Page 26

Amelia

Aura’s plan required me to look the part, so I stood in front of the mirror scrutinizing the outfit she’d helped me pick -- dark jeans that hugged curves I’d hidden for years, a deep burgundy top that dipped just low enough to be interesting without being desperate, and leather boots with a modest heel.

My hair fell in loose waves past my shoulders, and I’d even applied makeup for the first time since leaving Florida.

The woman staring back at me looked like someone with confidence, someone who belonged on a biker’s arm.

“Mom?” Chase called from the hallway. “We’re gonna be late.”

I took a deep breath, smoothing my hands down my jeans one last time. “Coming.”

My boys waited by the front door, both looking uncomfortable in the new clothes Aura had insisted on buying them.

Chase wore dark jeans and a button-down shirt that made him look older than his sixteen years.

Levi had chosen a simple black T-shirt and jeans, his glasses freshly cleaned, his blond hair combed neatly to one side.

“You look nice, Mom,” Levi said, his voice sincere.

Chase nodded his agreement, though his eyes held questions he wouldn’t voice in front of his brother. He knew something was up -- he always did. “Hammer already left,” he informed me. “Said he had to help set up.”

Of course he had. The man had been finding excuses to avoid me since our kiss in the kitchen. Well, tonight that would change.

The walk to the clubhouse took less than five minutes, but with each step, my pulse quickened.

Music spilled into the night air as we approached.

Not the pounding bass that had characterized Devil’s Minions parties, but something more classic rock, at a volume that still allowed for conversation.

The scent of grilled meat and cigarette smoke mingled in the warm evening air.

“Stay close,” I told the boys as we reached the entrance. It was an old habit, one born from years of navigating Piston’s volatile gatherings.

Chase shot me a look. “We’re not babies, Mom.”

“Humor me,” I replied, squeezing his arm gently.

The scene that greeted us inside the clubhouse was nothing like the Devil’s Minions’ gatherings I’d endured.

No women dancing on tables, no men so drunk they could barely stand, no dark corners where questionable substances changed hands.

Instead, groups clustered around tables, some playing cards, others engaged in conversation.

A dartboard occupied one wall, with several members taking turns, cheering good shots and heckling bad ones.

The bar was well-stocked but not the center of activity.

Most importantly, I didn’t see a single woman who looked uncomfortable or trapped.

What struck me most was the watchfulness in the room.

Each man seemed aware of his surroundings, gazes regularly scanning the entrances, noting who came and went.

But it wasn’t the paranoid, aggressive surveillance of the Minions.

This felt protective, alert -- men watching their brothers’ backs, not watching for threats to their egos.

Aura hugged me, whispering, “He hasn’t shown up yet. Perfect timing.” Then louder, “Boys, Theo’s by the pool table. I think he’s been waiting for you.”

Chase hesitated, glancing at me. I nodded, and he and Levi moved cautiously toward the back of the room, sticking close together.

“You look hot,” Aura announced, stepping back to appraise me. “Dad’s gonna lose his mind.”

I fidgeted with my top. “I feel ridiculous.”

“You look confident,” she corrected. “And sexy. Two things my dad is absolutely going to notice.”

Before I could respond, a commanding presence approached from my left. He stood just over six feet, with a silver-streaked beard and hair, his leather cut adorned with patches that spoke of decades of membership. His eyes -- keen and assessing -- took my measure in a single glance.

“You must be Amelia,” he said, his deep voice carrying easily over the music. “Hammer’s old lady.”

I straightened, meeting his gaze directly. “I am.”

His weathered face broke into a surprising smile. “Venom,” he introduced himself. “And this is my wife, Ridley.”

A petite blonde woman stepped forward, her blue eyes sparkling with genuine warmth. Though she couldn’t have been more than five-foot-four, she carried herself with an authority that made her seem taller.

“About damn time we met you properly,” Ridley said, linking her arm through mine as if we were old friends. “Hammer’s been keeping you all to himself.”

I glanced at Aura, who winked before melting back into the crowd. “He’s been… protective,” I managed, the half-truth sticking in my throat.

Ridley laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “That’s one word for it. Come on, honey. Let me introduce you to everyone while that stubborn man of yours is still busy out back.”

Venom nodded his approval, and Ridley guided me deeper into the clubhouse, her grip on my arm both friendly and firm.

I couldn’t help but compare her confident touch to the bruising way Piston had always dragged me around Minions’ gatherings, parading me like a trophy one minute, ignoring me the next.

“That’s Saint’s old lady, Sofia,” Ridley said, nodding toward a tall brunette who waved from her position at the bar. “She makes the best damn margaritas you’ll ever taste. And the woman by the pool table is Tank’s wife, Emmie.”

As we moved through the room, I collected names and snippets of information -- Delphine, married to Rocket; Isabella, Torch’s wife; Amity, Thunder’s woman.

I’d remembered someone mentioning Amity was Hammer’s granddaughter.

Each woman greeted me with curious but welcoming eyes, so different from the cold assessment or outright hostility I’d experienced from the Minions’ women.

“The first thing you need to know,” Ridley said, handing me a beer from a cooler, “is that we stick together. Old ladies look out for each other. Any problem with your man, any issue at all, you can come to any of us.”

I took a sip, trying not to show my surprise. “Even if the problem is with your husband?”

“Especially then,” she replied without hesitation. “The men have their brotherhood, their patches, their codes. We have our own circle. Sometimes they need reminding that we’re partners, not possessions.”

“The Minions didn’t operate that way,” I admitted quietly. “Women were… commodities.”

Ridley’s expression hardened. “Hammer told Venom about your ex. Just enough for us to understand.” She squeezed my arm. “That shit doesn’t fly here, honey. These men are alpha as they come, but they know the difference between protection and possession.”

As if to illustrate her point, I watched as Tank lifted his wife’s feet onto his lap when she sat beside him, massaging her ankles without being asked. Nearby, Saint listened intently to something Sofia was saying, his focus entirely on her despite the activity around them.

“Second thing,” Ridley continued, “is that wearing an old lady patch means something here. You don’t have to earn respect by being the loudest or toughest. You already have it because Hammer chose you.”

“That simple?” I asked skeptically. I noticed she had on a property cut. Even though I was technically Hammer’s old lady, I didn’t have one yet. Had he even requested one?

“That simple,” she confirmed. “Doesn’t mean they won’t test you -- especially the Prospects. But one word from you, and Hammer will shut that down quick.”

If only he were showing that kind of interest at home.

I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the tangible sense of camaraderie surrounding me.

For the first time since meeting Piston, I felt myself truly relaxing in a crowd.

There was no need to watch for signs of Piston’s mood darkening, no need to position myself for a quick exit if things got ugly.

The vigilance that had become second nature began to ease, replaced by something that felt dangerously like hope.

“Look at your boys,” Ridley said, nodding toward the back of the room.

Chase and Levi stood with a red-haired teenager who gestured animatedly as he spoke. Levi was actually smiling -- a genuine smile that reached his eyes -- while Chase’s defensive posture had softened slightly, his shoulders no longer braced for impact.

“They’ll fit in just fine,” Ridley assured me, watching my face. “This place is good for broken things, Amelia. Helps them mend.”

I wondered if she included me among those broken things.

If she did, she wasn’t wrong. But standing there, surrounded by women who’d carved out respect in a world dominated by leather and testosterone, I felt the first stirrings of something I hadn’t experienced in years -- the sense that I might belong somewhere after all.

I watched my sons from across the room, noting how they instinctively positioned themselves -- Chase slightly in front of Levi, his body angled to block potential threats, Levi’s shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself invisible.

Even in this seemingly safe environment, they fell into their protective patterns, honed from years of living with Piston’s unpredictable rage.

The red-haired boy talking to them didn’t seem to notice their tension, his animated gestures and bright smile at odds with my sons’ guarded expressions.

“Those are Sarge’s boys over there with your sons,” Ridley explained, following my gaze. “Theo’s been going on about motorcycles since he could talk.”