Page 25 of Zeppelin (Satan’s Angels MC #9)

The heavy steps coming down the hall and the two men who turn the corner at the far end, save Zeppelin from getting a complete tongue lashing and having me walk straight back out of here.

I get that he can’t be the same person at the club as he is outside of it all the time.

I’m actually thrilled that I get to see the softest parts of him, parts that no one else even knows exists.

I know he’s not trying to be one thing with me and something else with his club buddies, but I don’t appreciate the assumptions.

I’ve only met Tyrant and Raiden a handful of times.

Other people would probably be quaking in their boots to have to showdown with a motorcycle club’s president and vice-president, but all I’ve ever heard from Bronte and Dom about them are great things.

It’s not a secret that Tyrant has done so much work to clean up Hart over the years.

They both grew up here and they treasure this city.

They might be rough, but they have principles.

Tyrant is a father himself, and Raiden is married to a beautiful woman who teaches college here.

They’re both smart, good leaders, ooze charisma even though they’re both physically imposing men.

They stop, share a not so subtle look, and then Raiden waves Tyrant off and turns back down the hall.

I swallow hard. The worst this man would ever do is kindly ask me to leave after probably explaining that the clubhouse is off-limits and apologizing to me twenty times, but still.

There’s something about knowing that this is the man who all the other men in this club call Prez, who they all look up to, a man larger than life itself even though he’s relatively young, that is more than a little bit intimidating.

“Hey, Ginny. We didn’t know you were coming.” He extends his hand to me like a gentleman. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it, so I stick mine out and shake it awkwardly.

Beside me, Zeppelin sighs.

“I- am I not allowed to be here?” I ask with a voice that trembles slightly even though I’d like it to be firm.

Tyrant throws back his head, his mane of dirty blond hair somehow illuminated like gold under the fluorescent lighting, and lets out a rich laugh. “You’re allowed to be here. But Carver isn’t here right now, and neither is Bronte. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Zeppelin narrows his eyes, but before he can say something stupid, I quickly respond.

“Zep and I are friends .” I emphasize the last word and immediately blush, getting flustered.

Tyrant doesn’t know the situation. No one other than my family even knows that I’m pregnant, and I’m sure that Zeppelin has respected my wishes and not said anything.

“I’m not…” I start, but can’t find words that don’t make this sound worse.

I’m not what? I’m not what? Screwing both brothers, one after the other? Twins yet?

“ I asked her over. She wanted to come. For a break. From the farmhouse. It’s nice to have running water and power again.

We’re just hanging out. Two friends who miss someone,” Zeppelin grunts.

He locks his jaw, practically grinding his teeth.

“I’ll make sure she gets to Dom and Bronte’s safely later. She’s staying the night there.”

That’s true. There was no way I was coming to Hart without seeing my sister and my niece, and of course Dom too.

“We were just heading to the kitchen for some ice cream and then we’re going to watch alien movies.”

I texted this man far too many times this week. I went against common sense and chatted with him like he’s a good friend.

We definitely aren’t doing any such thing and using something I told him before feels like a betrayal.

“I just wanted to check in. I’m heading to the house for a bit, but I’ll be back later. Let me know when she gets to Carver and Bronte’s house, so that I know she made it safely.”

Zeppelin nods. “Will do.”

Tyrant isn’t mistrustful. He’s just worried about me. Now that I’m here in his club and he knows that, he obviously feels somewhat responsible for my wellbeing, even if he doesn’t have to.

Zeppelin has the nerve to shoot me somewhat of an apologetic look over his shoulder as he leads the way down the hall and takes a sharp left, past more doors, down into where they eventually give way to the familiar lounge.

It’s not packed like it was for the celebration of life.

There are a few guys here, but since it’s nice out, I imagine some are out riding.

Quite a few of them have girlfriends and families, so a bunch are probably at their houses.

There’s a bar on the edge of town that the club basically claims as their own, though mostly on the weekends from what Bronte’s said, but a few might be there as well.

The TVs on the walls are still on, tuned to baseball games, and there’s rock music playing, but there are more guys in the kitchen than in the lounge.

I don’t know everyone’s names, but I do know the quiet guy who does the club’s security.

Wizard is good friends with Dravin, who got Dom interested in the club in the first place.

The big guy in the far corner with one eye is Odin.

The name fits. He’s older, and with his big beard and a smattering of other scars, he looks like he could be cast to play the part in a movie.

The other two guys are younger, but I don’t know either of them.

There’s no introduction coming either.

Zeppelin walks straight into the kitchen like I’m not even there. He opens the freezer side of the large stainless steel double door fridge and takes out a tub of vanilla. Not like a gallon or anything, but it’s not that small either.

The other guys notice. They’re clearly used to giving Zep a hard time, but he and Jack rose to the occasion every time. The club knows them as mouthy, loud, life and soul of the party assholes.

“What are you gonna do in your room with a whole tub of ice cream?” The guy who looks the youngest asks, wiggling dark eyebrows.

He’s wearing a dirty ballcap, which he takes off to take a hand through sweaty hair.

He must have been outside. He’s deeply tanned and looks hot, even though the building is air conditioned.

“Pegging,” Zep deadpans, but it doesn’t sound deadpan. I only know it is because I’ve spent so much time with him lately.

“How big do you think your asshole is?” the guy asks, laughing loudly in response. That’s an entire container there. Or did you mean with the spoon?”

“I’m always willing to test my limits.” Zep gets two spoons out of the drawer, and motions for me to follow him.

I’m glad to retreat, my face burning at the good-natured laughter behind us.

I’m so embarrassed that I’m not even sure I still want to do this.

My doubts last for all of three minutes, until we’re standing in front of a heavy door that Zeppelin punches the code into. He swings the door open. I’ve tried to imagine what his room would look like, but I’m unprepared for the granny style of it.

He has antiques in here. Not just the wooden bed with the carved headboard and footboard, but the two matching dressers on the far wall as well.

Even the chair in the corner is floral, with a granny square knit blanket draped over it.

The large TV mounted on the wall is pretty much the only thing that screams mancave.

That, and maybe the vintage oil and gas signs on the wall.

There’s a thick book on the nightstand. I forget all about my questions about the furniture when I note that it’s a Dickens collection. Has he been reading it? We started, but obviously we never got to finish anything in a day.

I go warm all the way through.

Zeppelin crosses the room to a mesh trashcan and tosses the ice cream into it.

“What are you doing?” I splutter. “You can’t waste good food like that!”

“I know. Normally, I’d be all about not doing it, but honestly, I’d rather be devouring your pussy than any ice cream in the world. If it’s still good after, I’ll reassess then.”

Oh my god.

“Shower.” He’s already moving towards the adjoining small bathroom.

My duffel bag slides off my shoulder. I unzip it and get my cosmetic bag out. Am I really going to do this?

Yes. Yes I am. And I’m going to enjoy every single second of it.

I picked out the yellow and white floral dress I’m wearing with more care than I’d like to admit. I tried on far, far too many before I settled on it.

This isn’t a traditionally sexy outfit, but I feel good in it. I feel pretty .

More than pretty. I feel womanly. Sexy.

As soon as I hear the shower start, my panties grow damp and the dull ache that’s been haunting me ever since the last time we did this turns into a blinding roar.

Zeppelin returns from the bathroom and takes one look at me then says, “Still dressed?” Not waiting for my answer, he strips his shirt over his head in one swift move the way guys always seem to do, as if it’s half magical skill and half practiced talent.

Holy. Shit.

I’d wondered about tattoos. Apparently, he’s the kind of person that just goes for it in a big way.

There’s a massive eagle flying across his pecs, wings spread wide, talons curled beneath.

It spans the entire massive length and edges down, talons kissing the top of his chiseled abs.

He doesn’t have anything anywhere else that I can see, so maybe it wasn’t his first, but my god, what a gorgeous piece.

It’s in cold colors, too. That must have seriously stung .