Page 32

Mostly Legal

Mensa

“I feel so free now that I’m out of that arm sling,” Whitney said, hanging her keys on the hook by the garage door.

Mensa pulled a foil tray from the refrigerator. “Did you ask your therapist about that? I think they took you out of it too soon.”

She leaned her good shoulder against the kitchen doorway. “Yes, Kenneth. I asked twice just to put your mind at ease. Is that tray full of lumpia?”

He shook his head. “Not as far as you know.”

She shot him a cute angry pout. “They won’t miss just one.”

He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. “You have one, then I’m having one, and two missing lumpia are much more obvious than just one.”

“Too bad. And I thought this bash was the biggest one of the year because you open it up to so many people. Nobody’s gonna care. Someone snoozes, they lose.”

“We have to put them in the oven at the clubhouse to reheat them. You aren’t eating cold lumpia, woman.”

She pushed up on her toes and whispered. “That’s why God made microwaves.”

He kissed her quick. “We don’t have time for that, woman. If you want to wear something different for the Fourth of July party, then you need to change.”

She stepped back, glanced down at herself, and back to him. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?”

She was wearing a pair of high-cut denim shorts and the sleeveless red blouse she wore at Twisted Talons that fateful night. He shook his head. “Not at all, but other women…”

She put her hand on his chest. “I don’t care about other women, Mensa. Are we staying at the clubhouse?”

He nodded.

“Then I have to pack a bag with fresh clothes.”

“Hurry up, babe. This party’s important.”

Whitney stared at the Riot brothers gathered around the grill. “I’m not sure what surprises me more. The fact there’s a sneaky back gate to get in here, or that there are far more people here than I expected.”

Mensa moved in front of her and grabbed her hands. “I should have had your cut ordered—”

“Mensa—”

He shook his head. “I know you don’t like the idea, Whit.”

“It isn’t that I don’t like the idea.”

“Then what is it?”

She stared at him so long he expected her to keep quiet. Then she muttered, “It’s that I don’t get to claim you the same way.”

He shifted her hands to his left hand and dug into his pocket with his right.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Having you wear a cut would be better, but I don’t have one for you. With all these other brothers here, I have to stake my claim a different way.”

He slid the ring onto her finger.

She gazed down and gasped. Her eyes were huge when she looked up at him.

“It’s not very romantic, but—”

Her chin dipped and she took in the carat-and-a-half square-cut diamond before glancing back at him. “Mensa! How? When did you get this? This ring had to be really expensive.” Her voice dipped an octave. “Did you use drug money for this?”

He laughed. “No. You thought I had an apartment, but I’d dropped the lease. Did you check how long I’d been there? I’ve lived at the clubhouse more than most of the others. No mortgage and no huge rent bill means I’ve got money saved.”

She nodded. “Fair. I’m sorry I asked if the money was legal.”

He grinned. “It was mostly legal.”

She gasped. “Mostly? What the—”

He put his finger to her lips. “Listen, Blume. You know something? I’m tired of calling you ‘Blume.’ You need a new name, and Whitney Ragstone has a nice ring to it. Do you want to marry me or what?”

Her watery smile couldn’t have been more gorgeous. “Yes, Kenneth. I want to marry you.”

“Then, kiss me and make it official.”

“Where is Two-Times going in such a hurry?” Fiona asked.

Mensa put his beer bottle on the picnic table. “He got a call from his sister earlier. She had to head into work due to a breaking news story, and she’s watching his girls. I’m guessing there isn’t anyone else to pick up the slack today.”

Whitney doctored her cheeseburger. “It has to be rough being a single parent.”

Fiona nodded. “You’re absolutely right, and he’s lucky are almost as easy-going as he is. For now, since Cheyenne’s a teenager.” She focused her eyes on Mensa. “Speaking of teenagers, did Scrap even prospect for a year?”

“He’s shy by about a month,” Mensa muttered.

Whitney looked from Mensa to Fiona. “Is that really a requirement?”

Mensa nodded. “Anyone else, yeah, a year or more. His situation was an exception. Not to mention we all voted unanimously.”

Fiona squinted an eye at him. “The brothers vote on all new patches though… or at least they did when Dad ran this chapter.”

Mensa grinned. “You’re right, but she’s asking about the requirements. ”

Fiona stared across the forecourt to where Scrap was being given shoulder slaps and handshakes from other brothers. “That’s true. He definitely looks happy.” She glanced at Whitney. “You need anything? I’m going to hit the dessert table again.”

Whitney tipped her margarita at Fiona. “I’m good.”

The moment Fiona was far enough away, Whitney turned to Mensa. “Are you serious right now? Is she the daughter of the man Aunt Nadia—”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know about Nadia being involved with her dad. I’d rather not bring that up to Fi.”

“The way you all care about one another, it’s like you all really are a huge family,” she said.

He grimaced. “That's true for the most part. It sucks, but Fiona's relationship with her dad was strained at best.”

Whitney sipped her margarita. “I’m sorry to hear that. You don’t have to work tonight?”

Mensa shook his head. “No. We shut down the bar three times a year. Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.”

“That’s strange. I’d think today would be a high-volume day.”

“Yeah, but people get over it. When you take over for Nadia, are you gonna keep her policy of closing Hard Pressed for the whole week of July fourth?”

She grinned and shrugged her right shoulder. “Too soon to tell, honey.”

He put his arm around her shoulders. “After we get married, I’m taking you on a honeymoon, so… you might want to consider that in your decision.”

Her blue eyes went wide. “What? Are you telling me I have to have a summer wedding?”

His fingers traced circles on her upper arm. “I’ve heard it takes a year to plan a wedding. Your parents strike me as the traditional type…so, yeah. Sooner would be better than later.”

She aimed her coy smile his way. “See, I’d always wanted a winter wedding. Then we can get cracking on starting our family.

Someone yelled across the forecourt. “Houston!”

Whitney’s smile brightened and she looked at Mensa. “Is that Donny?”

“Might be. I told him he was welcome to come by. He never believes me when I tell him we roast a whole hog.”

Whitney waved a hand at him. “Yeah, no need to remind me. I’d rather not know that y’all do that.”

Dontrell took a seat across from them. “Where is your sling, Houston?”

Whitney chuckled. “At the back of my closet where it will rest in peace. Yesterday, they told me I was done with it and I never want to see another sling again. Did you ever hear back from your insurance agent?”

When Dontrell grinned, it had a lightness to it Mensa hadn’t seen since last May. “Yes, thanks to your brother. He recommended I send them articles about Rod’s trial and how I was targeted by Corrupt Chrome MC and one of the members admitted to the arson. Last week they cut me a check. Construction begins next week.”

“That’s great news!” Whitney said, sliding out of her seat and rounding the table to give Dontrell a hug.

Hearing that Dontrell’s troubles were resolved was great, but Mensa believed the best news was that Rod had been sentenced to twenty-five years in jail for that crime.

Dontrell nodded. “It sure is. Now, where’s this hog I’ve heard so much about?”

Whitney shook her head. “That’s all Mensa. I’m out.”

Whitney

Five months later…

“Girl, it’s high time for you to level up your leather game, before I retire in February,” Aunt Nadia said from her sewing machine. She was working on a large piece of leather. For some reason I hadn’t paid attention to what she was sewing.

Back when I was in my teens, I had my first experience stitching leather. I’d convinced my parents to enroll me in dance lessons. My ballet slippers were leather, and I had to sew the elastic band in place. I remembered how tough it was to get the needle and thread through the slipper. The sewing machine made working on leather cuts easier, but I wasn’t at the same level as Aunt Nadia.

“What do you mean, level up? I’ve been doing embroidery now for three weeks, but those VFW members are picky about their patches.”

She cocked a brow at me and grinned. “Yes, and you’re never gonna be able to deal with those fussy ol’ men if you don’t try your hand at this more often. Now get over here.”

I sidled up to her and she stood to give me her seat. Once I sat down, I focused on the leather. Aunt Nadia had already stitched a rocker at the top. It read ‘Property of.’

“Now, here’s the patch you need to put on and make sure it’s centered just so,” Aunt Nadia said, handing me a die-cut embroidered patch.

I flipped it over to put it in place. The wings caught my attention first, and I recognized the Riot MC emblem.

For a moment, I paused, then I centered the patch under the needle. “Who is getting their property patch? I know Riley already has hers, but is this for Trinity?”

Aunt Nadia didn’t answer and I turned my face in her direction.

Mensa stood there, leaning against the counter. “You didn’t read the bottom patch, did you?”

I blinked. “No. This is the largest patch I’ve ever had to sew.”

He tipped his head to the machine. “The bottom rocker tells you every thing you need to know, babe.”

I pressed my lips together as a warm sensation bloomed in my belly. Ever so carefully, I lifted the bottom hem of the cut and saw the large rocker. Stitched with deep gold thread in Old English style font was the name, Mensa .

“You really want me to sew my own patch on? That’s like the ultimate pressure.”

“Not like this will be a secret from you. Getting to sew it on yourself gives it that much more meaning.”

“And I think he’s right!” Aunt Nadia hollered from the back office.

Mensa lowered his voice. “You need to use weaker batteries in her hearing aids.”

I laughed. “She doesn’t wear them.”

“What don’t I wear?” she called out.

“Don’t worry about it,” I hollered over my shoulder.

“I wanted to be able to surprise you… and this is better than giving you the cut in front of a big audience at the clubhouse.”

“Why don’t I hear the sewing machine running?” Nadia asked, and she was standing right behind Mensa. “Move it, Whitney Janelle. I’ll get this done for you… consider it an early wedding gift.”

My brows drew together. “I thought you wanted me to up my game.”

She waved her hand at me. “You’ll get to up your game starting tomorrow because mark my words, this is the last cut I’m sewing for anybody. I’m just thrilled I get to do one for someone I love.”

I felt tears well in my eyes. “Aunt Nadia! You can’t sneak attack me with the sweet stuff. I love you.”

“Love you, too, but get outta here so I can concentrate. And no necking in the back.”

Mensa came back to the shop at five-thirty-one. Right after Aunt Nadia had left. “Did she get it done?”

I grinned. “Yes.”

His eyes gleamed with pride and desire. “Then you’re leaving your car here, putting on that cut, and riding back to the house on the back of my bike.”

I cocked my head. “It’s only fifteen minutes from here to the house, honey.”

He came closer. “I didn’t say we were headed straight to the house, Blume… there might be a detour along the way.”

Once I grabbed my purse, I shrugged into my cut. The scent of brand new leather was almost overwhelming… or maybe it was the feeling of wearing something that carried so much meaning to my man.

He hummed his approval, deep and gravelly. Then he held me tight to his body, kissed me long and hard, bending me over his arm. He broke the kiss, but didn’t pull his face back very far. “Never thought you could get more gorgeous, but I was wrong.”

“You wanna know something, handsome?”

His lips tipped up. “What?”

“I’m wrong.”

He shook his head and straightened. “What are you talking about?”

I grinned, went up on my toes, and pecked his lips. “Every time I think I can’t love you more, you prove me wrong. I hope you keep doing it for the rest of our lives. Let’s ride, because I can’t wait to get on your bike wearing your patch.”

Thank you for reading.