Page 24

Lexi

Dust swirled around us as Maverick and I rumbled off the main highway onto a gravel road. The bike’s tires kicked up loose stones, and I clung to him, my heart fluttering more from anticipation than fear. We were riding through the flat, endless plains of Kansas, the geographic center of the lower forty-eight states, or so he told me. There wasn’t a building for miles, except for a battered sign announcing Welcome to Lebanon in faded paint.

Finally, we spotted what looked like a low-slung compound behind a tall chain-link fence. A large patch of land surrounded it, dotted with a few scraggly trees. The building itself was long and rectangular, topped with a rusted metal roof. Several motorcycles were parked out front, a handful of men milling about, wearing cuts with the same Road Monsters ' insignia Maverick wore.

We pulled into the makeshift parking lot. A dirt patch, really. The men turned to stare, eyes narrowing at our arrival. Maverick cut the engine, and the sudden silence felt deafening.

He gave my thigh a reassuring squeeze before I swung off the bike. My legs were sore from the long ride, my mind still reeling from the past events. Gunshots in Dallas, fleeing to a shitty motel, then this trek north across two states. But somehow, just knowing I was with Maverick made me feel marginally safer.

A gigantic man with a long, bushy beard, nearly down to his belt, stepped forward. His cut read Sarge in white lettering. He had arms as thick as logs and tattoos everywhere I could see, coiling snakes, flaming skulls, a giant cross, a heart, like he was checking off boxes. He eyed me suspiciously.

“Maverick,” he greeted, voice as gravelly as the road leading here. “Didn’t figure I’d see your face ‘round here again so soon.”

Maverick lifted his chin in a silent nod. “It’s been a while, I know.”

“Got to check in. Them’s the rules.”

“Had business. Brought my…” he hesitated a fraction of a second, then forged on, “…my woman.”

The words clanged in my head . My woman . I swallowed hard, self-conscious before all those biker men with Maverick's patch. Woman, property, old lady, the terms I’d read in countless MC romance books. Now, it seemed I was living it for real.

Sarge’s gaze flicked to me, taking in my worn jeans and dusty T-shirt. “Your property, huh?” he asked, tone testing.

Maverick didn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah, she’s mine.”

The big man grunted. “All right, brother. Let’s see if the others are on board with you bringing an outsider.”

I stiffened at the word outsider, but did my best to keep my face neutral. I’d known we’d face some hostility or suspicion. After all, these men wouldn’t just let anyone waltz into their secret clubhouse. Some part of me was flattered that Maverick was introducing me as his so firmly, but another part bristled at being labeled that way. Yet I had to remind myself, we’re in danger, and I’m not about to question what keeps me alive.

Another man appeared, this one with a long, red beard parted in the middle and braided at the end, like a Viking. He was short but stocky, and a patch on his cut read Stumpy. I tried not to stare, but the beard was mesmerizing.

“Who’s she?” Stumpy asked, hooking a thumb in my direction.

“Lexi,” Maverick answered quickly, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “She’s with me.”

Stumpy scratched at his braided beard, shooting me an assessing look. “All right. Long ride?”

I nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Very long.”

He let out a grunt that might’ve been acknowledgment or amusement, then jerked his head toward the building. “C’mon in, then. We got cold beer.”

I couldn’t miss the hush that fell among the other men, tall, short, heavy, lean, each with his own scowl or suspicious glance. Jesus, I thought, this is intense. But I stuck close to Maverick, letting him navigate me through the cluster of bikers who parted like wary animals. Every so often, he’d murmur, “She’s with me,” in a tone that brooked no argument. And every so often, I’d catch a flicker of interest in one of their eyes that made my blood run cold. God, this is so much like the books I read… but real.

A small voice in my head whispered, You’re safer as his. Something about that knowledge both comforted me and made me uneasy. Because was I really just “his” so men wouldn’t make a move on me or see me as a free-for-all?

Sarge led us inside. The clubhouse’s interior was surprisingly large, a wide-open common area with a bar along one wall, several worn leather couches, a pool table, and a couple of doors that presumably led to more private rooms. Emblems and trophies, likely from charitable events or rides, decorated the walls. However, I also noticed a large symbol on the back wall. A flaming motorcycle and skull with four playing cards fanned out. Four Aces. It matched the patch on Maverick’s cut, Road Monsters MC logo.

“Yo, Maverick!” called a voice from across the room. A man with a buzz cut and a spider tattoo creeping up his neck stood there, raising a beer. “Didn’t expect to see your sorry ass again.”

Maverick gave him a mock salute. “Taz. Been a while.”

Taz sauntered over, giving me a once-over before focusing on Maverick. “Who’s the sweet piece?”

I bristled. Maverick’s arm tightened around my shoulders. “Her name’s Lexi,” he said, voice edging with warning. “Watch your mouth, Taz.”

Taz raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just sayin’ she’s pretty. Calm down.” Then he stuck his hand out to me. “I’m Taz. I do ink for the club.”

Some tension left me. “Nice to meet you.” I managed a tiny smile, shaking his hand.

A tall, barrel-chested man approached next, wearing a cut that read Tank. He gave me a curt nod, as if barely tolerating my presence. A guy behind him, ironically named Tiny, was anything but easily six-five with hands like shovels. Another man, dark as night, Hammer, lingered near a dartboard, casting suspicious looks.

A woman with bright red short hair approached, who looked a bit older, wearing a low-cut black tank top that showed off ample cleavage and a patch reading Ruby. She flashed a perfect grin at me.

“Don’t mind the grunts,” Ruby said, jerking her thumb at the men. “Half of ‘em can’t string two words together around a pretty face.” She winked, and I felt a little wave of relief.

I returned a shy grin. “Thanks. I’m Lexi. Sorry to crash your clubhouse.”

She waved me off. “We get new faces all the time, just usually it’s not so tense. We got word about the danger following you.” She turned to Maverick. “You keepin’ her safe, honey?”

“As safe as I can,” he replied.

A couple of other women hung around. A petite, dark-haired girl named Charlie nodded hello, while a blonde in ripped jeans, BonBon, sized me up with what could have been nothing more than a mild curiosity. But I couldn’t be sure she wasn’t jealous that Maverick brought a woman around.

Over by the bar, another redhead with long hair, Pep, was playing darts, sending them flying with practiced precision. The place felt like an odd combination of party central and war zone, with danger thrumming under the surface.

Sarge led us to a table near the bar. “Sit,” he commanded. Maverick and I did, while half a dozen bikers circled us. My gut tightened with nerves. I had no idea what would happen next, some kind of interrogation, presumably.

“We gotta talk,” Sarge said, lighting a cigarette. “About you bringing in an outsider. You know the rules, Maverick.”

Maverick gave a brusque nod. “I do. She’s with me.” Then his arm tightened around my shoulders again. “She’s mine, my property.”

I swallowed, trying not to show how strange that word felt on my tongue. Property. But I stayed silent, trusting Maverick’s knowledge of MC protocol. I knew from my books it’s not that I wasn’t allowed to be here, it’s that if the Road Monsters didn’t see me as claimed, they might treat me like free game. The idea rattled my spine.

Sarge stared at me through the haze of smoke, then nodded slowly. “The last time you brought a woman around saying the same, a fight broke out.”

“Won’t happen again,” Maverick said through his teeth.

“Fine. She’s your woman. We respect that. But she ain’t to roam around, cause trouble. You keep her close. Understood?” Sarge stamped out the cigarette.

Maverick glanced at me, then back at Sarge. “Understood.”

Stumpy, Taz, Tank, Tiny, and Hammer lingered, offering wary nods or shrugs of agreement. Ruby caught my eye, gave me a quick wink that seemed encouraging. At least one woman here is on my side, I thought, exhaling.

“You two want a beer?” Sarge asked.

Maverick nodded. “Yeah, we could use a drink.”

Sarge waved Tiny over, who handed us a couple of cold bottles. The glass felt reassuringly solid in my hand, though I wasn’t sure how relaxed I should be.

“How ‘bout the rest of y’all get lost,” Maverick growled under his breath to the nearby men. “We need a minute.”

They didn’t like being dismissed, Hammer sneered, Taz muttered something under his breath but eventually drifted away. I suspected they’d keep a close watch, though, because I was an unknown element, an outsider and apparently the property of Maverick. Though maybe not the only one he’s brought here under that guise.