Page 19
Lynette
I should have heeded Bullet’s warning.
The low pulsing rumbles of his bike judder through me, jarring my sore muscles. There’s one place in particular that I’m so sore, I can hardly bear sitting like this, but I have to say, I did it to myself.
I can almost see my sister giving me a slow clap if I told her—which I never will—that I left the house in a near sex-coma.
Low hanging iron gray clouds hang overhead. You get used to that leaden sky living in Seattle, but I noticed that the sun shines more in Hart. Maybe it just seems that way. The air doesn’t smell like impending rain.
Bullet drives us carefully to the clubhouse. It’s only a few miles, but despite the short distance and my sore muscles, I can understand the allure of the bike. Even at low speeds, the wind rushes around us, lashing my hair into a tangled whirlwind over my shoulders. I know there won’t be a single bit of me that’s presentable in a professional sense when we reach the club, but Bullet assured me that jeans and Willa’s borrowed jacket from some random high school across the country would do just fine.
Maybe it’s not the bike or the sense of freedom and openness that I enjoy so much. The man whose broad back I have my arms hugged around might just have something to do with it.
It’s probably a combination of many different things. By the time we reach the brick clubhouse, I’m nearly breathless. Half of it is nerves, but half of it is a thrilling exhilaration that I’m just starting to learn even exists.
Bullet cements the breathlessness when he rolls his bike into the compound next to a long row of parked Harleys, shuts it off, and helps me dismount.
He pops my helmet off, eyes twinkling like he knows exactly how badly my thighs are burning and other parts of me are aching. Boldly, his hand sweeps around to the small of my back, but he’s the one who steps into me, until there’s no space between our bodies. He kisses me with his own hair mussed from the helmet and his beard windblown.
I made sure we took a break from our sexathon to have lunch and tea. He’s a lovely mix of pumpkin muffins and Earl Grey.
I’m distinctly off-kilter when he breaks away for air. He keeps his hand at the small of my back, and that’s when I finally notice that the parking lot just off the compound, as well as this area itself, are full of bikes, but also a ton of cars, trucks, and even a few vans.
“Umm, this is just a meeting with Tyrant and Raiden and maybe a few other officers, right?”
Bullet grins and shrugs casually. He’s loose and fluid, far more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. He looks happy. Well fucked. Sated.
Do I have that same look?
I dearly hope that I do not. Especially not if there are more than just a few men in there.
“It looks like the old ladies and probably some of their kids might be here. All the guys for sure.”
“This isn’t some kind of surprise party, is it? Some welcome to the club that I wasn’t aware was going to happen?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure.” He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “It’ll be alright, Lynette. You’re not just the club’s lawyer, and that’s what people are gonna want to celebrate. You’re a part of this club now because you’re my woman.”
I send him a slanted look, but it’s pretty half assed given that he’s just spent the entire day up until an hour ago making me eager, proud, and desperate to be just that. Honestly, the things we did probably bordered on deviancy.
Great. Now I’m positive that I’m red from the crown of my hair all the way down to my toes.
“That’s just semantics. You’re my partner. Remember what I said about being called an old lady? It’s a sign of respect.” He tips my chin up tenderly. “I’m so proud to be here with you. You’re so much more than just the club’s lawyer. You’re a part of this place now, which means that it’s not just me who would give their life to protect you. You might not have any biological brothers, but you now have a whole club full of my brothers who would do anything for you. We have a queen, and that’s Lark, because she’s the prez’s old lady, but in my eyes, you’ll always be my queen.”
Well. Who could argue with that?
I cover Bullet’s hand with my own, pressing it flat against my cheek and nuzzling into it. “More Bullet poetry. I’m going to have to start writing it down. Maybe someday, someone will quote you the way they do the bard.”
“Don’t you even dare.” He steps forward, urging me on, but when I start walking, he swats me lightly on the ass.
The old me would have lost her mind if someone had ever done that to me before. I still would if anyone but Bullet ever dared to lay a hand on me. I’m already starting to understand words like ‘mine’, or ‘belong to’, because I feel them for him, and they don’t sound the least bit toxic in my head. They sound exquisite.
Bullet holds the metal door open for me as the prospects in the compound nod and smile at us. They don’t come in and I figure they’re probably out there guarding the bikes.
Bullet’s hand laces tightly through mine. “You okay? With all of this, I mean? It’s a lot. Lots of change, lots of people, lots of newness. It’s overwhelming.”
I lift our joined hands, as if the unbreakable linkage of our fingers should speak for itself. “You’re right, it is, but it’s also wonderful.” I sound so silly saying it. So lovesick and gushy, but I refuse to be humiliated.
Choosing this path doesn’t make me weak. I know Bullet would take on the world for me already, and as a survivor and a fighter myself, I would battle with everything I have for him too. I’ve done that for Willa since I was just a kid. I’d call that love, but I can’t go that far with that word in my head yet.
There are a thousand others I could use, each of them combining to lay the base, stone by stone, for the monumental building that is love.
“You’re thinking hard and loud,” Bullet muses, walking us down the back hallway past all those closed doors. I don’t know which one is his, and thinking about spending the night there one day lights a fire in my sore body.
“Yes. But only good things. All the poetry I keep locked inside myself so that one day, I can feed it to you word for word.”
“I’ll work for it,” he responds seriously, the lights in his dark eyes burning like fireflies in the night. “I’ll draw them out of you and eat them off your lips and your tongue.”
“You’re very sure of yourself.”
“You nearly killed me this morning. I didn’t know cotton underwear could feel like sandpaper, but it’s been proven to me that it can indeed. I thought riding on a leather seat for days was the worst of the chaffing a man’s balls could get, but was proved wrong. If I haven’t made you sure of me, then I’m afraid for what the future holds.”
I pull my hand from his, but only so I can smack his ass a lot harder than he tapped mine outside. “Afraid? I’m excited about the future.”
He wraps his arm around my waist, and we walk together, grinning at each other until we’re pulled from our own little world by the massive assembly in the lounge. The first time I arrived here, the place was virtually empty, but now it’s the exact opposite. It reminds me of the house when all the old ladies and Bullet’s club brothers came to help out. Busy, buzzing, chaotic, uniquely marvelous and something entirely wondrous.
This is my world now.
No one is in party mode right now. Despite the fact that these men look like hulking, leather-clad beasts who could easily be provoked to violence, the place has an almost homey feel. When we walk in, there are no scowls or dubious looks. No one second guesses Bullet for bringing an outsider into the midst of their sacred domain.
Guilt nibbles at my gut. They’re all standing or sitting around the room, casually at ease, wearing smiles and warm expressions. They’re not coldly assessing me, challenging me, or waiting for me to prove myself.
Before I knew Bullet, I would have expected this place to be a den of iniquity. I can imagine that, on the right night, it would have no problem transforming, but that’s not who these men are. I would have passed them off as criminal scum, shuddering at even brushing shoulders with them. If they even had an inkling of how snobby and prejudiced I was, would they be so kind now?
Sensing my doubt, Bullet’s arm tightens around my waist, and right there in front of everyone, he sweeps around and kisses me on the forehead.
He addresses the room with me tucked tightly into his side. “Everyone, this is Lynette George. Soon to officially be our club’s new lawyer, and my old lady.”
Suddenly there’s cheering, hollering, and backslapping going on.
“About time too! Thought you were never gonna make your move,” Smoke says with a wide grin.
Bullet gives him a hard stare, no doubt worried that he’s going to say something crude, but instead Smoke just gives his head a shake and it’s all smiles again.
I thought I’d react differently at hearing it put out there, into words. The term girlfriend is so inadequate, but also far less threatening, in a way. I gave him a hard time in the compound, but here, in front of all these men, it’s not annoyance that spikes through me at being publicly claimed. An immediate warmth trickles down to wash away the guilt. I’m no longer doing this on my own, thrashing and fighting against the universe, forging a path forward with nothing more than the iron blade of my will.
I have a good man at my side, and his family.
There are far fewer women here than men, and no kids in the lounge. It’s a school day, and most of the old ladies are probably at work. Raiden is here alone. His wife teaches at one of the colleges, though not the one Willa is attending. She’s in afternoon classes right now with Atlas, but it seems as though the rest of the men from the club are assembled.
There are so many big bodies in here, it’s a wonder that the place doesn’t explode from the sheer force of all that testosterone.
Lark walks in from the kitchen and the crowd seems to part for her. It’s almost magical, how the men dip their heads in reverence when she passes. She’s just a tiny slip of a thing with a fluttering floral dress.
The scent of sharp apples and cinnamon cling to her, stirring nostalgia deep inside me.
She heads straight for me, a wide smile in place. “I’m baking you a pie, since the one you made here had to be abandoned. By the time anyone found it, it was hours and hours later.”
Unexpectedly, my ears burn with tears. It’s such a small gesture, but it tells me that I’m seen and thought of. “Thank you,” I push out, shoving the thick screen of emotion blocking my throat aside. I extend that to the rest of the room with a small, watery smile. “Thank you so much for having me.”
When Tyrant walks through the lounge, men also part to let him through. He takes Lark’s hand and offers me his other. “We’re honored to have you work with us. It’s not a responsibility we’ll take lightly on our end. But as a woman and not the lawyer, we’re happy for you both.”
A voice in the crowd calls out. “I guess she passes muster and we couldn’t be happier for you both. Wait. We could. If you got construction on the range started.”
Smoke. Bullet’s good friend, he might be on his best behavior regarding our relationship, but nothing’s going to stop him ribbing his friend when the opportunity arises. He’s snarky and obviously has a wild streak a mile long that he doesn’t bother much to contain. I can’t say I was comfortable in his presence the first few times we met, but I understand now that he’s not full of malice. He’s just got that wry, sarcastic sense of humor. He’s truly happy for Bullet. Maybe a little jealous and cautious, but I’m glad Bullet has people who care enough to feel the depth of those emotions.
“I will,” Bullet promises. “We all will. As soon as the insurance money comes through which it will, we’ll get started. Lynette can take care of the legal side of it and the whole club can have input on the drawings for the new building. The last one was converted from an old warehouse and we had to work with what was already there, but there’s something to be said for building something from the ground up.”
I can tell there isn’t a single man here who doesn’t love to shoot. Probably a few of the women too. They’re all eager to support this project that Bullet is so passionate about.
I might be leery of guns, but this matters so much to the man I care about, and that means it matters to me. I can imagine him teaching me how to shoot there, and learning to enjoy it just because he’ll be in his element and I want him to have as much joy as he can wring from life.
When this place does come to life with biker parties, club functions, the community barbeques that Bullet talked about, I know that I’ll do more than just survive it. I’ll be a part of it, happily. Even if I don’t feel that I fit in exactly, that’s okay. These men might have the leather and denim uniform down, but that doesn’t mean they don’t each have unique personalities and stories. The club accepts them for who they are without asking them to change.
“You’re much prettier than Harold was, that’s for sure,” Smoke offers with a shit-eating grin. “Seeing as you’re not a total fucker all around, I think you’ll get along just fine here. Professionally and personally.”
There’s a murmur of assent through the room that amazes me. Old or young, broad or tall and lanky, grizzled or well groomed, the men give a collective nod that is like an official stamp of approval.
I clear my throat, drawing on courage that for once, isn’t manufactured. “Thank you for having me. I will do my best not to be an all-around fucker.”
There’s a momentary pause, then the room breaks into loud laughter and applause. I’ve never seen such big, genuine smiles or felt warmth like this. I get the smallest glimpse why Bullet was drawn to this place, to some of these men, and wanted to stay. It’s an enormous commitment to take vows saying you’ll die for someone else and that you’ll always put your club and the men in it above your own needs and wants.
When I think of Willa, and how I would do anything to protect her, or to let her grow and find happiness in her own way, I understand.
Smoke’s eyes crinkle at the corner, a little bit of charm sneaking through the snark. “Well. Sounds like that’s good enough for us.”
I guess that’s our official welcome. We can relax now, until we get pulled into the meeting to sign all the official documents. I emailed the retainer and everything else over to Tyrant before we left the house.
This warm, unexpected welcome was one thing, but when I angle in towards Bullet, my eyes finding his, I can tell I was the only one who had doubts about my acceptance here. The golden flecks deep in the depths of the soft brown shine with such strong emotion that it’s hard to breathe.
I’m suffused with tenderness, with softness, with a flood of sensations that jumble together and solidify into care and loyalty, joy and delight. Right from the first time I saw him, I was drawn in by his magnetism and light. I knew it too, and that’s why I fought it so hard.
I don’t have to stop fighting. I can just fight next to him. I can fight for these men who I know I’ll come to know and cherish, and for their families. I might always be a lawyer in my soul, but there’s room to be more. A woman. A lover. A partner. Maybe even a little bit of a bad ass biker babe in my own right.
“Are you up for a quick game of kicking Smoke’s ass in pool before our meeting?” Bullet asks just loud enough that Smoke hears. “I haven’t had time to give him a rematch since that night you first came here.”
“I believe you’re the one looking for redemption,” Smoke scoffs. “And if we’re partnering up, then I pick Odin. He might only have one eye, but he’s always watching.”
A middle-aged man, as gruff and rough as they come, steps out of the crowd. I don’t know everyone’s names yet, but I’ll work on that. It’s important to know a man’s name and call him by it, especially because these men chose their monikers. Some of them might appear silly, but they define who they are, and honoring their choice is important.
Some I’ve never seen before, but others I recognize from the ride out that night to meet Willa on the road. Stranger to me or not, there’s no man in here who has anything but warmth imprinted into his harsh features.
Oden does indeed have only one eye. He rocks an eye patch over the other. He winks at me, which is entirely disconcerting and oddly almost charming. He clearly has a good sense of humor.
“I’m ready to kick ass,” Odin says, but facing the wall. He whips around, appearing to be disoriented. “Just point me in the right direction.”
A rowdy round of laughter goes up again, bouncing off the brick walls and open beams.
Bullet passes me a pool cue, probably knowing full well that I’ve never played pool in my life, but for him, I’m more than willing to humiliate myself. I know that any laughter it causes will only be good natured, and it’s okay to let my guard down and just have fun.
“Don’t worry. I’ll pull our weight if I need to.” Bullet grazes a kiss over my knuckles before dropping his hand to the small of my back.
I know he’s not just talking about pool.
While the scent of baking apple pie wraps slowly around the lounge, we play. Bullet instructs and I try to follow. As I expected, there is plenty of laughter and a whole lot of crude joking, but not at my expense. All of it pulls my own laughter from me, until there are tears in my eyes that I have to brush discreetly away.
By the time the game is over, with us getting thoroughly spanked, the pie is out of the oven and Tyrant is rounding up the officers to head into the meeting.
“You okay?” Bullet asks, checking in while he leads me to the kitchen where Lark saved a piece just for me.
There’s already talk of going out to the store and getting several more pies for the rest of the club, now that everyone is starved at the scent of the one that’s been freshly baked.
The numbers are atrocious. Forty-eight pies?
Then again, a few of those guys are big enough to take down a whole one themselves.
We’re alone in the kitchen, probably just for a few seconds, but I take the opportunity to stand on my tiptoes and press a kiss to Bullet’s lips. In an instant, he deepens it, turning it wonderfully filthy with his tongue and teeth. I have to swat at him to get him to quit.
“I’m okay,” I confirm.
We both know that what I’m feeling is so much more than just okay, but it’s as good a word as any, since no words will truly do this feeling justice.