“She ever meet Princess before?” He turns back to me.
“I don’t think so unless Viking took her to The Pit or something. You sure she won’t care about Chevelle going back there?”
He shakes his head, refilling the plastic square container off to the right of me with a stack of bar napkins. “No, she needs the distraction.”
“It doesn’t piss the Prez off that you know his ol’ lady so well?”
His gaze grows weary; he rakes his hand over his face. “In that first attack when I met her, I nearly killed her.”
My eyes grow wide. That was definitely not what I was expecting from him. I know he was part of the group that came for Viking and Princess was attacked, but everyone left out the part of Blaze being one of the attackers. “Fuck.”
He blows out another breath, busying his hands further by filling a container with straws. “I’ll do whatever I can to make her happy and keep her safe. She’s become a little sister to me, and the thoughts of what I was planning to do to her will haunt me for the rest of my life. If making her pitchers of margaritas, helping her cook, and keeping her safe makes her forgive me in some small way, well then it’s all worth it.”
“I get it. I’m trying to keep Chevelle safe too, but these dicks just won’t stop.”
“That’s the Iron Fists for you. Those motherfuckers nearly killed me. I can’t wait until the club snuffs the life from every single one of them.”
“They trashed The Pit. I need to figure out how to fix it for her. She can’t afford to hire anyone, and I don’t want her there in case they show back up and try killing her again.”
“What exactly needs to be done?”
“Mostly asphalt and concrete work, I think. The main entry has to be redone too.” I finish off my beer while he blends the tequila mixture.
He pours the frozen strawberry tequila concoction into a plastic pitcher and grabs a few of the colorful plastic cups we’ve used in the past for barbecues. “Odin has an in with the City,” he mentions, moving around the bar to grab everything he needs. “He may know someone who can help with the asphalt. Torch knows how to pour concrete. I think Nightmare might, too. If you give them a hand, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind helping you.”
“No shit? Appreciate it, Blaze.”
He taps the bar top with one of the plastic cups. “Bartending isn’t just making drinks…you hear everything. You ever want to learn about the brothers around here, jump back behind the bar and mix shit up for a night.”
“I’ll stick to racing and motorcycles.” I shrug, and he nods, heading for the kitchen.
A week passes quicker than I’d like it to. A few of the brothers and I have been keeping busy at The Pit. Blaze was right about Odin knowing someone with the City. Turns out it’s the manager who owed Odin a favor. My brother called it in, and one evening a handful of workers showed up to patch the asphalt that one of the bombs had blown to shit.
Torch knew how to pour concrete like it’d been his profession in another life. Nightmare helped, grumbling the entire time that it’d get one more thing out of the way, so he could have his revenge. Saint showed up one day with an old gate. He’d found it out at the pig farm by the compound. Viking welded some hinges on it, and a brother named Spin from the other charter sanded the metal and painted it. Once we repaired the concrete up front, we turned the gate sideways, so it was long enough to cover the open space and secured it. Chevelle now has a steel barrier to help keep unsavory folks from breaking in the front entry.
Over the week together, Chevelle and I fell into an easy routine. It was like she was an extension of myself. She has no clue about anything we’ve done to fix up The Pit. I got ahold of Ace, and he’s been handling everything as far as the races and business deliveries go. I’ve led Chevelle to believe we’ve been watching her business, but it’s too dangerous for her to be there right now. Surprisingly, she’s listened, and I’m guessing her seeing the Fists in action up close has put the severity of the situation in better perspective for her.
I think the only thing that’s kept her sane through the time away is that we brought her cars to the compound with us. She’s had full use of Viking’s garage and the tools he has in there is no joke. It’s a mechanic's wet dream and Chevelle has been tinkering with her own vehicles and any other that’s been near the garage. It’s kept her busy and distracted enough not to notice my lack of presence.
The nights, however, I walk in filthy, covered in sweat, while she treks in full of grease. It’s hotter than hell seeing her all dirtied up from working on vehicles. We shower, and she lets me wash her body until every speck is clean. In return, she does the same for me, and it’s become my favorite part of the day.
Being around her like this is almost too easy, and it’s a bit disconcerting. Of course, I want a woman. Every man with half a brain wants one, especially a female like Chevelle. Doesn’t mean I was expecting to start imagining her on the back of my bike every day or keeping her things here or staying with her permanently at The Pit. When I came across her lithe body the first day, those thoughts were the furthest from my mind. I wanted to fuck her, to make that smartass mouth of hers scream my name while I made her climax. Now I’m finding out that I don’t want to stop.
“Ready, sweetie?” I grumble watching her pull on her jeans. They’re so tight the damn things mold to every curve from the waist down. She needs a pair with my name across the ass so fuckers won’t stare.
I’m doing a man pout thing right now because she told me we have to eat food before I can be inside her again. I offered to grab the peanut butter, but she said no. My babe wants tacos so, of course, she’s getting them. Little does she know we’re actually going to The Pit. It’s Saturday. We’ve fixed everything, and the brothers have done a full sweep of the property.
I don’t have to worry about her cars because they’ve been parked at the club under our watch. She’s been so busy spending time under their hoods that I know she has them all race ready, just waiting for the chance. I feel like a fucking chick, excited inside because she’s going to get to race, and rather than being a bitch or pain in the ass thinking she wasn’t going to, she’s taken it in stride. I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes what’s happening tonight. Not only that, but Ace has rounded up three sets of racers tonight. The Pit will make more money than it usually does on an average weekend.
“The weather’s starting to change; it’ll be a nice night on your bike.” She smiles at me in the parking lot, and I lean in to kiss her.
“Which is your favorite car?”
She snorts. “Please cupcake, you don’t ask a girl that sort of thing.”
Jesus, I love this woman and the way she thinks—she’s so different.
“Okay fine,” I throw my hands up wearing a grin. “Not favorite, but if you had to pick one just for tonight, which would it be?”