We pull into the parking lot of Ambrosia, and I can't help but think back to the first time I showed up here. How my legs had barely kept me up I was so nervous, and completely unsure of myself. Now I'm a totally different person.
The engine cuts off. "Cutter said to stay in the back office once we open. He doesn't want you out on the main floor without him." She gets out of the car and I follow her.
The club is pretty empty. Besides a couple of guys setting up and Izzy behind the bar, I count two other people. Our babysitters follow us in, moving to one of the back booths. It's the perfect spot to keep an eye on things without getting in the way.
"Can I help you guys out with anything before I head back?" I ask, not wanting to seem rude.
"Sure!" Izzy's head pops up from behind the bar. "I need to do inventory. I'll shout out how many bottles we have, and you mark it down on this sheet." She slides a clipboard down the bar and I take a seat, spending the next hour taking notes until Izzy tells me we're done.
"Hey there, sexy."
The voice is so close, and I spin around, hands clutched to my chest. A guy I've never seen before stands in front of me, his eyes narrowed, his thumb and forefinger rubbing at the hair on his chin. He's wearing one of the club vests so I know that he's a brother. I freeze, my skin breaking out in a cold sweat.
Say something.
Tell him you're taken.
"Slick, that's Cutter's old lady. You better back away, unless you gotta death wish." Izzy rounds the bar, coming to a stop in between me and . . . Slick.
"Shit, I didn't know. Sorry 'bout that." He gives me a nod before he walks away.
I turn back to Izzy. "Thanks for that."
"Not a problem. Cutter needs to get you a property patch if you're gonna be workin' here." She laughs.
"What?"
"A property patch, didn't he tell you about them?" She tosses the rag she was cleaning glasses with on the bar then turns so I see her patch.
"He did, but I thought you only got one if a brother claimed you."
She stands up on her tiptoes, putting away the glasses she's just cleaned. "Cutter claimed you before he left."
She says it like it's a throwaway statement. Like it's no big deal. And it might not be a big deal, to her. Me, on the other hand? I choke on the breath I was swallowing.
He claimed me?
How could he not tell me?
What does this mean?
Just when I thought I would get a chance to be free, I have a new label:
Property.
Chapter Eighteen
Cutter
Even though this is one of the shorter runs I've been on, it feels like the longest. I hated leaving Jasmine at the club when I knew she was uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that we still can't get a lock on Dylan. None of his cards are being used, he hasn't been back to the house, and he doesn't have any family around here.
The guy is a fuckin' ghost.
When Jasmine called me last night and said she wanted to go back to work I wanted to tell her no. Until we find Dylan, I just want her safe, where he can't get to her. I don't want to control her, though, or stop her from doing what she wants the way he used to.
That doesn't mean that I'll let her have free rein. Being an old lady brings with it some elements of danger. To other clubs, they're seen as pawns, bargaining chips, ways to hurt the brothers.
I'll have to talk to her about the fact that I claimed her. The last thing I want is for her to feel trapped, but I need to explain to her what it means to be an old lady, and the expectations that come with it. I also want her to know that when she's ready, I want her, every part of her.
I want to take her and make her mine.
Show her what it means to be with someone, not owned by someone.
As we cross back into town, everything in me wants to head straight for Ambrosia to see her.
But Pres wants to have church. And in this life, Pres's wants and needs come before your own.
We all head back toward the clubhouse and I hope that it won't take long. I have two prospects and a brother at the club, so I know there are people looking out for her, but I have an uneasy feeling running through me. Living this life gives you a sort of sixth sense; a foreboding for when things just aren't . . . right. Dylan won't give up until he gets to her. But there is no way in hell I'll let that happen.
The lot is quiet when we pull in, each of us lining our bikes up outside the front door, fatigue beginning to set in. We only got about three hours' sleep and I'm flagging. The first person I see is Lucy.
"Have you seen her yet?"
She seems excited. That's a good sign if ever I saw one. "No. We have church, then I'm heading over." A prospect opens the double doors leading to church and I see everyone start to filter in to the room.