"I'm not afraid of them." I was totally afraid of them, but that was a long story. And I was never going to own up to a weakness. Not with all these women around who had sworn payback on me. "I just think they should all be sent back to hell where they belong."
"Oh, come on. Susie is the cutest thing," she insisted, reaching up to remove the mostly white snake, letting it wrap around her hand.
"Sweetheart, if you think that is cute, something is fucking wrong with you. They detach their jaws and swallow things whole."
"I don't see her judging you for eating an entire bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos last night," she said, brow raising.
"Because I'm sexy as fuck when I do it," I told her, lips curving up as her eyes danced.
"Even covered in Cheeto dust?" she asked, shaking her head.
"You're goddamn right, even covered in Cheeto dust," I agreed, chucking her under the chin as I made my way toward the door. "And don't go turning my room into a tortoise sanctuary or something while I'm gone."
"No promises," she called back as I moved outside.
"Christ, Sweeney Todd, make some noise or something," I grumbled as Ferryn appeared out of nowhere, Chris coming up at her six. "You know nothing good is going on when the two of you are together. Is someone being castrated today?"
"Depends, are you going to be an asshole?" Chris asked, pale brows raising.
"Probably," I told her, watching as her lips twitched ever so slightly.
Chris wasn't always the easiest to get on with, but I think she and I had managed to build a little bit of a connection. She took everything too seriously. I never took anything seriously. It was a union of opposites sort of thing.
"I can't believe my father is sending you to represent the club," Ferryn said, shaking her head.
"From a leadership standpoint, it makes sense," Chris informed her. "He's young and stupid enough to fit in with other young and stupid men."
I knew Chris well enough to know she didn't meant to be offensive when she called me stupid. She meant careless, reckless, prone to taking too many chances, not thinking things through properly. To someone as meticulous and analytical as Chris, that made me stupid. And it was a fair assessment.
"Thanks, honey," I agreed, sending her a smile that she frowned at.
"It wasn't a compliment. But anyway, yeah. He can infiltrate the group, learn their strengths and weaknesses, their secrets. Reign is making a smart choice as a leader."
"Says Hailstorm's next leader," I agreed.
"That hasn't been agreed on yet," Chris objected, though it was clear she was hoping that conversation would happen one of these days.
And, honestly, if there was someone who was capable of following in Lo's footsteps, it was her daughter.
"Where's that man of yours?" I asked Ferryn.
"He made an excuse to go to the store. I don't think he's very good at goodbyes," she added, shrugging.
"Makes sense."
The last major goodbye in his life was when Ferryn ran off. Only to stay away for eight fucking years.
"Well, I am off. I'll send you pictures from the beach while you guys freeze your asses off here for a couple more weeks."
I strapped on my backpack, climbed on my bike, and headed south.
I started cursing Reign about six hours in.
By day two and hour twelve, I was cursing the invention of fucking motorcycles in general.
Sure, I enjoyed them around town. Even on the occasional run. But traveling from Jersey to Miami was a whole other thing. I was pretty sure my ass was bruised.
On day three, I lost all sensation. And desire to finish the goddamn drive.
But the weather turned warmer and warmer as I went, with the sun beating down on me and chasing away some of the negativity that had been weighing on me all summer.
By the time I checked into a hotel in Miami to shower, change, and contact Huck, all my resentment toward the travel method disappeared, leaving me ready to hit the town, raise some hell, get to know these new guys.
"We're heading to Tipsy Iguana" was the response I got to my announcement about being in town.
Once I shot a text to Reign about the night, I made my way over.
The Tipsy Iguana was, well, a hellhole.
Which told me that the guys were fucking stupid, or the women in this area were.
In my experience, women didn't frequent dive bars unless they were there with a guy. Almost as a rule, women liked places that were clean and a little more upscale, the kind of place where they wouldn't likely walk into the restroom to see someone getting plowed over the sink or against the stalls. The kind of place where they didn't think they'd get fucking hepatitis just drinking from one of the glasses. A place with a doorman or a patio, somewhere that felt open and safe.