I sighed. “No, Gunner. I picked exile over you. Get. Out.” Finally he walked out, like a dog with its tail between its legs. I didn’t know how to take that - if he’d finally leave me alone, or if this meant that he’d come after me sober and more vicious next time.
Maybe I didn’t want to be a part of the club. I could still catch a bus.
“Are you okay, miss?”
The truckers were on their feet, their eyes wide. “Way to give a lady a hand, you two,” I said dryly.
They exchanged a look. I guess I wasn’t being entirely fair - Gunner and I were both armed. They probably weren’t. Still, that was enough for one night.
“Go on. Both of you get out, too. Diner’s closed.”
They left cash on their tables and left, wincing as they glimpsed at my face as they passed. But they wisely kept their mouths shut.
I couldn’t worry about my face, though. I couldn’t worry about Gunner returning, bringing more guns, bringing friends. The only thing I was afraid of was how Nomad was going to respond when he heard about this.
---
Nomad returned the next day. Mom was out, spending the evening with Bill at the clubhouse bar. I’d spent part of the day there, fetching drinks and beers from the bartenders at the front and delivering them to Bill and the rest of the club in the back room like a good Prospect should. When they asked about the ugly bruise on my cheekbone and the big black eye, I just told them it was a bar fight with a bear. They laughed but they didn’t push the issue. Bikers and biker bitches and prospects and old ladies got into physical altercations all the time. It was nothing remarkable. But when Gunner showed up, I made an excuse and fled. I was going to have to deal with him eventually, I knew. But not so soon. Not just yet.
I peeked through the peephole when I heard a knock on the door. My stomach twisted when I saw Nomad there. My heart raced - did he know what happened? Would he be mad at me? Or was he just dropping by to leave me hanging again?
There was no hiding my face. And I couldn’t lie. With butterflies in my gut, I opened the door.
His eyes went wide. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“I’m sorry.” I looked at the ground.
“Oh, honey.” He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His face was clear of all that anger I’d come to expect. “I’m sorry. I raised that shithead. And I left you here knowing what a shit he is.”
I shook my head. “I took care of it. You can’t watch out for me all the time.” I cracked a smile, though it hurt my sore face. “Besides, I wouldn’t be much of a biker if I couldn’t take a few bruises and scars.”
“You don’t really want to be a biker.” He turned my face and examined the mark. “Not if it means this.”
“I want to stay near my mother.” I took a deep breath. “I want to stay near you.” His eyes flickered at me, but he didn’t reply. “And now that I’ve got a taste for driving a motorcycle, well…” I giggled.
“Oh, God.” He chuckled. “Don’t do something like that again. My old heart can’t take it.” He released my chin. “Well, it looks worse than it is.”
“I know. We’ve all seen ugly bruises before.”
“Are you serious about this?” he asked, pointing towards the coat hooks next to the door, where my Prospect jacket hung. “I have influence. I can help make this happen. But not if you’re just doing it for your mom. Or for me. You have to want it.”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
“Well. Think about it.” He peeled his own jacket off and hung it next to mine. “Now. Take your clothes off.”
My thighs quivered with his gruff words, but I hesitated. “If you leave me hanging any longer I’m going to lose my mind, Nomad.”
His brows furrowed. “Take off your clothes.” I guess he’s not in the mood to argue. Mentally preparing myself to spend the rest of the night abandoned and uncomfortably horny, I stripped in front of him. I had too much built up frustration to have any fun with it. I tore them off and flung them aside, socks and underwear and all, frowning the whole time. I wanted to leap on him and tear his clothes off, too, but settled for clasping my hands behind me.
He shook his head as he unlaced his boots. “That,” he said, “was the most unsexy undressing I’ve ever witnessed. And I’ve been alive a long time. I’m impressed.”
I was already throbbing between my legs. It didn’t seem to matter what he said - anything would have gotten me going in that moment. “Sorry,” I said.