Jase (5 page)

“And there it is,” Tug scowled. “I knew we’d get to the meat of the matter sooner or later. Who cares about the difference in age? What is it, anyway? A dozen years?”

“Twenty-two years,” she whispered, licking her lips and repeating it even more softly. “Twenty-two.”

“So? Who gives a fuck? I’m what, twelve years older than you? If I went after a pretty young thing of forty-two, would you say the age difference was too much?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, pulling a lecherous face and making her laugh.

“Of course not. But you’re…that’s diff-er-ent,” she stuttered over the last word, already anticipating his argument.

“
No,
it’s not. It isn’t different.
Too much is too much, no matter if it’s
two or twenty-two—it all depends on the people involved. Honey, you know in this case it’s
not
too much. Not for either of us. And it wouldn’t be for any man out there in the
shop,
if you so desired. Hell, about any Rebel member, regardless of age, would be honored if you smiled their way. Whether you realize it or not, you’re only alone because you want to be.” He motioned to the window as he barked out a laugh. “So, you’re saying it’d be okay for me, but not for you? I think you’re sexist, which surprises me for an enlightened woman such as yourself. Why are you thinking like that, Dee? Do you care so much what people say? What they think?” He watched her steadily, waiting
for
her response.

“Don’t do that. It’s different
for
men in the club and you know it,” she shot back.

“Nope. I’m not buying it. You’re sexist. And that’s a bullshit reason to deny yourself something sweet you want. It would be good for you. And
darlin’
, Spencer’s not a kid; he’s a fully-grown man who has a pretty good idea of his own mind. He’s also a decent guy, one of Daniel’s best friends. You could do worse, DeeDee. Hell, you’d do worse
by
not doing him.” He sighed. “
Beautiful
lady, you’ve mourned a long time. Let yourself have some good again. Take a chance on the sweet.”

A rap at the office door broke the tension holding her in place and she stood, walking towards the shop. “I’m not having this conversation, Tug.” She threw the last over her shoulder and was shocked when he was right behind her, pulling her to a stop, hands again on her elbows. His mustache brushed against the side of her neck like before, the breath of his whisper bringing goose bumps to her skin, pebbling her nipples into hard peaks she knew showed clearly through her lightweight clothing.

“You need to move on, beautiful. Your husband died, but do you think he wanted you to die with him?” His question was harsh, but his tone was so soft and tender she nearly couldn’t respond. “Answer me, woman,” he pressed, and she shook her head. She listened for a moment to the song playing on the shop’s sound system, her mouth tightening as she heard the plaintive tones of The Weepies singing
Love Doesn’t Last Too Long
.

“Damn straight he wouldn’t have wanted you dying there on the side of the road with him.” Tug’s cheek rubbed her neck and he kissed the side of her head. The warmth of him at her back was so good. “That means he would want you to live. So you fucking honor him by living. That means loving yourself enough to live, not wasting away,
pretty
lady. It means letting yourself be loved.”

His hands moved, sliding up her arms, the backs of his fingers brushing against the outer curve of her breasts and her breath stuttered in her chest.
God
. She hadn’t been touched in so long. “Be open to love,” he whispered, slipping his hands back down slowly, leisurely…
unknowingly
caressing her. Her chin tipped up and she gasped softly, shivering. “That’s all I’m asking,
Dee
. Be open to love.”

He stepped back, releasing her, and she drew a deep breath. Without turning around, she nodded once and walked towards the bike.

***

Five hours later, their group of nearly sixty bikes pulled into the alley separating Mason’s and Mica’s homes. DeeDee followed the lead of the rider in front of her, backing into the first available parking space. She got the kickstand down just in time; her legs were threatening to collapse on her as she struggled to balance the top-heavy bike.
She sat for a moment, black leather boots resting on the foot pegs as she straddled the bike. Smiling, she fell into memories about this bike, Winger’s prize possession, one made specifically for him by Bear, the genius behind the club’s custom motorcycle business.

Winger had been one of the first members to receive one of Bear’s bikes after the Rebels and Baugh brothers had partnered together. He had been puffed-up, proud to show it off and explain the modifications, usually stroking the paint job on the tank while he did so.
She reached down and patted the tank, smiling.
Same as the patch sewn onto the back of the leather cut he had worn everywhere, the tank’s paint job incorporated the club’s emblem. The difference was here it was imposed on top of a background of stars and constellations, telling everyone the club was his world. There were tiny letters running around the edges of the painted patch replica. She traced Lockee’s and her names, along with the names of the men Winger had counted as his most trusted brothers, like Bingo and Tugboat.

She remembered how excited he was to ride it home from Chicago. Melanie rode with
him,
while Lockee
was pillion behind
Bear. The girls had talked about that trip for months. Lockee had been thrilled her dad had trusted someone enough to let her ride with
them,
and speechless it was an older man as good-looking as Bear. DeeDee laughed quietly to herself. She had accidentally
seen
him in all his naked glory one morning, much to Winger’s chagrin. He had named the man that day, saying he was as big as a bear, and the club name had stuck.

Still trembling from the strain of the long ride and wanting to rest another few minutes, she pulled her legs up, crossing them to balance on top of the seat. She sat, looking out at the chaos that was a biker party in near-full swing. Frowning at the many faces she didn’t recognize, there were suits in the crowd, along with a lot of citizens. To compound things further, she saw there were patches she didn’t know, indicating multiple clubs were present.
Oh, hell
, she thought in a rising panic,
I didn’t even bring my ‘Property of’ rag.

In her rush to leave, she had forgotten her leather vest at home with the patch and rocker that said ‘Property of
Winger’.
Usually,
she would wear it at all club functions, but since she hadn’t been going to any events or worn the vest in so long, it slipped her mind when she was packing. The oversight now meant she would be dependent on the Rebel members who knew her to keep her safe, since she wouldn’t be wearing any outward declaration of her affiliation.
Shit, shit, shit.

She saw there were a few women already here, which made her feel a little better, but she might very well just stay on this bike all night. Few men would approach her here, assuming she would be sitting on her old man’s bike.
Which I am
, she thought sadly.

She jumped, nearly falling off the motorcycle, when a large, warm hand
settled
at the small of her back. “Pretty lady,” she
heard
and turned to find Tug standing beside her. “Time to rise and shine, beautiful.” He smiled at her, warmth in his eyes and love
evident
on his face, his hand urging her to get off the bike, steadying her as she stood. “I’ve got you, DeeDee. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with you.”

He reached up, taking her chin in hand and turning her face so she could see the circle of men surrounding them. “We’ve all got you,
pretty
lady. Ain’t nobody gonna bother you unless you welcome that botheration.” She was surrounded by men dressed in jeans and patch-covered black leather, and plain henleys or tees with crude sayings under their cuts. She saw bearded faces and ones that were clean shaven, hands covered in silver rings or fingerless gloves. On each of the faces turned towards her, she also saw the same look of love that Tug wore, lips curling up
at
the corners, eyes crinkling, cheeks creasing in
good-natured
smiles. For her. They were all here…for her.

She smiled, overwhelmed with emotion, and he must have recognized this, because he leaned in, gently kissing her cheek, that damn mustache tickling her skin and making her laugh a little.
Music played nearby, and she barely had time to recognize Sugarland’s
Already Gone
before Tug gave her a little push then grabbed her hand, pulling and twirling her back in towards him, holding and swaying with her for a moment.

Before she knew what was happening, he had passed her hand off to another member, who whirled her around
a time
or two then gave her willingly to someone else. She knew all these men, trusted each of them with her life, and so now, she confidently gave herself over to their dance. Taking as much as they were prepared to give, she moved from hand to hand around and across the circle with a smile, spinning from embrace to embrace. She ended the dance laughing, bent
backwards
into a deep dip in Bingo’s arms. He dropped his head, gently kissing the tip of her nose as he echoed what Tug had said to her. “We got you.”

It would be another couple of hours before Mason and Mica would pull in, and even though a lot of people had already shown up, she knew there were still more to come. While they all waited for the guest of honor to arrive, everyone milled around, getting drinks from the kegs and food from the grill, using the time to catch up and visit with old friends.
She saw Kathy, one of the girls who hung around the Chicago
clubhouse,
and walked over to chat.

Kathy was here with Digger, one of the Chicago Rebels, and it was cute the way the girl blushed when she talked about him. DeeDee’s throat tightened at the now-familiar sense of loss that swept over her. It happened every time she encountered a facet of life Lockee would never be able to experience. Lockee never had a boyfriend. Not like this. Not like Kathy, sweetly coloring at Digger’s name, her eyes and mouth softening into a loving expression.

Her daughter had
frequently dated,
but Winger was hard
on
the boys. Too hard, and few of them came back for a second round of his brand of inquisition. Kathy’s sweet smile was good to see, and when her tall, fit biker walked up, wrapping his arms around her, she leaned into him trustingly, tipping her lips up for a kiss. He acknowledged DeeDee with a smile and a wink, ducking his head shyly to nuzzle into Kathy’s hair.

Strolling away from the young couple, she spotted another Chicago member nearby at the grill and walked over to give the big man a hug. “
Hey,
Road Runner,” she said, tiptoeing up to kiss the cheek of one of her favorites. “How’re you doing?”

He held her with one arm, studiously attending to the ribs on the grill with the other before pulling the lid closed and turning to her. His attention to the food didn’t surprise her; he was a Cordon Bleu-trained chef, working in the five-star restaurant at the hotel where she would be spending the next couple of nights. She laughed aloud when he wrapped both arms around her, picking her up off the ground in a rambunctious hug.

“Damn woman, you feel good. Love you, girl,” he said as he sat her back on her feet and then his brows drew down into a scowl. “Except you’re skin and fucking bones. That just isn’t acceptable. Damn it, am I gonna have to move to the Fort to feed you?”

She shook her head and smiled, deftly sidestepping his comment about her appearance. It was one she was getting tired of hearing. “It’s good to see you,
big guy
. Thanks for
getting
the rooms. I was glad to hear I wouldn’t be staying at the clubhouse tonight.”

“Aww, hell
naw
,” he said. “No way in hell you need to be there. You know how crazy things can get.” He gave a jerk of his head, saying, “Myron has the info. He was up on Mica’s back porch last time I saw him.” She smiled, reaching up to cup his face in her palm, tiptoeing again to kiss him goodbye on the cheek.

She made her way slowly across the backyard, frequently stopping to greet friends, as was her nature, more often with kisses and hugs than handshakes. Smiling, she eventually mounted the steps to the porch, finding Tug standing there with Slate and Myron. Pulling Slate into a hard hug, she nestled her face into his chest for a minute, feeling his laughter as a vibration through her body. She was glad to see the man here; he always made her feel safe. He had
been
patched into the Chicago chapter for more than a decade and had turned into one of her favorite members.

Reaching out, she tousled Myron’s hair, asking with laughter in her voice, “Hey, Myron. Did GeeMa get you set-up yet? I heard she keeps finding
beautiful
girls for you back in Wyoming.”
It was a running joke that Slate’s grandmother liked Myron, the club’s Treasurer, but she wanted him to settle down. And by ‘settle down’, she meant in her hometown out west with a young woman of whom she approved, so whether at church or bingo, she was always on the lookout for potential matches.

He moved his head out from under her
hand,
but grinned as he reached into his back pocket, pulling out two room keys. Ignoring her question, he told her, “You’re in a
nice
suite at The Admiral, DeeDee. Room seven-twelve. I want you to order room service at least twice a day while you’re here. Don’t go
skimping
, okay? Road Runner said he expects to see you for his lunch shift, but make sure you eat, sweetie. You’re too thin. There’s bike parking in the garage near the elevator, and they’ve got good security, so you shouldn’t have to worry about anything.”