Carrick returned the hug, patting the big guy on the back. His voice was tight, as if his ribs were being crushed. “Had a little trouble.”
“Trouble?” The biker who stepped up beside us wasn’t anywhere near as big as the first guy and he wasn’t loud—in fact, his voice was low and growly. But it was one of those voices that carried, even over the music, and he had presence. I checked the patch on the front of his cut. President.
“Nothing,” said Carrick as the big guy reluctantly put him down. “Just a run in with the Blood Spiders in Teston. It’s done, now.” He rubbed his back, wincing just a little, and I winced in sympathy, remembering the beating he’d taken for me.
The president gave him a don’t bullshit me look, patient but firm.
“It’s done.” The Irish in Carrick’s voice made it sound like a stone door slamming closed.
The president’s look softened. I could see concern there, but he just nodded and thumped Carrick on the shoulder. “OK. Good to have you back, brother.”
Then the president turned to look at me. “I’m Mac.” He nodded at the big guy. “That’s Ox.”
Ox? “Annabelle,” I told him.
Mac’s gaze flicked up and down my body and I caught my breath, sudden heat rippling through me where his eyes had passed. The grin he gave me was absolutely wicked. It wasn’t the brutish lust the guys at the Blood Spiders’ bar had shown. This was furnace-hot and deliciously dark, like he wanted to take me by the hand and lead me down into temptation. With his thick black hair and the silver skull earring in his ear, it felt like being appraised by some roguish pirate captain.#p#分页标题#e#
I swallowed and looked to my side. And saw Carrick staring back at Mac, his jaw set. An instant later, Mac felt the stare and they looked at each other. I saw something pass between them: a warning, almost. Not this one, Carrick’s eyes said. Back the fuck off.
Was he jealous?!
Mac blinked in surprise. He glanced at me again, this time with curiosity. He looked back at Carrick and nodded approvingly, a tiny but delighted smile on his lips. Meanwhile, I flushed right down to my toes. It felt like they were discussing me, even if they weren’t doing it with words. And yet, underneath the embarrassment, there was a different kind of heat. I’d never been fought over before and the idea of Carrick claiming me as his started about a thousand filthy fantasies in my head. And that made me flush even more. Don’t be stupid! Maybe he liked me—it sure felt like it—but every time I thought something was going to happen, he pushed me away.
To cover my embarrassment, I looked at the big guy, Ox. Carrick was big but this man was a monster, not just tall but wide: his shoulders must brush door frames. How the hell does he ride? Any bike would look like a toy with him on it. “You the one who called him?” he rumbled.
I nodded.
He rubbed his stubbled chin, which made a sound like someone sanding down a table. “Good. Sounded like some bad shit.” For all his intimidating size, the look he gave me was gentle.
Carrick showed me around the rest of the clubhouse: the bar, the kitchen, the spare rooms where members could crash out after a hard night’s partying. Then we passed a set of double doors, the dark wood elaborately carved. “What’s through there?”
“Meeting room,” he told me. “Members only.”
I looked closer. The carvings weren’t abstract: when they caught the light just right, I could make out a huge version of the Hell’s Princes insignia.
He introduced me to the members, the prospects and the “hang arounds.” Every guy seemed to be big, though there was no one else Ox’s size. Most of them were thickly tattooed and not with the bland, meaningless patterns I’d seen in the outside world. Every bit of ink was part of their story and most of it seemed violent as hell. And everyone had a nickname. I kept wanting to ask the stories behind the names but it felt rude to do it in front of them. Next time I get the chance, I decided.
The more of them we met, the more I relaxed. Before I’d met Carrick, I would have shifted seats if any of these guys had sat down next to me. Even now, they were intimidating but what reassured me was how they treated each other: trading jokes, slapping backs. It didn’t feel like a bunch of criminals. It felt like a close-knit sports team...maybe even a family.
And yet...the more I watched Carrick, the more confused I got. Everyone was friendly with him, they obviously loved him. But there was something different about the way he interacted with them, a distance the rest of them didn’t have. Like he was keeping them all at arm’s length. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But then I saw Mac watching with concern from across the room. He saw it, too.