They were all kind to me, taking me under their wings in some way.
Kiera, one of the more recent club girls, impossibly tall and elegant with flawless ebony skin and curves to die for, had become a friend. Not close enough to tell her much, but enough so I was able to subtly ask her about who Elden slept with. The pinch of her lips told me that I wasn’t being at all subtle, but she didn’t call me out on it. She’d simply told me that Elden didn’t sleep with any of the club girls. Each of them had tried, since he was a man who looked like he could fuck, but he’d respectfully rebuffed them. He was an enigma to everyone.
Yet he’d kissed me.
My lips still felt swollen, seared with his brand. My mind was racing with what that kiss meant, wondering where he was and trying to pretend that everything was normal.
If living at a biker clubhouse and having Swiss show me the house he was buying for my mother could be considered normal. My body, at least, was returning back to normal, the bleeding already stopping, the cramps gone. We’d caught it early enough, the doctor said, that it wouldn’t be as physically traumatic as it might’ve been. But she’d warned me about the emotional trauma, had given me pamphlets and urged me to talk to someone. I was sure for women in different situations than mine, this would be traumatic. It would be something they’d never forget. Something they carried with them always.
But I didn’t feel that. I’d made the right decision. I knew that. And it was over. I didn’t lose sleep over it. Didn’t feel like I’d done anything wrong. Because I hadn’t.
“Elden’s more of a grumpy bastard than normal,” Colby commented, biting into an apple, leaning against the breakfast bar. His eyes darted to me as he spoke. He had not mentioned me being up on the roof with Elden, and I was thankful for it.
“Well he fucked off for three days… I thought he was finally getting laid or torturing his victims, so he should’ve come back cheery as all hell,” Lucas put in, sipping on his oat milk latte.
My fork paused midair, and my heart stopped. “Elden’s back?” I asked as casually as I could.
I had been on somewhat of a bender these past few days because these guys liked to party, and it was hard to stay here and not join in. Then there were the more obvious reasons I wanted to use alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism.
When I looked up, Colby was watching me closely. He was still the only one who knew about the abortion. Well, him and the man who had disappeared since that night on the roof.
The man who was apparently now back.
If the looks the two men were giving me were any indication, my casual tone left a lot to be desired.
“Just got in,” Colby offered with a shrug.
My fork clanged onto my bowl as I dumped the contents of it, rinsing in with a forced air of nonchalance. I could feel the eyes of the two men on me, ignoring that the best I could.
“I’ve got, uh, forms I forgot to send for … college,” I lied, not looking at either of the men.
“Uh-huh,” Colby replied.
I all but ran out of there, not too worried about how bad I was at lying. Let them think what they wanted.
My heart was a thorn in my throat as I walked down the hallway to Elden’s room. I’d never been inside it, but I knew where it was.
Fourth door on the right. Almost at the end of the hall. The hall itself was long and narrow with dark brown doors evenly spaced on either side. It reminded me of a dorm room setup; each member was allocated their own room with their own bathrooms … something that even college dorms didn’t have.
Each room was roughly the same size … enough room for a double bed, nightstands, set of drawers and maybe some kind of chair or desk situation. Some of the residents used this merely as a crash pad for when they drank too much and had their own homes outside of the compound—almost all of those being the men who were married—while the majority of the patched members lived here exclusively.
It made sense with a lot of the members, especially the ones closer to my age. You weren’t supposed to have a home, grow roots… They were meant to have a place to store their shit and lay their heads. Even the handful of graying, older members with beer bellies seemed to give off a vibe that they belonged in this kind of environment.
Elden did not give off that vibe. There was something almost … regal about him. He was silent, stoic, always dressed neatly—albeit like a total badass outlaw—without a wrinkle or stain to be found, all of his clothes expensive and good quality. You looked at him and you saw—beyond the fact that he was hot as balls—that he was someone. Something. He was important. Powerful.
You imagined some log cabin in the middle of the woods that he built by hand. Or even a sleek apartment in a high rise somewhere. You expected him to reside somewhere that was entirely his own. His domain. His castle.
You did not stare at Elden and expect him to be living in a dorm situation with a dozen other bikers who partied, fucked and lived loud and messy. Yes, the clubhouse itself was always clean, smelling of lemon products mixed with whisky, but that was only because there were prospects and hired help to make sure it stayed that way. Well, and because Macy, Freya, Caroline and now my mom spent a lot of time there, and you could see their touches everywhere.
I didn’t knock. Though I probably should’ve. I just walked in. His room was neat. Painstakingly so. The steel gray comforter was pressed and smoothed to perfection, and I knew that if I lifted it, I would see the sheets folded with military corners. Not that I knew if Elden had been in the military.
It smelled of him. His aftershave and a minty cleaning product that was not the same as the one they used in the main areas. It made me think that he didn’t let anyone in here to clean his space. That made sense to me because he was quiet, private, reserved. Except when kissed me. When he found out someone had hit me.
I was desperate to find out everything there was to know about him. But for now, I had one pressing question.
Elden’s eyes flared with what might’ve been surprise when I first walked in, but I could’ve imagined it. His face was a cold mask, giving nothing away. Yet with his eyes on me, I felt like I was burning up.
If only I’d known I was going to see him today. I would’ve worn something different. Then again, I didn’t look bad. I was wearing a matching workout set, burnt copper leggings and a matching crop top that did wonders for my small bust, which showed off my midriff. My hair was piled onto my head in a messy bun, with rebellious tendrils escaping to frame my face. I wasn’t wearing makeup, so there was nothing to hide the blush that crept up my cheeks, likely reddening my alabaster skin with his gaze. It felt exciting. Uncomfortable, but in an almost … addicting way. I didn’t know how I’d gotten through all of these days without his eyes on me.