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I tried a motel room. I tried one of the back rooms here in the clubhouse. Didn’t matter. As soon as I was on the brink of taking another woman to bed besides my Hattie, I bailed.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Baby Doll,” I said.

“It doesn’t have to be a date,” she offered. “If a serious commitment is giving you cold feet, then some harmless flirtation couldn’t hurt.”

“I’d rather stick a fork in a light socket.”

“This is exactly what I mean.” Baby Doll poked me in the chest with one manicured black fingernail. “You’re getting bitchy in your old age. Companionship would do you some good.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she beat me to it.

“And I’m not talking about the club,” she said. “You might feel responsible to keep these harebrained idiots in line, but that’s not the kind of companionship you need.”

Blackbeard placed a shot glass before me and started to pour.

“Leave the bottle,” I said.

He fixed me with a long look and a heavy, beleaguered sigh.

“If you end up back at the hospital in an hour or two, getting your stomach pumped, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“Deal.”

I pushed the glass over to Baby Doll. Then I took the bottle and chugged a deep drink that burned my throat like a trail of fire. She shook her head, tossing the shot back.

“You’re a bit of a drama queen when you’re grumpy, Prez,” she said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“As a matter of fact, my ex-wife used to say it all the time.”

Baby Doll patted my shoulder with sympathy.

“Pour me another shot. And then I’ll let you beat me at darts.”

I snorted, tipping the bottle until the amber liquid filled her glass. I didn’t protest though as she took my arm, leading me toward the dart board on the other side of the room.

I had ruined everything with Hattie because of my club.

And now, my club was all I had.

Chapter four

Hattie

“Hattie, you don’t have to earn your keep,” Connie said with fond exasperation. “First you make breakfast, and now you’re doing dishes.”

I sank my hands into the hot, soapy water, grateful for something to do, something to keep myself busy.

“It’s really no trouble,” I replied. “I like being useful.”

“Honey,” Nathan said gently. He reached across the table to take Connie’s hand. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, all right? Let’s enjoy someone else doing the cooking and dishes besides us for a change. God knows I’m not complaining.”

He carved into his stack of syrup-drenched pancakes with his fork, nodding in my direction with gratitude.

A pang settled in my heart to see how much Connie and Nathan loved each other. They were so domestic and sweet, sonormal. Holding hands over breakfast in their pajamas. Bickering lightly over cooking and dishes.

Their lives were never tainted by bikers. They didn’t have club business permeating every aspect of their existence.

Wylie jumped down from his chair, carrying his syrupy plate with both hands over to me.