Storm wanted Wolf, me, and the others to drive off the compound in two similar trucks. He had us all wear black beanies to make it difficult to distinguish who was who in the event Campbell had men watching the clubhouse.
Our recon of the surrounding area showed it was secure, but you could never be too safe in times like these.
Taking it a step further—as Storm often did, stemming back to when we were Marines—Wolf and I took different routes to get to the same place, seven hours from our club.
What did it all mean for me?
Aspen rode with me because Jill went with Wolf. Aspen didn’t say a word, keeping her head turned away from me until she fell asleep. I was okay with it. The less we communicated, the better.
The quiet gave me a lot of time to dissecteverything.
How could I get bent out of shape so easily over Lynx? I shouldn’t have said I’d come. I got that now, but there was no turning back.
As Aspen slept next to me in the front row, the scent of watermelon filled the air between us, making me remember all the times I had sucked her lip gloss off her perfect-fucking-pink lips. I couldn’t believe she still wore it.
Why, after all this time? Didn’t girls outgrow flavored lip gloss? Apparently not this one.
Hollywood snored in the backseat. When we left the club, he was lying down to avoid being seen. The son of a bitch stayed that way, nodding off shortly after. Probably exhausted from pulling twelve-hour shifts, patrolling. Wimpy bastard. I’d have to get him in the gym after all this shit with Campbell was over.
My two passengers had tortured me relentlessly the whole fucking drive in one way or another. I was damn glad to be pulling up to the small cabin… the safe house. I had to take a piss the last hour, but Storm had given strict orders not to stop until we arrived.
A Hummer was parked beside the structure. Storm’s old man, David, the president of the mother club here in South Dakota, had a couple of members waiting for us. They came to make sure the place was secure and brought supplies. They’d give us the lay of the land, possibly stay if we needed them.
We wouldn’t need them. My brothers and I could handle it.
Two men stepped out of the cabin as I stopped. Behind me, headlights flashed from Wolf’s truck. Our paths connected eighty or so miles back.
Aspen didn’t move when the truck stopped, totally dead to the world with her mouth slightly open. My chest tightened as I took her in, hand tingling to brush it across her soft cheek, run my fingers through her long, silky, blonde locks. I clenched my desperate paw into a fist, fighting the urge to lick that fucking watermelon lip gloss off her lips.
Knock that shit off. Don’t forget what she did. Never let go of the hate.
Before I hopped out of the truck, I nudged Hollywood. “Get up,” I muttered in a low voice to not wake up sleeping beauty.
What the actual fuck? I didn’t need to tiptoe around her. If she woke up, so be it.
“Wha… what’s wrong?” Hollywood rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands.
“Nothing. We’re here. Come on.” I exited the cab.
“Hey, brother. I’m Baldie, the vice president.” He jerked his chin toward the dude standing a few yards back. “That over there is Prospect. I’m leaving him here. Think of him as your slave until this crap with the woman is over with.”
“I’m Boxer. This is my prospect Hollywood and my brother Wolf over there. We don’t need another prospect.”
“Done deal, the boy is staying,” Baldie grunted. “Leave the women in the trucks so I can give you a quick tour.”
I didn’t like it but this wasn’t our territory. We needed to show Baldie respect. I shrugged at Wolf, earning me a death glare. He didn’t like Baldie. Neither did I.
“Hollywood, watch over the girls.” I followed the VP, our boots crunching on the fresh layer of snow.
“You got it, boss.” He smirked as if he knew the cluster of profanity running through my head.
The South Dakota chapter was an old-school club. David ran it just as his dad had back in the seventies—the neanderthal way. Matt, Storm’s uncle and original president of the Minnesota chapter, never liked the way his dad and brother ran the club: living large as kings and treating everyone beneath them as scum.
Before Matt died, he’d made sure his club knew his expectations regarding the treatment of prospects and club girls. He didn’t want his legacy to be tainted after working hard to make it more like a family. I respected the fuck out of Matt Knight. He didn’t want us to be one-percenters forever. Protecting his town and family was what mattered most to him. Not dealing drugs and transporting arms like other clubs.
We entered the cabin. Candles and lanterns lit the small space made of logs, wood everywhere the eye landed. Woodstove in the corner. Nothing all that special about it.
I stopped my inspection at the kitchen.