Page 10

10

Legacy

It’s always been a habit to strip off my cut the second I get home, but after the night I walked into the house covered in blood a week ago, there are a lot of reasons I find myself hanging it on the hook inside the front door.

That night, Reagan saw the reality of what comes with my place in the club. At that moment, there was no hiding that I’m a bad man. A killer. Fear and hesitation flooded her eyes as she stared at me.

When I suggested she could leave, it wasn’t for the reasons I’ve been saying she should go since the beginning. It wasn’t for my sake.

It was for hers.

What she saw and how she felt about it won’t change. It’s who I am. And because of the club, I can’t explain myself to make her feel better. It is what it is.

That particular night wasn’t even notable. Ghost, Havoc, and I had been out checking in on a few of our businesses downtown when two Iron Sinners thought it would be a good idea to start shit. One almost stabbed me in the side, but I moved in time to snap his wrist and slice him through the gut instead.

They attacked us first.

I could tell Reagan that, and it might make her feel better. But the truth is, that’s not always the case. Sometimes, it’s the other way around. Sometimes, we’ve got a good reason for it. Other times, it’s because someone is drunk and annoyed.

The circumstances are inconsistent and not usually comforting.

At least Reagan and I are coexisting now, pretending nothing happened. Margaret is getting worse, and candidates to replace her keep falling through. So we hang in this purgatory and learn to live with each other.

Around each other?

Who the fuck knows what we’re doing.

I pause with my hand on the hook and stare at the Twisted Kings logo on the back of my cut. The club and Bea are everything to me. At the end of the day, they’re all that matters.

As I step deeper into my house, I find the living room and kitchen empty. Something is cooling in the crockpot, and it smells unlike anything I’ve eaten. Reagan cooks better than the clubhouse chef, and I’m hungry the second I smell it.

A happy squeal comes from the backyard, and I glance through the window to see Bea running around there, playing soccer in a black leotard, a purple tutu, and bright-pink cowboy boots. While Reagan sits in the shade of the porch reading one of her smutty books.

Every time I think that girl can’t possibly surprise me, she manages it. I sense there are so many layers working underneath that pristine mask she wears, and I’m tempted to peel each one back slowly. Strip her of the perfect facade and mess her the fuck up.

The heat of the afternoon hangs heavy in the air as I step outside. It saturates the desert, even as the sun is starting to dip below the horizon. I drop into the chair beside Reagan, and only then does she notice me, slamming her book shut with surprise.

“Lost in thought, sweetheart?” I grin when I spot her beautifully blushed cheeks.

I’m tempted to snatch her book out of her hands to read what’s got her eyes hazy with lust, but it’s probably better that I don’t know, or I might be tempted to act on it.

I adjust my jeans and lean back in my chair, trying not to think about Reagan worked up. “I’m guessing that’s a good book? Intricate plot…”

Her eyes narrow. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I would, but there’s no way in fuck we’re going there, or I might not be able to stop, so I change the subject. “I see the contractor showed up this morning.”

“Oh, right.” She slaps her hand on her forehead. “I was supposed to text you when they got here. They just had so many questions that I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Seems it went well without me.”

“It did.” She smiles at the new shade over the porch. “It only took them a few hours. When they first got here, I thought it would take all day.”

It would have taken them all day if Ghost hadn’t pulled up the security feed in my backyard and showed me the men at my house flirting with my nanny instead of working. All it took was one call from me to get them into gear. It was either that, or I could find a spot to bury them within the property line.

But I can’t say that, so I just say, “Good.”

“It’s funny,” Reagan muses. “I was just thinking you could use a shade out here. Not that it will do much in the middle of the summer. But this time of year, it’s enough to make it bearable. It’s perfect.”

Dropping my chin, I bury my smirk. I know she thought about it because she texted it to me once. But clearly, she doesn’t remember.

“Glad you like it.”

Bea slides to a stop on the fake turf that covers the backyard, and when she hops up, she spots me.

“Nice kick, Honey Bea,” I shout across the yard, and she smiles wide before returning to what she’s doing.

“You’re home early.” Reagan sets her book on the table between us.

“Perks of never actually having a schedule. Sometimes, I get an afternoon to myself.”

“I never realized how much work it is being in a motorcycle club.”

I hold back a chuckle at how sweetly she says motorcycle club —like half the shit we do couldn’t get us locked up for the rest of our lives. “I’m guessing the club isn’t so much work in your books?”

She’s spent the past week working through a series with bikers on the cover, and I love that she’s left them out—not the least bit embarrassed about it after I caught her reading the first one.

Reagan grabs her glass of water, taking a sip. A drop of condensation slides a torturous path over her luscious breast before disappearing down the front of her dress. I swear this girl walked straight out of Eden and landed on my fucking doorstep.

“They don’t always focus on the work in my books. At least, not that kind.” She smirks.

Her insinuation is as much of a turn-on as it is a challenge.

“I’m sure they don’t.” I scratch my jaw, trying not to think about the kind of work she’s referring to. “But yeah, the club is a lot of work with the number of businesses we own. Between the stuff on the Strip and the things to do to keep the compound running, there’s always something to do.”

She glances around the property. “The compound is like its own world.”

“In lots of ways, it is.”

Our own rules, our own punishments.

“Can I ask you something?” There’s a nervous edge to her tone.

“Anything. ”

“What’s an old lady?” Her cheeks heat. “Luna and Tempe keep saying it, so I’m guessing it’s a real thing then?”

I almost ask her why she didn’t ask them this question when they mentioned it, but I’m too distracted by the fact that she saved it for me. She might be wary of my life, but she trusts me to answer questions when it comes to this world—my world.

And I think I like it.

“Figured your books would have explained that for you.”

She shrugs. “In a fictional world, yes. There are old ladies, club girls, and property patches. But I guess I’m curious what they mean in the real world. What they mean to you.”

To me.

That’s a loaded question when an old lady has never meant anything to me up to this point. It was something I didn’t want, and that was that. It was something for my brothers. Not me.

“Is an old lady like a girlfriend?”

I shake my head. “They’re more than that. Like the club’s version of a wife.”

“But not in the legal sense?”

“Most guys don’t care much for titles in the legal sense.”

“Like using the name on your birth certificate, Legacy ?”

Reagan only ever uses my club name when she’s teasing. Still, I like hearing it from her mouth a little too much .

“Yeah, like that.” I grin. “An old lady is a title to the club, and while that might not mean much to people outside these gates, it means everything here. It makes her a part of the club. It makes her family. Which is why you can’t just claim someone; the club has to vote on it if a brother finds someone worth asking.”

“They could tell you no?”

“Technically.” I shrug. “But if a brother is bringing the vote to the club, it means she means enough to them that there’d have to be a pretty big reason for his family to deny it.”

“So you voted with Luna?” Reagan mulls that over. “When she and Ghost got together?”

I nod.

“And Tempe?”

“We did. But there were no objections. We knew they were part of the family the second Steel and Ghost fell for ’em. It was just a formality by the time the guys brought it to everyone else.”

“Family,” she whispers, repeating the word, and I realize that’s the part she’s hanging onto.

I still don’t know much about hers, except that her parents cared more about appearances than their daughters, and she’s still carrying the burden of whatever they placed on her.

“Family is what we are around here.”

Her gaze lifts to Bea running around the yard. “I see that.”

My throat tightens, and I have to look away to loosen it .

“So the property piece of it…” She trails off.

“It’s not quite like it sounds. Or, at least, it’s not as one-sided as it sounds.” I thread my fingers through my hair. “Yes, giving an old lady a property patch tells everyone else she belongs to him, but that’s only because he belongs to her in return. Plus, it offers her the protection of his club.”

“Like if something bad happens to you?”

“That’s the worst-case scenario.”

She glances out at where Bea is running around, kicking her soccer ball. “So, Bea’s mom… she was your old lady?”

“No. Sera is a whole other story.” I drag my fingers through my hair, burying my frown when Bea turns to me smiling. “Nice kick, Honey Bea.”

She does a curtsy in her purple tutu before once again chasing after the ball.

“Sorry, I just assumed.”

“It’s fine.” I rest my elbows on my knees and stare out at the yard. “Sera was a patch bunny, and I barely knew her other than having a little fun. We weren’t in an actual relationship.”

“Oh.” Reagan’s face pinches.

“Yeah. We hung out a couple of times, and then she disappeared because she said the club life wasn’t for her. I didn’t see her again until ten months later when she had Bea in her arms. She said I could either have my daughter, or she’d find someone else to raise her, but that she didn’t want her.” My hands clench. It’s rare I think back on that particular conversation because it turns the world dark. I can barely breathe just thinking about it. “She was gonna just hand our daughter off to a stranger. My fucking kid.”

Reagan tenses beside me. “I’m sorry, Jesse.”

“Me too.” I swallow hard. “We haven’t seen Sera since.”

“Bea’s lucky she has you.” Reagan’s eyes are on Bea now, running circles in the fake grass.

“She deserves a hell of a lot more than me.”

“No.” Reagan shakes her head. “You’re enough. Maybe you don’t see it. But you’re enough, Jesse.”

Those words slam into me so hard I can’t find my voice to argue with her.

I’m not enough.

But hearing it from Reagan makes me wish she could be right. So I let her believe it for both of us. She’ll be gone soon anyway. There’s no point dimming her light when she burns so bright I can’t stop looking at her.

“So, no old lady then?” Reagan eyes me.

I shake my head, leaning back in my chair. “No old lady.”

Just like I’ve always preferred. But when I glance at Reagan, I wonder what Ghost sees when he looks at Luna. Or what Steel sees when he looks at Tempe.

Did they know it when they found the person worth sticking around when they first saw her? Did they see their other half sitting in front of them?

What did that feel like?

Because when I look at Reagan, I swear she fits against all the parts of me I’ve always seen as rough edges.

She turns to me with the fading sunset behind her, and I let myself think for a second that this might be what it feels like on the other side of loneliness. I hold onto that for a breath, and then I look away, stretching my legs out as the phantom ache shoots through me.

A reminder that this isn’t possible, so there’s no point thinking about it.

She’s here because of Margaret. But she’ll get tired of me or this place or the club eventually. She’ll realize there are easier jobs with simpler people. People who don’t show up in the middle of the night stained in blood.

She’ll remember she’s twenty-one, smart, and beautiful. And she’ll move on.

There’s no point getting attached. I can’t handle another woman breaking Bea’s heart.

Much less mine.