What … what happened today? I wonder as the man climbs off his bike, his entire face and torso splattered with red. He's wearing a leather vest with patches on the front. One of them says MFFM. My brother's club wears one like that, too. BFFM. It means Brothers Forever, Forever Brothers. I can't be sure what his means, but I can take an educated guess. M Forever, Forever M. Triple M. This man is from Triple M.
I stagger back a step when his eyes find mine, green boring into green. Through the red splatters on his face, I see tracks like tears. We stand there for a long moment, my heart still racing, his fists clenching tight at his sides. That's when I realize I've made a really stupid fucking mistake. I'm wearing my jacket. It got chilly out earlier as a cloud passed over the sun and cut through the beautiful day. I was so entranced with the lady with no shoes on that I just grabbed the first thing hanging on the coat tree.
My brother always warns me about wearing club colors at the house. Usually, there are guys hanging around here just in case, but today, there aren't any. Most of the club went out to meet Triple M, and the rest are at the clubhouse. They might only be blocks away, but that's ten blocks too far. I've made it eighteen years without getting into any shit with another MC. Looks like my lucky streak is up.
I start to move back, realizing too late that this redheaded demon staring straight at me is serious trouble. Triple M. I can see the letters tattooed on his massive bicep. He's so magnetic, I'm having a hard time drawing my gaze away. Down below, my body stirs, tightening places low. Unconsciously, I run my tongue over my lips, even as I start to run, as I reach for the handle on the screen door.
Footsteps pound behind me, unbelievably fast, almost inhumanly quick. I think then that maybe I made a second mistake. I just turned around and flashed the rockers on the back of my jacket. Property of Tax. Seventy-seven Brothers. It's all right there, whatever evidence this man needed to make his decision.
His hand wraps around my hair and drags me back a step, ripping my fingers painfully from the handle of the door.
“Who are you to them?” he growls at me, yanking my head so far back that I can see his face, dripping with sweat, cutting more tracks through the dried blood. His voice is broken and his eyes wild. We're both breathing fast, chests rising and falling at the same rate. My fingers slide down my pants, searching for a weapon. In the front left pocket, I've got a small knife. As I swallow hard and dig my fingers under the denim, I try to answer him.
How this guy got down here without anybody seeing, I don't know. But if I can hold him back from whatever he's planning on doing for just a few minutes, somebody from the club is bound to drive by and see us grappling here on the porch. Hell, even a normal citizen walking by would probably call the police. The man's a bit spooked. I can tell; his eyes are darting this way and that. He's probably wondering why he found me here. After all, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that he was looking for the clubhouse.
“Are you his ol' lady?” the redhead snarls, drawing me back further. My hair is embedded in his tattooed knuckles and pain is shooting through my skull. In my eyes, I see stars silhouetted against the brightness of the sun. I run my tongue over my lips again and try to speak.
“Who?” My voice is crooked, weak from the angle of my neck. And the pain … I'm the first to admit that I've led a fairly charmed life. This is probably the most physical pain I've ever been in.
“Sergeant at arms. Your Sergeant at fucking arms. Are you his ol' lady?”
“No,” I whisper as I finally get my fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife. “I'm Tax's sister.” And then I swing my hand back, aiming for his thigh. A massive hand grabs my wrist, fingers curling so tight around my skin that I cry out and drop the knife. The man lets go of my hair and spins me around, shoving me hard into the wall of the house, right underneath the historical plaque. His green eyes are devastatingly gorgeous, a well of color and emotion. A shade that echoes my own, like we speak the same language through our gazes. My knees feel weak as hot breath brushes over my face, making my eyes flutter closed. What is wrong with me? Something about this whole MC is getting me deep down. I didn't know anything about them, and I was having visceral reactions to the stories. Why? As I stand there with the massive stranger towering over me, I think I know why. I don't want to admit it to myself, but I get a niggling in my belly. You want to belong, but maybe, you don't want to belong here?
I shake the blasphemous thought away as my eyes fly open, and I spit into the redhead's face. I don't know what he's going to do to me, but whatever it is, I'll be okay. I can get through this. On the outside, I might seem weak, but on the inside, I'm strong.