The old lady thing wasn’t binding. There was no paperwork or ring. Despite what the biker community might say, the world at large would be clueless. Pulling her shirt up over her nose, she inhaled Shooter’s manly sandalwood scent. She’d made her decision the moment she’d thrown caution to the wind and climbed on the back of a steel machine behind its tattooed driver.
Chapter Seven
Shooter strolled into the M.C. at fifteen ’til two. The smell of stale beer and leather greeted him as he walked up to the bar where Moose sat.
“Cutting it close, weren’t you?” Moose asked, eyebrow raised.
“Long night.” He sank onto the black stool beside Moose, tired but satisfied.
“Wait, you got the classy chick to go home with you?” Moose’s stunned voice made him smirk. “Miracles never cease.”
“Jesus, Moose, I’m not a scum bucket.” He sneered.
“No, but she seemed like diamonds and debutante material.” He held up a pinky.
“Probably is. I couldn’t give a shit and she doesn’t mind, so we’re good.” He flexed his jaw.
“Struck a chord?”
Shooter shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far into it.”
“Damn, she got you off your game?”
A smile flitted on the edges of his lips as his chest filled with warmth. Wide, innocent and full of passion, her eyes had done him in. “Fucking slammed into me like a Mack truck.”
Moose chuckled and shook his head. “Now you see why I got my ass out of there. Classy chicks like that have a way of dragging the decency out of you.”
“You’re right about that, bro.” A tiny redhead walked over. “Can I get you a drink, Shooter? Maybe something else after the meeting?” She leaned forward, showing her cleavage. Usually Red hit the spot, but today he couldn’t be bothered. “Whiskey and Coke, and I’ll pass.” She gave a mock pout but stepped away to fix his order.
“Wow, you’re turning down Red? Shit is real.”
“It’s something,” he mumbled.
“You seem conflicted.”
“’Cause I’m wondering what the fuck I’m doing. She’s a librarian.”
“Okay, no offense, but that adds to her hotness factor, bro.”
“I know.” He growled. Fear wasn’t an emotion he experienced often, but this chick had him shaking in his boots. The last time he’d given his heart to a woman it’d backfired when he needed her most. His gut told him Juliette would be different. But she hadn’t seen the ugly yet. Red set the glass down, and he tossed it back, savoring the burn. The librarian and the biker sounded like some cheesy movie from the fifties.
The door in the back opened and Prez stepped out. At six-foot-six with a bulky frame, their president, who held the road name Tiny, had never been small in his life. Must have been why his father, the former Mayhem president, had labeled him with the small name from the start. Most of the Lords were born in, but there was the occasional prospect like Shooter, who made it in and climbed the ranks. “We ready to hold church?” Prez asked.
“You heard the man. Move your asses.” Moose went from carefree to all business as he stepped into his role as Mr. Secretary.
They all filed in to the room and Shooter sank into the leather chair away from the window, facing the door. Old habits died hard. Moose sat to his left and Rocky sat on his right. Across from him were Maverick and Ha
wk, with Tiny at the helm.
“Ready when you are, Tiny,” Moose said.
“This will be a short meeting. Right now it’s quiet and our focus is on padding the bank account. Rocky has a big fight coming up, so he’ll keep training. I want the sweet butts and the old ladies out there doing promo. Maybe we can come up with some events.”
“Lazy’s old lady has some kind of degree in marketing. I’ll get with him,” Maverick, their treasurer said.
“Good. How are the arms dealings going, Shooter?” As Sergeant in Arms, his job handled directional and safety issues during rides.
“Got a buy set up for next weekend with the boys down south. Never had a problem with them before and I’m not anticipating any bullshit. Their crew is a hell of a lot smaller and newer but they know their place.”