Out of the Ashes (19 page)

Bull couldn’t do more than nod. He had already dug himself a huge fuckin’ hole.

Lexie seemed to sense his need for silence. She wandered back over to where he was working on his bike. And to his complete surprise, she plonked herself down. Right on the grease-stained concrete floor. Right beside him.

“You mind if I sit here and watch for a while?” she asked, her voice back to shy. “Sometimes I just need a bit of quiet after all the music makes up all the noise in my head,” she explained.

Bull somehow found himself unable to do anything but nod again, turning his attention back to his bike. She sat there quietly watching him for close to half an hour. He didn’t find her gaze or the silence uncomfortable. He lived in silence. He was used to it. Welcomed it. But he wasn’t used to the company. He found himself being comforted by it.

As she got up to leave, he found himself uncharacteristically not wanting to be devoid of company. So that’s why he said, “Heard you,” he clipped. “The band. You’re good.”

Her beam and wave goodbye was worth it.

I sat in my car, in the parking lot of the Sons compound…clubhouse…hangout…whatever. Shit. I didn’t even know what to call this place. My biker vocab was limited to the couple of episodes of biker TV shows I watched. And even then I barely paid attention, merely drooled at the main character. On top of everything else, I hadn’t known how to dress for this. I glimpsed down. Black skinny jeans seemed a safe choice. They were Lexie’s, since I didn’t own black skinny jeans. Well, I technically did, since I paid for them; they merely resided in my daughter’s closet. I wore a black long-sleeved blouse made of tight jersey fabric. It looked modest at the front but the drape at the back went way deep, showing a lot of back. I had a chunky silver belt slung over top and my hair was piled into a messy ponytail, showcasing awesome dangling earrings. My makeup was heavy, for me at least, and a vibrant red decorated my lips. It was as biker chic as I was going to get. But thinking of Gwen and Amy, I didn’t worry too much about abiding to some sort of dress code that required leather or chaps. I should more likely be worried about whatever mental condition I had that made me think it was a good idea to accept Gwen’s invitation to a “club party”. Especially to Zane’s club. I hadn’t seen or talked to him since he had spanked and screwed me in the very spot my eyes were focused on right now. He had somehow made me lose all sense of self preservation and let him screw me in a semi-public place. And I loved it. My belly flipped just thinking about it. Which was why I shouldn’t be here. Which was why I had avoided him for the past week. I certainly hadn’t snuck over in the night for some crazy sex, as much as I had wanted to.

I swallowed, then contemplated turning my car back on and driving away. A tapping at the window foiled my plan. I jumped to see Lucky’s attractive face grinning at me. Before I knew it he had opened the door and yanked me out.

“Party isn’t in the car, sweetheart. Let’s get you to the real party,” he declared, slinging his arm around my shoulders.

“Hello to you too, Lucky,” I half laughed, feeling at ease in his presence. He may be a hulking biker covered in tattoos, but I had a feeling he was a puppy dog under all of those muscles. His calm demeanor and perpetual smile had me feeling safe.

“I don’t consider it a proper hello until we both have a beer in our hands,” he exclaimed, directing us through a crowd we had just approached.

I struggled not to open my eyes in childlike wonder. I had never seen anything like this. In saying that, it wasn’t hard to amaze me, considering I hadn’t gone out much in my thirty-three years. I had been too busy raising a child. I liked hanging out on the couch with her, rather than trolling bars and drinking overpriced drinks. I was mighty fine with ten dollar bottles of wine and the occasional night in with a girlfriend.

This party was not as wild as I had expected. The outside area was packed. It was all yellowed grass with picnic tables scattered around and one long table in the middle. Fire barrels were also scattered, unlit due to the fact it was still early. A couple of men with beers in their hands manned a grill. To my right was a big building with a wraparound porch. It stood separate from the garage bays in the distance. I guessed it was the clubhouse. There were men in leather everywhere, ranging from young, muscled and yummy to old, barreled, and decidedly yucky. And everything in between. The women were much the same. Some were what I guessed were “club girls”, scantily clad and hanging off multiple men. Others looked to be showing a bit less skin and had some enviable outfits. I exhaled when some were similar to mine. Nothing worse than going to a party and totally fucking up the dress code. Not that I’d been to many parties.

“Here you go, darlin,’” Lucky handed me an unopened beer; then his face blanched. “Shit, you drink beer, don’t you? Not like Chardon-fucking-nay or some shit?” he asked, sounding panicked at my potential wine drinking preference.

I laughed and patted his well-muscled arm before opening my beer. “Yes, I drink beer,” I reassured him. “Chardon-fucking-nay is reserved for when I’m feeling real classy, or when I’m drinking with the Queen,” I teased.

He grinned.

“Mia! You made it! Hell fucking yeah!” an excited voice exclaimed and I turned to almost collide with a sickeningly glamorous Amy. She embraced me. “Thank the fucking Lord you’re here.” She glanced down at my hand. “And drinking!” Her eyes went up to the sky as if to thank the Almighty for my alcohol imbibing ways. She linked an arm with mine, turning us away from Lucky. She winked at him and I gave him a little finger wave. He raised his beer with a grin. I swear he mouthed
good luck.

“Gwen’s got another goddamned bun in her oven, thanks to her hot husband’s crazy sperm,” she announced with a wrinkled nose. “Rosie’s not here because,” she paused, “because of some reason to do with yet another guy.” She rolled her eyes and gave me a pointed look as she sat us down at an empty table. “Lucy’s having problems with her very own macho hot guy, one she has no chance against.” She gave me another look. “That’s a story to tell after another one of these.” She raised a cocktail glass—yes, I repeat, cocktail glass in the midst of a biker party—with amber liquid in it. “And Ash and Lily are studying,” she scowled. “So my drinking buddy list is sad and depleted, then you come into town! No pregnant belly or macho man trouble to speak of.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or do you have any macho man trouble? I know you haven’t been in this burg long, but trust me, these men are fast.” Her gaze flickered over to Cade, who had his arms around Gwen. Her eyes brightened and she gave me a wave. She looked like she moved to come over, but Cade’s arms stayed around her. She glared up at him.

I couldn’t help but smile. That was until I caught who she was standing beside. Zane stood stiffly, his eyes boring a hole into me. I was tempted to see if my clothes were smoking; it was that hot of a look. Heat mixed with a heck of a lot of anger.

“Holy shit,” Amy breathed. “You totally do have macho man trouble.” Her eyes darted from Zane to me.

I quickly tore my eyes away from his. “I wouldn’t call it trouble...exactly,” I spoke slowly, unsure if I wanted to expose my sexual escapades with her. Not that I didn’t trust her. I instinctively felt this woman was going to become my friend. You know how you just have that feeling with someone? It was what I got with her and all of the women I had encountered thus far. Women that just happened to be connected to the motorcycle club the man I was fucking was in. I didn’t want to tangle my web anymore until I knew what the heck was going on. Or until I found the willpower to stop creeping over to his house in the dead of night.

“He doesn’t seem to like me for some reason,” I continued, making eye contact, hoping my lie wasn’t obvious. “I’ve run into him a few times and I think he finds me...unfavorable.”

“Honey, that’s Bull. He’d pull his gun on a two-year-old child that dropped an ice cream on his motorcycle boot. But that stare—” Her eyes moved to him again. I chose not to move my gaze. “It’s got something else in it,” she mused, something working behind her eyes. “He’s into you,” she said finally in amazement.

I managed a snort. “Not likely,” I scoffed. “In order for a man to be ‘into you’ he must harbor some friendly feelings towards you. That man—” I pointed with my head, still not looking at him. “Does not harbor any friendly feelings towards me,” I declared with certainty. Amy sipped her drink, her brows furrowed.

“Wouldn’t be so sure, Mia,” she said quietly.

Thankfully, the talk moved on after that, though Amy still gave Zane some questionable looks. Gwen managed to extract herself from her scary but totally hot husband to join us, giving me a warm hug like I was an old friend. Before I knew it, our table was buzzing with people. Cade had sauntered over to claim Gwen onto his lap at one point, as did Brock with Amy. They chatted easily with me and were obviously deeply in love with their wives. Men stopped to shoot the shit and introduce themselves. Some were just as intimidating as they looked and others were surprisingly friendly, despite their gruff exteriors. I found myself having a good time and had drunk more beers than I intended. Gwen had told me she’d take me home, having declared she was the club’s sober driver for the next few months with a grin.

I stepped away from the party to call my daughter, feeling like a bad mother. I was at a biker gathering, slightly tipsy on beer. Not responsible parenting. Granted, Lexie had band practice that would most likely go into the night, but still.

“Hey, Momma,” she greeted breathlessly after a few rings.

“Why are you out of breath? Are you throwing a raging party without me?” I asked, feigning disapproval. “Please tell me you at least are throwing a good one.”

“I would never throw a rager without you Mom,” Lexie told me seriously, “Who else would pour the Jell-O shots?”

I laughed at my beautifully naïve teenager. “One does not pour Jell-O shots, Grasshopper. Much to learn, you have.”

The fact that my sixteen-year-old didn’t know the semantics of a staple party drink had me feeling mighty proud of myself. Prior to getting knocked up with her, I was a Jell-O shot queen. And that was at fifteen. I was so glad she didn’t take after me. Only in looks, at least. Kid was beautiful, like her stunning mother, of course.

“I’ve just finished up band practice—boys are just having dinner. That cool?” she asked.

“We have food?” I asked back, screwing up my nose.

“No, we’re ordering pizza,” she replied lightly. “We really need to go grocery shopping.”

“Yes, one day we shall. You okay if I’m out another hour or so?” I asked hesitantly. “I can totally come home at any moment if you need me. And also to break up any ragers you decide to throw between now and then,” I added quickly.

“No, Mom, I don’t mind at all,” she paused. “I’m happy, actually. You’ve never gone out, had fun. I’m glad you are,” she said quietly. “I’m good. We’re going to write some songs after dinner I think, so take your time.”

I chewed my lip. I was torn. I actually was having a good time. And despite how ridiculous it sounded, I trusted Lexie and her bandmates. If she said they were eating pizza and writing songs, that’s exactly what they were doing. Also, Lexie was a terrible liar. Thank God.

“Okay, Dollface. I won’t be late. Be sure to let me know if you’ve got any number ones brewing. As your Momager, it’s my duty to know,” I told her with mock seriousness.

“Will do, Mom. Love you,” she called.

“Love you to the moon,” I said softly.

I hung up the phone, slipping it in my pocket. I had intended on heading back to the party, realizing I had moved into a dark corner close to the entrance of the clubhouse.