fucking say. Got it?”
I take a couple steps closer until I’m leaning against the entryway into the kitchen. “You know, there aren’t many people who would be ballsy enough to speak like that to Bull.” I smirk, having a little bit of fun.
“It’s the name, ‘cause they know I’ll fuck ‘em up.” He adds.
Cheyenne whips her head back in his direction and cocks a brow. “Pretty sure it’s short for bullheaded, and it’s accurate.”
I can’t hide the smile tugging at my lips. She’s sassy, and I love women like that. “I’m Frost, by the way.” Introducing myself can’t hurt, so, here I go.
Cheyenne looks back over to me after fumbling with some gauze in her other hand, wrapping him up tight. “Cheyenne, or Chey’. Sorry, I’m new around here.”
&nbs
p; “She’s the nurse practitioner Zane brought up from Vegas,” Bull fills in.
Ah, the one who had the clinic with Sakura. I’d heard about her, but I didn’t think we were getting anyone for a while. “It’s nice to meet you,” I tell her, and she nods.
“Same to you as well,” Cheyenne glances back to Bull, “You’re going to keep your ass here while I go grab my medical bag. I need something from it.”
“Please tell me you aren’t givin’ me stitches.” Bull grumbles.
“I’m not going to lie to you, and if you even for one second think you can give me attitude about it, it’s not happening. The only person to blame is yourself. Who decides to cut an onion while drinking? And the fact you had your eyes closed? Stupid!” Cheyenne whips him on the side of his head with her hand before huffing and walks out past me.
I cross my arms and look over my shoulder, staring at that clad ass.
Damn, I know why women love gray sweatpants . . . but I have a totally different reason for staring.
“She’s your type? Seriously?” Bull cackles from where he sits at the table.
“Mhm. I just hope I’m hers.”
Chapter Thirteen
Most people mess up something good, by looking for something better, just to end up with something worse.
~ Unknown
Cheyenne
Idiots. Men are fucking idiots. In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever met men like bikers. They’re capable enough to know how to shoot a gun and protect their own, but when it comes to basic things like making dinner . . . they somehow lose all of their common sense. Take Bull for instance. The man drank seven beers and decided he wanted onion on his BLT. He was already intoxicated, then decided to add fuel to the fire by chopping up an onion and of course his eyes started to water, so what does he do? He shuts them and cuts the fucking onion with his eyes closed, cutting a good chunk out of his left hand.
I huff, grab my coat off the rack beside the clubhouse double doors and slide it on while I’m walking out and back to the house I’m staying in. It’s kinda nice because I don’t have any other company there, so when it comes to getting time to myself, I get plenty of it.
Trekking through the snow, I reflect back on what it was like this morning to find the note Chaz left me. I wish I could say I was surprised, but I’m not. He has a lot of emotional wounds that’ll probably never heal, add in the fact he broke up with his girlfriend and I’m sure he regretted where things went last night. I don’t, though. I needed to know if things would ever work like that between us, and while fucking him was amazing . . . I don’t think we’d make a good match. Don’t get me wrong, we’re amazing friends and I love him. If anyone were to ask me about it I’d tell them he’s the only man I’ve ever loved, and I wouldn’t be lying. I don’t think I’ve ever loved another man besides him. Most of the time women have been the ones to capture my heart, but he broke down my defenses and somehow slid in.
That being said, while I love him . . . there are things about him I can’t stand, like how he runs away when shit gets hard. I can’t stand it, and I think it’s a pussy thing to do. It’s pathetic, and . . . god, it infuriates me. He could’ve chosen to stay here and tell me everything face-to-face, but he decided to take the easy way out.
I’m a firm believer in how there’s a right way and a wrong one. Chaz took the wrong way if you ask me. It’s one of the many reasons we couldn’t be more than either two fuck buddies, or friends. His note left open promises, but I don’t need them. I’ll be fine regardless.
I’m right at my door and I push it open and shut it behind me. Heading into the office downstairs to grab my black leather bag. Instead of going back through the front door, I figure going through the garage one would be a good idea. Especially, to push some of the snow out a little further.
The second I go down the couple steps into the garage, a meow comes from the right. Immediately my eyes fall on a blue-eyed cat. It meows and comes darting up to me, flapping her tail as she struts. Shit. I’m calling it a she and I don’t even know what it is.
I bend down to the ground and reach out to her, “Hey, Mama.”
It meows at me again and I brush my hand against her soft gray and white fur. She has a dark gray face with tabby like stripes, reminding me of a color point shorthair I had as a kid, which is a Siamese mix.
It runs its body against my hand, practically petting herself, purring loudly. Its hair is balled up along her sides, telling me she’s probably been a stray for quite a while.
Wait. How did she get in here?
I stand up and look around, specifically at the garage door for the cars and the side door leading out. Both of them are shut, so I head around the perimeter of the garage and see the aluminum vent isn’t attached to the dryer. Bingo. It’s definitely big enough for this kitty to get through.
I put the tube back over the hole and look around for some tape. Luckily, I find some of the electrical tape and make quick work with it, attaching it to the wall. I’m not sure if it’s the right thing, but it’ll manage until I can get one of the guys to come take a look at it.
A high-pitched squealing sound comes from inside the garage, and I notice my kitty friend is nowhere in sight. Don’t get me wrong, the sound isn’t super loud, but it’s a freaky sound, like a small animal screaming. Was it the kitty?
I walk to the other side of the garage where I see a tail flicking and what I find blows my mind. This kitty is one hundred percent a girl, because there’s a cardboard box with at least five newborn kittens inside. “Oh goodness, you came in to give your babies someplace warm to sleep.”
She meows back at me, and I kneel down on the ground. She hops in the box with her babies and I’m stuck staring at her and the beautiful nature in front of me.
“You told me to sit my ass down and you’ve been lollygagging in your garage?”
I glance over to Bull, again, proving my damn point.
Though, he isn’t alone. That red-haired woman, Frost, is beside him. “To be fair, I tried to stop him.” She tells me.
“Thanks, and Bull, I got a little busy. I found a friend. Well, friends.” I point to the box and they both come over to me.
“Oh my goodness. Kittens! I want one. Alexa will let me have one. Can I have one?!” Bull is like a kid in a candy shop, immediately sits down to pet the momma cat and starts whispering to her. I’m a little caught off guard, simply staring and gawking at the fact he’s this huge, big, bad biker and he’s doing baby talk with kittens.
“I guess so . . . when one is old enough.” I mutter. I’m not this cat’s owner. I’m only the person who found her, so I don’t know why he’s asking me.
Frost comes over and sits on the other side of me, peering into the box. “Wow, they’re freaking beautiful.”
“Yeah, they are.” I nod in agreement.
One has a smudge of gray with darker grays across its entire face, and it fades down on its side until it hits its foot. The one beside it is almost all white with a coral-beige color striking through its fur. The one beside that one is a dark, almost black gray. Then the two in the corner look like the momma cat, but one of them has black legs and feet, while the other one has the darker color on only its ears.
The one with the dark ears rolls over, and underneath it is a solid orange one, with a gray tabby like stripe going down its sides.
Six kittens.
Oh gosh.
“I want the orange one. You hear me? That one is Tigger, and he’s mine.” Bull declares.
“You don’t even know if he’s a boy,” I retort.
“Of course, I know. ‘Cause I know things.” Bull snarls, then looks back to the kittens.
The momma cat hops back out of the box and nestles right on my lap, purring as loud as a lawn mower.
“I think she likes me,” I mumble, scratching behind her ears.
“Yeah, well, I don’t blame her.” Frost comments.
Her words catch me off guard and heat shoots throug
h my cheeks. God, I’m turning red and I know it. I glance up to her and catch her smiling at me, confirming she’s most definitely flirting with me. And honestly, I don’t mind it.
“C’mon, Bull, let’s get your hand sorted.” I say, rising with my new cat in my arms. I’ll need to take her to the vet and all that, but before I do, Bull needs to get situated.
Chapter Fourteen
You can always say sorry, but the real apology is when you hear the sadness in their voice and see the look in their eyes. And you realize they have hurt themselves just as much . . .
~ Kid Cudi
Crina
A century. That’s what it feels like, a fucking century since the last time I saw him. Granted, it’s been maybe a week. I haven’t really been at the club since I got the ride home that day. It would be too weird for me to be there, I think. At least, that’s what I told Rebel. But oh, my friend Rebel . . . she told me to cut the shit and go over there, because I had as much right as any.
He called me his ol’ lady the night we fucked, after he said he claimed me. We were on and off fucking all night long, and every time, he told me I belonged to him. How I was special because I was his woman, his girl, his ol’ lady. Some women wouldn’t like that, but . . . I loved it. Hell, I still love it. But I guess it’s stupid I say that. Chaz said we were done, so I need to get over it and accept the fact we’re probably done. He’s never struck me as the type of man who isn’t firm in his decisions.
Bea slams the door shut and throws her hands up in the air as she huffs, “God, I hate working downstairs sometimes. The clients can be such pigs. They seem to forget I’m not on the menu or wearing a fucking choker. Assholes.”
Frost (Reapers MC Book 15) Page 6
