Page 12

Chapter Twelve

M ac

The rumble of Rage’s Harley vibrated through my body as we pulled into the parking lot in front of the clubhouse.

Breath Mac. Breath.

My stomach rolled as I swung my leg off the bike, taking in the scene before me.

More than a dozen motorcycles were already lined up in a neat row, their paint gleaming under the afternoon sun. Music drifted from somewhere behind the large two-story building, along with the sounds of laughter and the unmistakable smell of barbecue.

“You okay?” Rage asked, his voice low as he stepped up beside me, one hand going to the small of my back.

I nodded, smoothing my hands over my fitted jean shorts for the hundredth time. “Just a little nervous.”

His lips twitched. “It’s going to be okay, babe. They don’t bite. Well, except for Killer, but he’s had all his shots.”

I laughed despite myself, some of the tension in my shoulders easing. “Good to know.”

It had been a week since the night he took me to the Boardwalk in Odin.

We’d stolen moments between my shifts at the hospital and his insane schedule at Saints Ink. Every time we were together, it got harder to leave.

I was pretty sure we were both aware that whatever was happening between us was feeling dangerously like something real. Although neither of us seemed to mind.

Which was why when he’d invited me to the club’s Saturday barbecue, I’d hesitated for all of three seconds before saying yes. This was his family and they were important to him.

Now my family, Jack specifically, would lose his ever-loving mind if he knew I was here.

“Come on,” Rage said, threading his fingers through mine. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

Squeezing my hand in his, I followed him around rounded the corner of the clubhouse, and stopped short, momentarily stunned by the view.

The back of the property opened directly onto a private beach, with the endless blue of the Atlantic stretching to the horizon. To my left was a large covered patio that housed several picnic tables and a massive smoker that was billowing smoke.

“Wow,“ I breathed, thoroughly impressed by the digs. “This place is awesome. And that view… Wow! It’s gorgeous.”

Rage winked. “We got the best piece of property in Jacksonville.”

“Rage!” a booming voice called from the patio. I turned to see a mountain of a man waving us over, a beer in one hand and tongs in the other.

“That’s Killer,” Rage dipped his head and murmured in my ear. “Don’t let the name fool you. He’s a teddy bear.”

I snorted. “No. I’m pretty sure the name is fitting.” The man was enormous and looked scary as hell.

Rage threw his head back and laughed long and loud. “Okay. You got me there,” he finally said, after he sobered.

As we approached, I could feel eyes following us. I straightened my spine, determined not to show how intimidated I felt.

“About time you showed up,” Killer grinned, clapping Rage on the shoulder hard enough to make a normal man stagger. “Chief was about to send out a search party.”

Killer’s dark eyes shifted to me, his expression curious but not unfriendly.

“This is Mac,” Rage said, the possession in his tone clear as day as his hand settled on my hip.

“McKenzie,” I clarified, extending my hand. “But everyone calls me Mac.”

Killer’s massive hand engulfed mine, but his grip was surprisingly gentle. “Nice to meet you, Mac. Heard you saved his dog.”

I smiled, relaxing a fraction. “I think it was more of a team effort.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Rage cut in. “She basically threatened to kick my ass when she thought I was hurting him.”

Killer’s eyebrows shot up, a grin stretching across his face. “That right? Damn, girl, you got balls.”

“Uh… Thanks?” I laughed.

Rage steered me toward a group gathered around the smoker, making introductions as we went. Zero was the club’s tech guy who barely looked up from his phone but gave me a nod. Reign had an Irish accent that was sexy as hell. Morpheus, the VP, looked me up and down appraisingly.

“Stop eyeballing my girl, asshole,” Rage warned.

My girl. I was quickly learning that Rage was very possessive where I was concerned. Usually that macho shit would piss me off but something about the way Rage claimed as his own sent a pleasant warmth through me.

“Can’t blame a man for looking,” Morpheus shrugged, winking at me. “Nice to meet you, darlin’.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Rage grumbled as we moved on. “His ego’s big enough already.”

I was just starting to think that I’d been nervous for nothing and that meeting his club had been a walk in the park when I spotted two women approaching from the beach. One was petite, almost pixie-like, with shoulder length platinum blonde hair and beautiful sleeves of tattoos decorating her arms. The other was tall and curvy, with fiery red hair cascading down her back and a pissed off look on her face.

“Ah, shit,“ Rage mumbled. “Here comes trouble.”

“Who’s that?” I whispered.

“The blonde is Foxy. She’s Chief’s baby sister.”

“And the one who looks like I stole her favorite toy?”

“Uhhh…” he stammered. “That’s Trixie. She’s... well… she’s around the clubhouse a lot.”

The vague answer sent a prickle of unease down my spine. Her eyes went to Rage’s arm around my back and narrowed to slits.

Ahhh. That told me everything I needed to know. There was history there.

The petite blonde reached us first, her bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief as she took me in.

“Well,” she drawled, crossing her arms. “So this is the woman who’s got Rage acting like a lovesick puppy.”

“Fuck off, Fox,” Rage grunted, his lips curving up.

“That’s Foxy to you, asshole,” she corrected, turning her attention to me. She stuck out her hand, revealing knuckles tattooed with the words PLAY NICE. “I’m Foxy. And you must be Mac.”

I shook her hand, surprised that she knew who I was already. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she grinned, hooking her arm through mine and easily extracting me from Rage’s grip. “Come on. Let me get you a drink.”

I laughed, letting her lead me away, glancing back to see Rage watching us with a look of amusement.

“Don’t worry,” Foxy said, following my gaze. “He’s a caveman like the rest of them. He won’t let you too far out of his sight.”

“Noted,” I replied, finding myself instantly liking her.

She led me to a cooler and pulled out a beer, popping the cap off with a lighter before handing it to me. “So, how’d you two meet? Rage isn’t exactly forthcoming with the details.”

I took a sip of my beer, considering how much to share since he apparently hadn’t. “We both stopped on the side of the road for an injured dog.”

Foxy’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? That’s disgustingly cute.”

“What were you expecting?” I laughed, although I was genuinely curious.

She shrugged. “Figured you were one of the many bimbos he hooks up with from the shop.”

I forced a smiled, taking another drink. Doubt I hadn’t felt before about our relationship reared its ugly head. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, I’m not disappointed,” she grinned. “Just surprised. In a good way. I’ve been around most of these guys my whole life and other than my brother, who was married for about 2.5 seconds, I honestly never expected any of them to settle down. It’s not really their style when there are always easy women around.”

My heart sank even more as I glanced around, realizing I hadn’t even noticed the beautiful women walking around in bikinis.

Pull yourself together. He likes you. Why else would he have brought you here?

“So, what do you do around here?” I asked, desperately needed to change the subject. “Rage mentioned you’re Chief’s sister.”

Her eyes looked thoughtful. “Uhhh… Well…“ Her head cocked to the side like she was looking for the right words. “Let’s just say these boys make messes and then I have to come in and clean them up.”

“Oh.” I smiled. “Like housekeeping.” She didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who did such a menial job. Not that there was anything wrong with it. She just looked like she’d do something really cool. She had that vibe about her.

For a moment, Foxy just stared at me, her lips twitching. Then suddenly her head went back and she burst out laughing, drawing the attention of a few club members who’d been standing nearby. They glanced over with amused expressions.

“What’s so funny?” I finally asked, feeling like I’d missed the punchline.

“Nothing, doll,” she said, wiping her eyes as her head bobbed up and down. “Yep, that’s me. The housecleaner. I clean up after these messy boys.”

Something told me there was more to it than that, but before I could ask, Trixie sauntered over, her eyes cold as she looked me up and down.

“So you’re the reason Rage hasn’t been around,” she said, not bothering with introductions.

I straightened my spine, meeting her gaze head-on. “I guess I am.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Listen, bi?—”

“Trixxxxxxie,” Foxy drug out her name, the warning clear not to start. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

The redhead’s jaw clenched, but after a moment, she turned on her bare feet and stalked off toward the clubhouse.

“Charming,” I muttered, taking another swig of my beer.

Foxy glanced at me thoughtfully, lowering her voice. “Look,” she sighed. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but you should know before you get too invested. My grandfather was a biker, my daddy was a biker, my brother runs this club. I’ve seen it all.”

I raised an eyebrow not sure where she was going with this. “And?”

“And bikers... they play by different rules.” She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “These men, they follow a code that’s all their own. They’ll die for their brothers, kill for their club, and…” she hesitated, “well, they don’t exactly view commitment the same way regular folks do.”

My stomach tightened. “Are you telling me Rage is going to cheat on me?”

“I’m telling you that most of these guys don’t see it as cheating,” she replied carefully. “It’s just how they are. They have their old ladies at home, and then they have their... entertainment at the clubhouse. Brothers don’t interfere with each other’s business. It’s how things work.”

I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. “And you’re okay with that?”

She shrugged, her eyes kind but realistic. “No. But I’m not with a biker either. Never will be either. I’m sorry, but I thought you should know what you’re getting into. You seem different, and I’m hoping Rage is different with you. But you deserve to know the truth.”

Before I could process that bombshell, Rage appeared at my side, his arm sliding possessively around my waist.

“Foxy giving you the third degree?” he asked.

“Just girl talk,” she replied smoothly, raising her beer in a mock toast.

Rage didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. “They’re setting up for corn hole. You wanna play?”

I forced a smile, pushing Foxy’s warning to the back of my mind to examine later. “Sure. But fair warning, I’m pretty good.”

His eyes lit up at the challenge. “That so? Well, then come show me whatcha got, baby.”

The game was set up on a flat section of the beach, just beyond the patio. Teams were quickly formed: me and Rage against Reign and Zero. Killer appointed himself referee, though it turned out it was just an excuse to heckle everyone.

“Ladies first,” Reign said with a wink, handing me the first bean bag.

I took my position at the end of the playing field, gauging the distance to the wooden board. With a flick of my wrist, I sent the bag sailing through the air, landing it dead center in the hole.

“Holy shit,“ Zero muttered, looking up from his phone for the first time.

Rage’s arm snaked around my waist as he pulled me back against him. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. “Full of surprises.”

The pride in his voice made my cheeks flush. I couldn’t help but feel myself falling harder for him.

The game proceeded with plenty of trash talk and laughter. Rage was surprisingly good, sinking most of his shots with without even trying. By the time we were declared the winners, I was pleasantly buzzed from a few beers and the high of Rage’s constant attention.

“Another round?” He asked, his eyes dancing with amusement as Zero demanded a rematch.

I was about to agree when Chief shouted, “Food’s ready!”

Rage glanced down. “We’ll eat first.”

My stomach chose that moment to rumble, answering for me.

“Good idea.”

With a squeeze of my hand, he lead me toward the food table that was now laden with barbecue and all the fixings.

As I piled my plate with brisket and potato salad, I relaxed despite Foxy’s warning.

We joined Killer, Reign, and a few others whose names I was still struggling to remember at one of the picnic tables.

“So, Mac,” Killer said between bites, “Rage says you work at Cypress Memorial?”

I nodded, swallowing a bite of brisket that melted in my mouth. “I’m —”

The high-pitched whine of a motorcycle that sounded like it was coming at us at a high speed cut the words off.

Every head at the table swung around toward the sound at once, their expressions immediately hardening.

“What the—” Killer began, jumping up.

The deafening cracks of gunfire spraying in our direction drowned out the rest of his sentence.

I sat there, my mind blanking. Then all at once Rage’s body crashed into mine as he took me to the ground, his body cocooning over mine.

“Stay down!” he shouted as chaos erupted around us.

More shots rang out as sounds of splintering wood and shattering glass filled the air.

I could hear the Saints’ shouting followed by the pounding of feet on the sand, and the roar of engines as some of the club’s members jumped on their bikes.

“Motherfucker!“ someone yelled, and I recognized it as Chief’s voice. “Go after them!”

The revving of multiple engines told me several of the Saints were following orders and giving chase.

“You okay?” Rage’s voice was strained as his weight lifted off my back and he pulled me to my feet. “Fuck,” he growled, eyes wild as he checked me over. “Are you hit?”

I shook my head, heart pounding so hard I could barely speak. “No. I’m okay.”

He nodded, already turning toward the chaos, when someone shouted out from across the patio. “Dread’s hit!”

Without thinking, I pushed past Rage and raced forward where Dread was slumped against a cooler, blood soaking through his shirt at the shoulder.

“Let me see,” I demanded, dropping to my knees beside him. The other club members stepped back to give me space, muttering angrily about making whoever did this pay.

“Hold still.” Dread’s face was pale, his teeth gritted against the pain.

“I’m fine,“ he ground out. “It’s just a scratch.“

I carefully pulled his bloody cut off his shoulder to examine the wound. Blood was flowing steadily, but not spurting, which meant the bullet had likely missed any major arteries. I could see the entry and felt his back for the exit. The bullet had passed clean through his shoulder.

“You need to go to a hospital,” I said, already applying pressure to slow the bleeding. “This needs proper cleaning and stitches.”

Dread’s harsh response was immediate. “No fucking hospitals.”

I stared at him in disbelief. This wasn’t the time to act macho. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been shot!”

“He doesn’t do hospitals,” Rage explained, crouching beside us. “None of us do if we can help it.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I snapped, looking between them. “He needs medical attention. What if there are bone fragments? What if infection sets in?”

Dread shook his head stubbornly. “No hospitals.”

I turned to Rage, expecting him to back me up, but his expression was resolute. “You won’t change his mind.”

Frustration boiled inside me. “This isn’t a paper cut! He’s been shot.”

“It went straight through,” Dread muttered, wincing as I pressed harder on the wound. Good. I hoped it hurt. He was being a stubborn ass.

I glared at him. “You’re an idiot.”

Rage’s hand settled on my shoulder. “Mac, we can’t risk the hospital. They report gunshot wounds to the police.”

The implications of that statement settled heavily in my stomach.

Right.

My brother’s warning about bikers being criminals started playing in my mind. This is what their lives entailed. Women whenever they wanted. Getting shot at. Avoiding hospitals so the cops didn’t come sniffing around.

I blew out a breath as my heart sank into my belly. I was going to have to decide if his life was something I could live with. “Fine,” I said finally, my thoughts and emotions at war. “But I’m going to need supplies.”

Dread’s eyes lit with mirth despite his pain. “You’re woman’s bossy, ain’t she?”

“You have no idea,” Rage mumbled under his breath.

I ignored them both, mentally cataloging what I would need. “Sterile gauze, gloves, suture kit, and antibiotics, if you can get them. Oh! And something for the pain.”

Foxy appeared at my elbow, nodding. “I’ll get everything. Come on, let’s move him inside where it’s cleaner.”

With Rage and Zero’s help, we got Dread into the clubhouse and onto a couch in what appeared to be some kind of office. I washed my hands thoroughly in the bathroom while Foxy laid out the supplies she’d gathered.

“You’ve done this before,” I observed as she handed me a pair of latex gloves.

She smiled grimly. “Like I said, I clean up after these guys.”

Twenty minutes later, I was hunched over Dread’s shoulder, carefully suturing the exit wound closed. The entry wound had been simpler, smaller, and cleaner. This side was messier, the bullet having torn through more tissue on its way out.

Despite my initial protests, I had to admit that Dread was handling it well. He’d refused anything stronger than whiskey for the pain, and though his jaw was clenched tight, he hadn’t made a sound as I worked.

“Almost done,” I murmured, tying off another stitch. “You’re lucky. The bullet missed anything vital.”

“Told you it was just a scratch,“ he replied, his voice slurred from the liquor he’d consumed.

I shook my head, focusing on placing the final stitches.

From across the room, Rage watched, his expression unreadable until the sound of bikes returning vibrated the walls.

As I tied off the last suture, I realized I’d come to a decision about Rage, his club, and the dangerous life he led.

For better or for worse, I was all in.