“How about we blow this joint?” Jagger murmured in my ear, his hand tickling the edge of my skirt.
I smiled and nodded slightly, my eyes catching on something across the room. More like someone. Hansen’s eyes burned into me and did not leave mine even as Jagger led me away by the hand. I struggled against the feeling I got in that moment, it was the same feeling I’d had whenever those blue eyes caught mine. I also struggled with the obvious fury dancing behind those eyes as he focused on Jagger’s hand in mine. Then the fury was gone, replaced by a blank stare, one that flickered away from me just before I rounded the corner.
“Sure you don’t wanna talk about whatever had you a million miles away?” Jagger asked, puffing on his smoke.
I moved my head to look at his profile. “Nothing to trouble your pretty little head about,” I teased softly.
Jagger moved his own head, regarding me.
We’d just finished round two of a very productive sexathon. I was exhausted and definitely sated. Like always, I felt happy to chill in his room and just hang.
“Your grandma?” he guessed, not letting it go.
I snorted. “I try not to waste too much cranial power on that old bat. I already commit an hour a week to being in her presence, that’s enough,” I told him honestly.
Apart from the club, my grandma was the only shred of family I had on this earth. She was mean as they came, and wasting away in an old folks’ home after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Not that she’d lost her marbles. She had a firm enough grip on those things to remember what a disappointment I was and made sure to remind me of that every time she saw me. Jagger was the only one who knew about her, about how deep her sharp tongue cut me.
“You know…” Jagger said slowly taking a drag of his smoke, his expression turning serious, “…you’re better than this.” He waved his hand around the room. “Not that I don’t love your company, inside and outside the bedroom…” he winked before his face turned serious again, “…but this life, you can do better. You deserve better. You’re smart, beautiful. World’s got more to offer you than this.”
I jerked slightly at such a speech coming from Jagger. He lived for the club. Breathed it. He’d been here way longer than my two years, considering he was in his early thirties and had patched in when he was younger than me. I went up on my elbow and rested my head in my hand.
“Yeah, right, I’ve got so much to offer the world,” I replied sarcastically. “Plus, you’d be lost without me. Admit it,” I teased.
Jagger’s face failed to lighten at my words. “Serious, babe. There’s some people who suit the life, who deserve to live in the gray. You deserve more, more than a bunch of bikers can give you,” he told me.
I let his words sink in. “You’re wrong,” I whispered. “I’ve seen what the world’s like outside this… without a family… without anyone. It’s not pretty. And it sure as shit doesn’t have anything to offer me,” I replied decisively. Again, my voice didn’t hold self-pity, only confidence. Confidence that this was the best life for me. For now anyway. I wasn’t too crash hot on making future plans. I was a live in the now type of girl.
He gave me a searching look, then a smile came back to his face. He stubbed out his smoke and tagged my hips, dragging me on top of him.
“Well, I sure as shit have something to offer you,” he murmured. His hard-on pressing into my stomach serving as evidence.
I let the little tingle of desire warm up my entire body, and for the next half an hour, let that be the only thing I thought of.
I closed the door to Jagger’s room quietly. It was the early hours of the morning, the only time the clubhouse was as silent as a tomb. It was my favorite time. When I could trail my fingers along the mismatched frames in the hallway, looking at the history of the brotherhood, of the loyalty keeping this family together. Yes, the underbelly of such a family may be gritty and slide right into the black side of black and white, but and least they didn’t lie about who they were. Most families buried their secrets and wrongdoings in closets, behind the family photos and kid’s toys. They were slaves to a society that told you the right way to live, the right way to act, and chained you to that life. The life that I’d rather die than commit myself to. I knew, if I were a man, I would have patched into the Sons. But I wasn’t. My vagina gave me two options, if I wanted to be part of the life that seemed to fit me perfectly, it was club girl or Old Lady.
Going into the club, I didn’t know anything about it. I was just a girl who didn’t know who she was, looking for somewhere to fit in. I discovered the way the Sons lived, found out I liked it, and just kind of slipped into the role of being someone who didn’t belong to anyone in particular—just the club in general. I wanted to be an Old Lady. Not in the way Kim and Scar desperately wanted to sink their claws into someone, for power, money, or the thrill of being hooked to an ‘outlaw.’ No. I wanted the unconditional, unfathomable dedication and love that that title represented. A man who was devoted to me, brothers who treated me with the respect that old ladies got. I wanted a permanent place in the family. It hadn’t worked out that way, I didn’t know if it ever would. I knew that ‘club whore’ had a time limit. A ticking clock if you will.
I had made it to the common room, where various club members were passed out. Some had half-naked women draped over them, others were clutching half full bottles of spirits. I shook my head at Levi, who was snoring on the pool table with two girls tucked under each arm.