“You alright there, Pint-Size?” I ask as we pull through the front gate and park in front of the clubhouse next to a row of motorcycles, mine included. I cannot fucking wait to get out of this truck and get Lyric back on my bike. I put us in park and shut off the ignition, glancing over at her stoic face. She hasn't so much as batted a bloody eyelash since we stopped by her place so she could change. She didn't want to come in here wearing a suit again, and I didn't blame her. If she waltzed in with her hair in a stark, ugly bun, a brown suit shrugged over her small shoulders, it'd be a bad day for both of us.
“I'm fine,” she says, tossing a bland smile my direction, her green eyes dulled, emotions shut off. She's fucking dreading this, I think as we stare at each other for a long moment, memories of this morning flickering across my sex addled brain. I can't get enough of this girl and it's driving me fucking mad. “Just a little nervous is all.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“A little nervous?” I ask as I glance down at the quivering hands on the thighs of her jeans, and then back up at her face, the full swell of her lips, bruised from our violent kisses. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, enjoying the perplexed expression on her face when I open them up. “Rubbish. You don't look a little nervous, Pint-Size. Quite frankly, you look like you're about to have kittens.”
“Kittens, huh? My grandma used to say that,” she says, but at least it looks like she's smiling now.
“So did mine. Must be fate, eh Pint-Size?” I toss her a wink. “Now get out of the fucking truck and let's face the wolves together.” I swing open my door and step out, the soles of my boots hitting the wet pavement at the same moment two pairs of paws come flying at my chest. Alloy and Lake greet me with all the enthusiasm of pups, just tails and tongues and wet noses.
“I see you've brought a friend,” Smoky says as he pauses and speaks just loudly enough that Lyric shouldn't be able to hear him on the opposite side of the truck. He nods his chin at her. “Is this a political maneuver I should know about? Are you trying to make a point?”
“I'm just spending the day with my new girl,” I say with a shrug, digging out a cigarette and waiting while Lyric comes around the crumpled hood of the truck to stand next to me. She makes direct eye contact with Smoky which I like, and they hold each other's gazes for several long moments.
“I don't think we've been properly introduced,” she says, all smiles now. I can see the strain in her forehead, a little crinkle between her brows that she's trying desperately to smooth out. Lyric presents her hand and for several long seconds, Smoky just looks at it. When he finally reaches up to shake it, I light my smoke. “Lyric Rentz.”
“Dale Brennard,” he says. “But everyone here calls me Smoky.” I watch their fingers grip tightly and slide apart, a sense of respect in the simple motion. Thank Jesus for small miracles, I think as the front door of the clubhouse opens and Dober appears. He spots Lyric immediately and sets his face into a tight frown before coming down the steps, his big hand gripping the redwood banister on the deck steps like it owes him money.
“You're late,” is all he says as he moves past us to intercept his wife on her way out of the office. Doesn't work. Janae is just as stubborn and bullheaded as he is. Probably more so. With a sweet smile that's complete bollocks, she saunters over, tossing her dark hair over one shoulder as she hones in on Lyric like an eagle swooping down on its prey. It's bloody terrifying.
“Miss Rentz, it's so good to see you again,” she says in that syrupy sweet voice of hers. In all the areas that Dober's gruff and ragged around the edges, Janae is bubbly and perky and smooth. I always thought they made an interesting couple. He's standing behind her now, looking like he's about to puke. I love the bloke, but he needs to bring it down a notch. I know he's worried about the club, but Lyric isn't a threat; I'm sure of it. Even if she did try to bring the FBI down on you. I banish that thought from my brain with an exhale.
“It's nice to see you, too,” Lyric says cautiously, the air thick with confusion and distrust from both sides. I watch as the two women eye each other, both barely above five feet tall but filled with passion and purpose. Janae's always been the perfect old lady, there for Dober when he needs it, involved in the club just enough to keep things smooth but not enough that she's ever stepping on Dober's toes.
Lyric … she'd be nothing like that.
A smile teases the edge of my lips.
“When were you going to tell us about your new girl?” Janae asks, her voice promising it's just a joke, that she's just playing around. That look in her eyes is telling a whole different story. For a long time now, she's sort of run the wives, been queen of the keep so to speak. All the gossip goes through Fauna and straight to Janae. The expression on her face right now tells me she's heard everything, and she isn't happy about Lyric being here.