Page 6

CHAPTER SIX

Tessa

I parked the car outside of the martial arts studio. As we were climbing out—both of us armed with some items of mine to scatter around Rook’s apartment—a woman was making her way out of the front door.

She was black-haired and tattooed, with one of those perfectly curvaceous bodies. She looked like a damn goth pin-up.

“Is this her?” she asked, sparing Rook a glance but zeroing in on me.

Used to complicated female politics, I immediately felt less-than in my borrowed tee and jeans that I’d worn one too many days—making them saggy in the thigh and butt—and my un-made-up face.

At least my hair was clean and relatively tame.

I barely resisted the urge to reach up and self-consciously fix it. I was still getting used to the length and color, having chopped off nearly waist-length blonde hair and dyed it the turquoise color it currently was, trying on a new look. Part of it was because it felt like cutting off the old me and all of her choices and trauma. But it was mostly because brightly colored hair kind of stole people’s focus, making it less likely that they would remember my face if someone came around with pictures of me, asking if anyone had seen me.

“This is her. Tessa, this is Nyx. Nyx, Tessa.”

“Nyx. You’re Slash’s old lady, right?” I asked, wanting to keep everyone straight so they were more likely to accept me into their fold. The more everyone liked me, the more likely they were to protect me if it ever came to that.

“I’d beat his ass if he ever called me that, but yeah,” Nyx said with a little smirk.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I thought it was a sign of respect.”

“Tessa has been around clubs since she was a kid. But they sound a little more old school than ours.”

“What, like Property of So-and-So on their backs?”

“Yes, actually. So all the bikers know she’s off limits and clubwhores know to toe the line.”

“Whores,” Nyx repeated, wincing a bit.

“That’s what they’re called,” I said, confused.

“I think a lot of clubs have updated the language a bit,” Rook said. “We call them club girls. But I think there is also… patch bunnies or sweet butts.”

“What biker have you ever met who would use the term ‘sweet butt?’” I asked, more bothered by that name than ‘clubwhores’ or ‘pass-arounds,’ like I’d always heard them called.

“Fair,” Rook agreed, shaking his head. “Anyway, yeah, this is Nyx. Slash’s wife. And also… your boss.”

“Oh, right, yeah. I guess we will go over all of that later,” Nyx said. “You want to show her around? I have to meet Dell and Morgaine.”

“Yeah. I’ll lock up,” Rook agreed as Nyx tossed keys at him.

“Nice to meet you, Tessa. I’ll see you back at the clubhouse.”

“She was… nice,” I said, turning to watch her leave.

“Were you expecting her to be nasty?” Rook asked, head tipped to the side.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never known a president’s old lady to be nice to a new girl, is all.”

His eyes looked soft for a moment. Like, I don’t know, he felt bad for the me that had to deal with those complicated relationships.

He had no idea .

“You’re gonna find a lot is different here. The girls are all nice and welcoming. Some will be more friendly than others. Dell and Everleigh, for example. They’re just the sweeter types. Murphy is a little more standoffish. Morgaine and Vienna are both a little on the quieter side, but really nice when you get to know them.”

“What about the clubwh—girls?”

“We honestly don’t have a lot of girls you would call club girls in the strictly traditional sense. There are girls in town who like to come and party. And no one cares who sleeps with who. But they aren’t always hanging around and causing drama or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It was.

And I almost couldn’t fathom a clubhouse where the girls weren’t constantly being catty and backhanded, sometimes getting into actual fights. Or, worse yet, turning the bikers against the others.

It was worse than high school.

And the sexual politics just made everything a lot more messy and upsetting.

“Okay. That’s good to know.” Even if I was struggling to wrap my head around it. “So, are you going to show me around?” I asked when his intense gaze made me want to shuffle my feet. Or turn and run.

“Yep,” he said, holding the door open for me. “So, basically, front desk… place for karate,” he said, gesturing toward the padded floors and mirrored wall. “And there’s a room back here for private lessons. And… a shoebox of an office here,” he went on, leading me into a room so small that ‘shoebox’ was probably generous.

“So, where do you work?”

“I do maintenance and shit like that. I am strictly forbidden from being in here,” he told me, waving at the computer on the desk.

I was no tech person, but I was pretty sure that was an elaborate computer system for a little martial arts studio. And that recycling can full of empty energy drinks likely didn’t belong to Nyx.

“This is my office, right?” I asked.

“Right.”

“Well, I’ll leave this here then,” I said, dropping a material hair tie on the desk. “I should probably stick a few more things in here eventually too. Girls tend to bring home into their offices, don’t they?”

“That had a strangely longing tone to it,” Rook observed, better at reading me than I liked.

“Okay. Embarrassing confession, but I used to dream about having an office cubicle.”

“An office cubicle? A nine-to-five prison? Why?”

“I don’t know. It seemed nice. Like a little home away from home. I used to watch videos of girls completely decorating the space. All pink keyboards and photo collages and rugs…”

I had to shut up.

I was getting too close to admitting why I dreamed of a home away from home, why being able to express myself that way was such a dream of mine.

“Well, you can decorate this if you want. Nyx doesn’t use this computer. She has a laptop for all the actual work shit. Actually, do it. I’ll send you some money or a gift card. Get whatever you want to personalize this.”

Something dangerously close to hope swelled.

“If I know Nancy, she’s going to ambush you here,” he said, only partially spoiling the little dream.

“Okay. I can do that.” I was already sizing up the space, trying to figure out what the dimensions of the room and desk were, how much stuff I could shove into a little office. Even if I wasn’t technically going to be working there.

“It’ll be good for you to spend some time here, setting it up. That will get you really familiar with how things work, so if Nancy asks any sneaky questions, you will have a ready answer.”

“Right,” I agreed, but I was barely paying attention. I was trying to decide on a color scheme.

“Lost you to office supplies, didn’t I?” Rook asked, shooting me a knowing smile. “I get like that when I start thinking about keyboards, switches, and keycaps. By the way, the hall storage has a box full of different keyboards if you don’t like this one for your décor. Ready to see my place?”

“Yep,” I agreed, casting one last glance around, excited to spend my evening looking at supplies.

We moved back through the studio, pausing out front for Rook to lock up, then walking to the side of the building. I watched Rook glance in the alley—likely checking for his nosy P.O.—before leading me down.

“One sec,” he said, pulling off his leather cut, folding and rolling it, then opening what I thought was a solid wooden planter from afar, but had a little storage compartment in the back. He shoved his cut inside, then closed it back up. “I can’t have it in my place,” he explained as he turned back. “And sometimes I don’t want to go all the way to the clubhouse to get my cut before walking across the street to hit up the bar.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed, watching him move toward the exposed staircase.

“Not afraid of heights, are you?”

“Are you kidding? I love them.”

We made our way up and Rook unlocked the door as I looked down at Shady Valley, finding I really liked this vantage point.

“Okay. Keep your expectations low,” Rook warned before pushing open the door.

Really, there was no reason for the dramatic warning.

Clearly, the place had been updated recently. It had pristine lightwood floors and airy beige walls. I mean, sure, it was small. You walked immediately into a minuscule foyer with the full bath to one side. It featured a traditional shower/tub combo, a space-saving white sink cabinet with a storage medicine cabinet mirror, and a brown plaid linen shower curtain.

Not three feet in from the foyer was the L-shaped kitchen with white cabinets, white appliances, and a simple drip coffee machine. No lattes when I moved in with him then.

How spoiled I had become in one day.

Beyond the kitchen was a long, narrow space with a little couch across from a small TV.

Directly past that was the bedroom, which was cut off from the living space by little bookshelves, not a full wall.

Just like at the clubhouse, his bed was made, had a frame, and decent linens.

“All pretty self-explanatory,” he said, waving around.

“I like it,” I decided.

“You don’t have to be nice,” Rook said, running a self-conscious hand through his hair.

“I’m not. It’s cozy. Though, those bookshelves are sad.”

There were only three pieces of decor on them. One was a replica of Johnny 5 from Short Circuit made out of building blocks . Another was, randomly, one of those big candles with three wicks. And, finally, he had an actual bowl full of condoms.

Catching me looking, Rook let out a little laugh. “That’s kind of there to fuck with Nancy,” he admitted. “She flips the entire apartment when she comes. I get a kick out of her embarrassment of digging through a bowl of condoms.”

“Hey, it seems like she’s earned a little embarrassment. But maybe that shouldn’t be on display if you’re supposed to be in a serious relationship now.”

“Good point. I’ll leave some in the nightstand and send the rest back with you to the clubhouse. Maybe you can find something to put in there instead. Girly shit. And some pictures and frames.”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“Go on and snoop around,” Rook invited. “It would be good if you know where the forks and mugs are, and everything like that. I’m gonna run to the store to grab an extra towel holder and towels. Anything else you can think of that I could get to show that someone else is around here now?”

“Um. An extra toothbrush, maybe some tampons for under the sink, oh, and a contacts case. I wear contacts,” I said, waving at my eyes. “That’s probably something you should know.”

“Got it. Need me to pick up anything else? Something you might need for the clubhouse?”

“I think I’m good,” I said, used to surviving on the bare minimum. I could buy myself stuff once I started working. He was already spending a lot of money on me.

“Okay. Get to know your way around. I won’t be more than an hour.”

With that, he was gone.

And I did exactly what he said.

I snooped.

I opened every drawer and cabinet.

Then I tested my memory, trying to guess where the plates were or what was in the medicine cabinet and on what shelf. Someone who was sleeping over often would know that kind of thing.

I also scattered traces of myself around: a hair tie here, a claw clip there, a pair of earrings on the nightstand.

Eventually, I would drop off a sweater, some cosmetics in the bathroom, all those little signs that someone slept over and needed their essentials.

In the bedroom, in addition to a TV, I found an old-school five-CD changer. And a tower featuring a bunch of CDs.

It was the most personal thing I’d come across in his apartment. Most of the CDs had little stickers from a secondhand record store that I’d passed on my way into Shady Valley. And for just a moment, I imagined Rook making his way up and down crowded aisles of music, trying to decide which albums he liked enough to keep in his personal collection.

He had a diverse collection—everything from Sinatra and Billy Joel to pop-punk and emo from the aughts. But he definitely seemed to prefer rock and metal.

I wondered if he occasionally blasted some of that while Nancy was ripping his life apart, just to get a rise out of her.

I grabbed a CD and stuck it in the stereo, never being comfortable with silence, and Rook’s apartment was a little too quiet for me.

Finished snooping, I went ahead and moved some of the condoms to the nightstand and stuck the rest in my purse to bring back to the clubhouse and store for him there.

Unexpectedly, though, the thought of him with a woman flashed in my mind. And that mental image made my belly feel weird and wobbly.

What the heck was that about?

“Alright,” Rook said, coming in with a few bags. “You gave me no direction with the contacts thing, so I got you one that matched your hair,” he said as he set the bags on the counter, then dug around for the contacts case. “You also didn’t tell me what kind of tampons, so you have a multi-pack. Maybe you should take a few out and stash them at the clubhouse.”

His casual indifference to feminine hygiene products was kind of refreshing. I was so used to men who crassly told the rest of the bikers that so-and-so was ‘on the rag’ and made comments about how she was only good for ass-fucking or blowjobs for a week.

“Oh, and I got these,” he said, producing a pack of makeup wipes. “I know you’re not wearing any now, but you had makeup on last night. And if you were crashing here, I figured you’d want to wash that off before bed. What?” he asked, making me realize I was watching him with narrowed eyes.

“I thought you said you aren’t, like, a relationship guy.”

“I’m not.”

“Then how are you thinking about this kind of thing?” I asked, grabbing the bag of makeup wipes.

“Oh, the club girls, I guess. Meaning the ‘old ladies,’” he said, using air quotes, “and the hang-abouts. Someone is always asking about makeup wipes.”

And he—marvel of all marvels—listened.

It was kind of like remembering how I liked my coffee. And picking a contacts case in a color he thought I would like instead of what he liked or what was cheapest.

It was weird, and I had no idea how to navigate someone who gave a fuck about what I liked or wanted.

“You alright?” Rook asked, watching me.

“What? Yeah. Sorry. I think I need coffee.”

“Coffee here isn’t as impressive as the clubhouse. Wanna head back? We can get the meeting with everyone over with so you can settle in.”

And order office supplies.

Which was maybe the most exciting thing I had planned in years.