Elden did not find that funny if the way he pinched the bridge of his nose was anything to go by.
“You’re officially one of us, darlin’,” Colby’s gaze returned to me, unperturbed by Elden’s murderous glare. “You punched a cop, spent a night in the slammer, and I will say, none of us have ever done it with as much style.”
I did a little curtsey. “See how much more interesting things would be if you let a woman patch into the Sons of Templar?” I planted my hand on my hip.
Colby tilted his head, regarding me.
“I think it would be better if I got photographic evidence of the whole effect,” he waved his hand up and down my body.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Elden stepped in front of me. “Violet, get on the bike.”
I stared at the bike on the curb.
The only time I’d ridden on a motorcycle was the time Swiss took me for a ride on my birthday.
My mother was involved in a motorcycle club. It was pretty much their main mode of transportation. Mom had forbade me from riding on the back of a motorcycle, except on my birthday when an exception was made.
But she spent a good amount of time on the back of Swiss’s, so her argument was kind of moot. I’d pointed this out to her, and she had said that the Sons of Templar were not your run-of-the-mill men who owned motorcycles.
Certainly not your run-of-the-mill boys who rode motorcycles to impress girls, she’d added. They did not care about the safety of those girls. They put females on the back of their motorcycles on a whim.
The Sons of Templar did not just let any woman on the back of their bike. From what I could understand, only Old Ladies went on the backs of bikes. And the Sons of Templar themselves seemed so in control of everything they did, so aware of the power of things that could be used as weapons, they were more cautious, less likely to get in a motorcycle accident. Especially not with their women on the back.
I’d argued with my mother that the Sons of Templar did not have superpowers, but now I wasn’t so sure.
All I was sure about was Elden ordering me on the back of his bike. In front of two of his own brothers.
Granted, Bill wasn’t a member of the New Mexico charter, so he probably didn’t understand how or why our relationship might cause some waves. Colby had known something was going on pretty much since the beginning, but his mouth remained shut on the topic. I trusted him. And despite him being very mad at him at this current moment, it seemed Elden trusted him too.
Interesting. He’d always been very weird about my friendship with Colby. From the start. Even though it was very clear that we were only friends. Yet Colby was here with him.
“I’m in a bunny suit as you so aptly pointed out,” I informed Elden. “I will look insane on the back of your bike in this.”
Elden didn’t look at me. “I tried to give you my shirt,” he pointed out. “And I think there was a long speech about that gesture. You had your chance. Now get on the bike.”
I gaped at him. But he was still staring at Colby, who was now doing his best not to burst out laughing.
The police station wasn’t that far from our house. I could walk. But I’d been in fuzzy heels for hours now, and they were not designed to be worn for hours on end. They were designed to look cute with the outfit. Ideally only to be worn inside as a tool of seduction or around a costume party. But not from a costume party to a bar, then in a bar fight, then from the bar fight to a prison cell. And I didn’t want to take them off in the prison cell because … gross.
So the pain was pretty fucking intense right now, and the walk might damage my toes permanently. And despite my protest, I didn’t much care about what I’d look like dressed as a bunny on the back of Elden’s bike.
All I cared about was that I was on the back of Elden’s bike.
So I climbed on.
I was pressed up against his back, my arms around him, the bike vibrating underneath us. The world melted away during the short trip. It was just me and him. It felt right.
Me trying to forget about him was a fool’s errand. It was clear, very clear, that we were always going to be in each other’s lives. He’d come for me, like he’d promised he would. He’d saved me. Always would.
Whether I was his or pretending I wasn’t.
And I was sick of pretending.
I didn’t want to get off the bike when it roared to a stop outside our place. But I was mindful of Sariah, of the blame she was likely feeling. The very misplaced blame.
So I got off. Elden stayed where he was.
“What are you going to do?” I asked him, rubbing my arms against the chill I suddenly felt seeing him sitting there, knowing he was going to do something I shouldn’t believe in.