Page 37 of Spooked (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #13)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
HOUND
These last two weeks have been the best of my life.
Maeve discharged herself from the hospital, came straight back to my house, and immediately breathed life into it.
I hadn’t realised how much it had been missing a woman’s touch.
At first, she’d only salvaged a few items from a small suitcase in her totalled car, which we’d managed to track down, but then we’d sent the prospects to LA to pack up everything from her apartment.
We’d decided not to go ourselves, or rather, I managed to persuade her to obey her doctor’s instructions not to overdo things and rest. The medical staff thought there might be a lasting problem with her heart.
Maeve and I dismissed that, believing her health problems had ended with the demise of her aunt and that house.
As long as the spirits leave us alone, she’ll be fine.
Now my house has been transformed, with knick-knacks, cushions, throws and books combining to make this a real home.
My kitchen? Well, I thought I knew all the important things about the woman I’d brought into my life, but I had missed something important.
She loved to cook and delighted in the kitchen I’d had installed, almost as much as I’ve enjoyed eating the results.
To top it all off, yesterday I got rid of my cast. I was dismayed at how much muscle wastage there was, and how, when I walked, I still automatically favoured my left leg.
But Peg told me he’s already developed a routine that will have me fit in no time.
Somehow, I suspect that will be worse than the Hell Week I experienced in the Marines.
Last night I was able to make love properly with my woman for the first time, with no impediment between us, and I'd say, she blew my mind. Compatible? Fuck, she’s my match in every way.
There’s not a surface of this house we haven’t christened, even though, up to now, we’ve had to be inventive.
I think eating her out on the kitchen table has to be my favourite, or bending her over the couch, or in the shower, when we discovered the stool was strong enough to bear both our weight.
Oh, let’s face it, I love having her anytime, any way, and she’s never had any complaints. Many times, she’s the initiator.
And here she is now, looking like a vision in a dress that reveals the curves that are slowly rounding out on her body, as she puts back on the pounds she lost while she was in that coma. My mouth salivates, and my cock stands to attention to the stimuli as rapidly as Pavlov’s dog.
“Down, boy.” She chuckles as she comes over, goes on tiptoe, plants the palms of her hands on my cheeks, and pulls me down for a kiss. “We’ve no time if we don’t want to be late.”
“They wouldn’t miss us,” I counter.
“Sure,” she retorts. “But we need to be down there before the guest of honour. I’ll let you see what’s under this dress later.”
Now she’s got me intrigued. I lift her onto the kitchen counter, smoothing my hands up her thighs. “Fuck me, you’re going to kill me, woman.” She’s wearing stockings and a garter belt.
I stumble and laugh as she pushes me away. “Later,” she promises, with a glint in her eyes.
Knowing she won’t be dissuaded, and that she’s right, I slide on my cut, then pick up hers and hand it to her.
I’d wasted no time claiming her, she’d immediately slotted into my life.
And, it seems she loves wearing her “Property of Hound” patch, which declares she’s mine.
A sense of belonging she’s not had for some time.
On my part? The still-healing tattoo over my heart shows she owns me, too.
It’s been a whirlwind, fast, but also so right.
Nothing was normal about how we got together.
Though we fudge the story when asked how we met, simply saying it was in the hospital, which at least has a grain of truth.
By unspoken agreement, all who were at the Sullivan House on that Halloween night don’t speak about it.
It’s easy to understand why. We’d only be going around in circles trying to come up with an explanation that makes sense.
In truth, there isn’t one, so there’s no need to go searching.
Bullet, Zane and Shooter might wonder how the house had demolished itself, but they had no other option than to agree it was in a worse state than anyone had expected.
Neither Drummer, Peg, Blade, Wraith, or I offered any alternative, nor admitted we were there when it came down.
Of course, Maeve now owns the plot, or will once Alex has sorted out the legalities, and proven the new will is legit.
The jewels? Well I’ve installed a safe to hold them. Maeve wants to keep them rather than sell, and I’m in full agreement with her.
Her fist lightly hits my arm. “Stop daydreaming and let’s get down to the clubhouse.”
In answer, I offer a sharp salute.
Trying hard not to limp, I walk beside her down to the clubhouse.
Stepping inside, I spot the huge banner taped up behind the bar sporting the words, Welcome home.
A few bottles of champagne stand ready to be opened, and it feels right to celebrate this momentous day, although the sparkling stuff is more likely to be devoured by the old ladies than us men. We’ll stick to beer and the hard stuff.
The room is packed to the rafters. Maeve gives me a kiss then goes to join the tables which have been pushed together to house the original old ladies, Carmen, Sandy, Sam, Sophie, Darcy, Becca, Charlotte, Tash, Allie and Mariana, the latter who’s dragged herself away from Mouse’s and her horses for the day.
She’s accompanied by their daughters, Yiska, Tanya and Maria.
Fitting in with them well are the newer additions to the old lady ranks, Gwen and Virginia.
Then there’s Isabel, Maya, Zoey, Rose, Hope, Lisa, Eliza, Hilda and Alexis.
So many club “children,” I’m hard-pressed to keep their parents straight.
They’re mostly grown now, though. Their brothers are also scattered around, or those who could get away to return to Tucson at short notice, Jacob, Mason and Aiden.
Olivia’s watching over not only her baby daughter, but also trying to keep Wizard and Amy’s kid, Calvin, amused, while Tommy’s beaming as he watches them, looking like a proud grandpa. Though when Calvin shows him a toy car, he looks delighted, just like the overgrown kid that he is.
As Maeve heads toward them, I pause for a moment to watch her, happy how quickly she’s been welcomed into the pack, and how well she fits in.
Not that she had much of a chance with Sam and Sophie all but adopting her.
After a lifetime spent mainly alone, Maeve’s blossomed as her tribe has expanded around her.
Ah, now Alex has found her. Good, I was hoping the two of them would catch up.
“Big day.” Joker slaps my back. As usual, Lady is right beside him.
“Certainly is,” I respond, and after exchanging chin lifts, move further into the fray. Bullet and Rock are deep in conversation with Dart, who’d moved to San Diego before I joined the club. The trio offers me a three-fingered salute as I pass.
Marvel’s blocking my way, and idly rests his hand on my cut for a moment, as I sidle around him.
“Drink, Hound?” Jekyll asks, noticing my approach and having the bartender's attention.
“Beer,” I request gratefully. As he passes an opened bottle to me, I raise it to my lips.
“How you doing?” Truck asks, who’s standing with Drifter. “Ready for this?”
I’m about to answer when Dollar steps in close and gets my attention. “Glad you patched Maeve so she can’t run away. She’s taken a load of weight off my shoulders.”
“Guess you’re an F.O.G. for real now, Brother. You got your pipe and slippers sorted out?”
“Fuck off,” he growls, but his grin gives his real feelings away.
Turning, I spy Hawk and Throttle and approach them. Neither is wearing their slings, and both are looking the picture of health. We spend a moment discussing our various recovery journeys and the exercise regime that Peg’s going to have us all on.
Mouse waves and winks at me when I catch sight of him.
It’s shoulder to shoulder in here now, but no one’s complaining. The room is buzzing with laughter and voices, and adding to the cacophony, a jukebox plays rock in the background. If I’m not mistaken, the playlist is one of Peg’s.
I’ve downed half my bottle when a sudden loud whistle pierces the air. All conversation stops, and the music is turned off. As one, we all turn to face the entrance where, framed by Drummer, Wraith, Peg and Blade, Wizard is entering, pushed by Amy in a wheelchair.
Then the hollers, the cries of welcome back, deafen my ears, making me glad all remnants of the headache I'd had for weeks have finally gone away. Wizard’s brought into the centre of the room, and ceremoniously, Drummer hands him his cut, the one that proudly bears the president patch. Cheers abound.
Again, Drummer whistles, then calls for silence. When someone passes him a beer, he raises it as if in salute.
“The last couple of months have been tricky,” he starts.
“But we’ve made our way through. I’d like to officially welcome our rightful president back to the club.
” He pauses and searches the room. “Get over here, Hound, and you Hawk. Where’s Throttle?
” Spying him, he beckons, “Get your asses over here.”
We elbow our way through the crowd, then form a semi-circle around Wiz.
Drummer steps back, and it’s Wizard who starts to talk, his voice firmer and stronger than I expected after all the time he’s spent in a hospital bed.
“Brothers, I’m back, and ready to take up the mantle.
I might not be ready to ride, but I can sit at the head of the table and put all you fuckers in your place.
” A round of laughter greets his words. “I’m happy to announce that Hound, Throttle and Hawk will be back by my side.
” As another round of cheering bursts out, I glow with pride knowing that, while I doubted it for a while, I’ve now resumed my position as sergeant-at-arms.
Wizard hasn’t finished, and he again waves for silence.
“I’d like to thank Drummer, Wraith, Peg and Blade who stood up when we were taken down.
They’ve kept this club running, and I was able to heal, knowing it was in safe hands.
” Being so close to him, I can see his mouth quirk.
“So please join me in raising your glasses to the F.O.G.s.”
“Hey, that was a secret. They didn’t know we called them that!”
“Worst secret in the world, Sam,” someone calls back.
Wizard’s chuckling, then, while he can still make himself heard, yells out, “Ride Satan’s Devils!”
“Satan’s Devils ride together,” the whole room yells back.
As if that’s a signal, the prospects start popping champagne corks, and I take my cue to step back, as everyone wants to greet, talk to, and welcome their president home.
Finding her way over to me, Maeve links her hand through mine. “Love your club,” she tells me. “And I love you so much.”
Contentment rolls over me, knowing I have everything I could ever want—an old lady who’s the other half of me, and the sergeant-at-arms patch on my cut.
How did we get here? Well, maybe I’ll take my cue from my brothers and not think too much on that. Though it might, one day, make a good fairy tale to tell our grandkids. But perhaps not too late at night.