Captive Ride(26)
“I’m glad you like them, Little Red.”
“Little Red?” Self-consciously I run a hand across my rather dull brown hair. Pippa, my boss at the library, has gorgeous red hair and is shaped like a fifties pinup model—big chest, tiny waist, awesome butt. I’m a board. I could wear a shirt unbuttoned to the waist and have zero hint of cleavage.
He tugs me closer until my legs hit the side of the barstool and then he straightens to his full height of six feet, four inches. His body rubs against the front of mine and something long and hard presses into my belly. The shock of it widens my eyes and stops my breathing.
“Little Red,” he confirms. There’s dark intent in his eyes that even a virgin can read. “Because you look good enough for a big bad wolf like me to eat.” His big hand sweeps from my wrist up to my neck and for a wicked, hot second, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me in the middle of the Brew Ha Ha with his grandma’s knitting club watching. To my conflicted dismay, he only squeezes my neck before dropping his hand and moving away. “If you want a visit to the den, strap the cuff around your wrist and come out to the granary. I’ll know that you’re ready for what we have to offer.”
Then he exits as quickly as he arrived, leaving me dazed, confused and turned on. The waitress, nineteen-year-old Tricia Merriweather, is fanning herself behind the counter.
“Girl, you are so lucky. I’d kill for one of those.”
My gaze drops to the counter where a leather cuff with the Death Lords emblem burned into the side rests against the wooden surface.
I run my finger around the smooth interior. It’s still warm.
“What it is?”
Tricia leans forward. “It’s a claiming cuff. If you put it on that means no other Death Lords can approach you.”
“And if I don’t?” I can’t take my eyes off the leather.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. No one I know has ever got one, but I’ve seen them around. I heard one girl say it means you can go to another club and no one will touch you because they’re afraid of getting beat up by the Death Lords. Basically it’s hellagood. If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”
My fingers curl around it as if trying to hide it from Tricia’s acquisitive gleam. “I didn’t realize it was transferable.”
“Probably not, but it’d give me an in. I’ve been trying to get into a Death Lords mash for a few years now. They’re pretty strict on the no high school rule but I graduated in May. They can’t keep me out for much longer.”
The look of determination on her face convinces me. She’ll be in the Death Lords club some day. How it turns out for her, though, I’m not sure because I don’t know what she’s looking for there. I don’t know what she’ll find there.
Those are the questions that swirl in my own head and so I don’t put on the wrist cuff. I tuck it into my pocket and deliver the water to the ladies. They all quiet as I approach and I know they’ve watched the whole scene. Probably everyone in the shop has and my mind flips from Easy and his curious use of “we” as in what “we have to offer” and what kind of story I’m going to have to cook up for Father when he catches wind of this.
Mrs. Wilkins tugs me down next to her and hands me my poor knitting attempt. We knit for a while—or Mrs. Wilkins knits while I wrestle with the yarn and needles.
“My grandson Van joined the Marines out of high school. We worried, as all families do, but he came back sunny as ever. He brought Michigan with him. Michigan has no family, you know.”
“I didn’t know,” I admit.
She nods. “Raised by foster families. He’s Van’s family now. They’re different but I love them both. They’re good boys. I know some don’t like that club they associate with but it’s not about the women or the liquor. It’s about belonging, no different than what we’re doing here.” She waves a hand toward the other ladies who merely nod. Apparently for all the gossip about the club, they don’t appear to disapprove of it. “People congregating together with common interests has always been a thing. Doesn’t make them wrong for doing it. ‘And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.’ ”
“First Corinthians,” I respond automatically.
“That’s right, dear.” Mrs. Wilkins shifts away and engages Mrs. C in some talk about the newly released Nora Roberts book while the claiming cuff burns a hole in my pocket. There’s an opportunity for something magical to happen and it’s there for me to try if I have even an ounce of courage to reach forward.