CHAPTER THREE

Sutton—

Riding in a pack is like nothing I've ever experienced, especially when it's with a club like the Evil Dead. They ride in tight formation, weaving in and out of traffic and changing lanes like a fine-tuned machine. It's something I'm sure only extremely skilled riders can manage.

It feels formidable. Thrilling. I don't even know how to describe it, except that I love it.

I find Kyle in the row behind us. His head moves slightly in my direction when he catches me looking. His eyes are hidden behind his shades, and the sinking sun reflects off them. He looks so badass on his bike, commanding it easily.

The first time I laid eyes on him, I was attracted to him, but it was his brother who hit on me. Kyle had heat in his eyes when he smiled, but he backed off the moment Rafe made a move.

It's been there between us ever since—this unspoken, unrealized attraction. I know he feels it. Sometimes I catch him looking at me, and I see it in his eyes. Even the way he tries to avoid me tells me there's more behind those looks than he ever lets on.

I wish I felt free to break it off with his brother, but every time my eyes fall on his scar, I can't bring myself to do it.

Perhaps that's why Kyle defers to Rafe in all things. Perhaps he feels sorry for him.

It's not that Rafe isn't a great guy. He is. It's not that he isn't attractive or fun to be with. I just don't have that connection with him. I thought maybe if I moved here to be with him, things would progress, and I'd get those feelings. But I'm not sure it's ever going to happen. I know Rafe has fun with me, and we get on well, but I don't know if he's interested in anything permanent.

I've been a free spirit for years, but I know in my heart I'm ready to settle down.

I have to be sure I'm doing it with the right man.

The bikes slow and make a left turn into the parking lot of a nightclub that already looks packed. A marque out front proclaims its bike night, and the place is slammed full of motorcycles, chrome gleaming in the fading evening twilight and the neon of the club.

Loud music pours from inside, and people mingle in and out of the doors and onto the outside patio. The club finds an area, and they all back in one by one, like a well-choreographed dance.

When Rafe's bike comes to a stop, I climb off and unbuckle my helmet, while he drops the kickstand and kills the engine. All around me, other couples do the same. Billy and Melissa, Marcus and Brandy, TJ and Gigi, Harley Jean and Reckless, with Green and Kyle the only two loners. The rest of the older club members hung back tonight.

I've never been to this bar, but it looks like a lot of fun.

Rafe takes my hand, and we fall in with the others, making our way to the door.

It's wall-to-wall people, and I stay close to Rafe as we wind through the crowd.

We end up at a table outside in a rear courtyard. I get the vibe that Kyle would like to sit as far away from me as possible, but by the time he and Green bring up the rear of our group, the last two seats left are directly diagonal to me at the end of the table and across from me.

Green grabs the seat across from me, leaving Kyle next to me, and he doesn't look too happy about it. Spinning his chair around, he rests his forearms on the back.

We chat for forever, it seems, and we still haven't seen a waitress. Rafe, TJ, and Billy go up to the bar to get us a few pitchers of beer. While they're gone, I can't help letting my gaze drop to take in the bulging muscles and the tattoos covering Kyle's arms. The work is good. Really good. He looks like a total badass.

His eyes catch and hold mine for a moment before he breaks contact and says something to Green about the plug wires on his bike.

I sit awkwardly until Harley slides into Rafe's empty seat. "How's it going, Sutton?"

"Good. How are you?"

"Want to go throw some darts?" she asks, nodding to the electronic dart boards inside the door.

"Sure." We step inside and grab an open machine.

Before I throw the first dart, Harley steps over to me.

"So what's the deal with you and Kyle?"

I frown, panicking on the inside, wondering if my interest has been plain on my face. "What do you mean?"

"You two barely speak. Does he not like you dating his brother or something?"

I shrug. "Not that I know of. I guess you'll have to ask him."

From the expression on her face, she doesn't like my answer. "Before Brayden and Rebel left for Alabama, she told me she thought there was a real connection between you two before Rafe stepped in and made a move. Is that true?"

My gaze goes over her shoulder and out the big windows to the patio, finding Kyle. He's looking my way. By now Rafe has returned to the table, and he's talking to Kyle, who points over Rafe's shoulder toward us. Rafe twists and spots us, then rises from his chair.

I don't have much time.

"Harley, if you want the truth, it was Kyle I was interested in when we first met, but he never made a move. Or maybe Rafe just beat him to it. After that, he pretty much looked away and got quiet."

She studies me for a moment. "You know why, don't you?"

I shake my head.

"Because of the shooting. Didn't Rafe tell you how he got that scar on his forehead?"

"Not really. He said there was a problem that had to do with the club. I got the feeling he didn't want to talk about it."

"I don't think he even remembers what happened."

I frown. "What?"

She checks over her shoulder, Rafe moving quickly toward us.

"Meet me tomorrow at the diner across from Gigi's tattoo shop," she murmurs low, then turns a bright smile on Rafe. "Want to join our game?"

He gives her a big grin and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against his side to press a quick kiss to my lips. "Why don't you girls have a beer before the pitcher gets warm?"

I glance at Harley Jean, and she answers for both of us.

"Sure, Rafe. No problem."

I think she just doesn't want to insist on us playing. I wonder if it bothers her that he's interrupted. If so, she isn't saying so. Respect for the MC? Or maybe she doesn't want to rock the boat between him and I."

I want to say something, but I go along. I'm new to this world and not sure how close they keep tabs on their women. Is he being protective or controlling? Or am I reading too much into this? Perhaps, like he says, he just wants us to enjoy the beer while it's still cold. He did go to the trouble of standing in line to get it for us.

We return to the table, and Kyle's eyes flick between Harley and me, and I can't help thinking he's wondering what we were talking about.

Rafe pours me a glass and passes it with a grin.

We sit and drink until all the pitchers are empty, and I'm having a great time. These guys are a hoot, and the laughs just keep coming.

Billy pours the last of the final pitcher into his glass and leans forward, like he's sharing a secret with the table. "You should have seen Green the other day. He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the street in front of Gigi's place."

"Did he try to chase it?" Kyle asks, giving Green a look that says he knows he did.

"What're you lookin' at me like that for?" Green lifts a brow.

"Because I know you, bro," Kyle replies.

"Of course, I chased it. It was twenty damn dollars." Green splays his hands.

Billy chuckles. "He chased it half a block. Every time he'd get close, the wind would blow it another ten feet. I tried to get a video of it on my phone, but I was laughing too hard."

Kyle leans toward Rafe and sniffs. "You wearin' cologne, brother?"

"Maybe," Rafe replies, looking embarrassed. "What's it to ya?"

"It's nice. Kind of a leather and mesquite sort of deal." Kyle grins. "Like a barbequed baseball glove."

Billy almost spits his beer out.

I tilt my head. "You guys always like this?"

"That's just brothers busting each other's chops," Green says. "Don't pay it no mind."

"Right," Rafe says. "It's comradery. Like Batman and Robin."

"Right. I'm Batman. He's Robin." Kyle jerks his thumb at his brother.

Rafe lifts a brow. "Who're you callin' Robin, asshole? I'm Batman."

"Come on, Dynamic Duo." Green polishes off his beer and stands. "Let's hit the road."

We all stand to leave, and when we get out to the bikes, Rafe looks over at his brother.

"Hey, Kyle. Follow us to my place. I need your help with a delivery I got today."

Kyle tugs his gloves on, slowing the motion. His eyes dart to me, then back to his brother. "What do you need me for?"

"Just follow us back, okay?"

TJ and Billy stare at Kyle, as if they're listening to see what he'll say. They swing their legs over their bikes, but adjust in their seat, not firing their engines up.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you need, brother," Kyle replies.

TJ shakes his head, looking pissed, then fires his bike up.

Rafe seems oblivious. I climb on the bike behind him, and Kyle follows us to Rafe's place.

Rafe rents a cute but small Craftsman house he told me was built in 1925. It has a lot of character with a big bay window, but it's showing its age.

As for the neighborhood, Rafe told me it's on the edge of the Little Portugal North neighborhood. The Portuguese catholic parish is two blocks over, and we hear the bells chime three times a day. I think they annoy Rafe, but I find them to be soothing.

Kyle pulls into the driveway behind us and follows us up the stairs of the front porch.

There's a flyer on the front door.

"What's that?" I ask.

Rafe nabs it and smiles. "It's the church bulletin. Mrs. Vargas lives next door. She works for the church. She's always trying to get me to attend. Guess she thinks my soul needs saving, and she seems determined to see to it. Last summer, she and her husband invited me to the Feast of the Holy Ghost. It was pretty cool. They're a sweet old couple."

He unlocks the door, and we enter into a long living room that continues through to the back of the house. Tall wainscoting comes up the walls, and the floors are the original hardwood. There's a pretty set of corner windows with seat benches underneath and leaded glass on the top of the windows. It's charming. I've sat curled up in that window, reading. It's my favorite thing to do.

The main bedroom is in the front of the house on the left. It's the room that has those pretty bay windows visible from the street. Again, there's leaded glass on the top transom of the window that flood the room with light.

While the house has tons of charm, it also needs tons of work.

Rafe leads us out back. There's a garage with a small apartment in the rear. There is no grass to speak of… just blacktop.

Rafe has set up a small seating area with cheap lawn furniture around a movable firepit. The space had potential, but this wasn't it.

There's a big cardboard box leaned against the garage. It's about three feet wide, a foot deep, and six feet tall.

"What's that?" I ask.

"I ordered a gazebo."

"Tell me you didn't call me all the way over here to set that thing up tonight," Kyle says.

"No. I just need help moving the box. The tenant in the apartment can't get the garage door up with this in the way." Rafe's fists land on his hips. "Besides, you live all of three minutes away, asshole."

I turn to Kyle. "I didn't know you were so close."

"About a mile west of here," he replies.

"So, like walking distance?"

His brows lift. "Not for you. You get near my house, the neighborhood is okay, but there's a good bit of industrial area you'd have to cross to get there. It wouldn't be a good idea for a single woman to walk that route."

"Well, my girl's not walking to your house, bro. So, it's irrelevant." Rafe throws his arms around my shoulders.

"I'm just sayin'." Kyle looks at the box. "Let's get this damn thing moved, if we're movin' it."

They go to lift it, and Rafe gives Kyle the heavy bottom side.

"Fucking hell, Rafe. What's this thing made of?"

"Wrought iron."

"You couldn't buy an aluminum one, motherfucker?" Kyle strains to lift it and shoves the big, unwieldy box around the corner.

His biceps bulge with the effort, drawing my eyes.

"Aluminum ones are crap," Rafe snaps.

They set it down, and Kyle straightens. "That it? Or you want me to come in and fix your plumbing, too?"

"Shut up, wiseass."

"You're welcome, dickhead."

I elbow Rafe. "Say thank you."

"Thanks, bro. I appreciate it."

Kyle huffs a laugh. "You owe me one. Or maybe it's more accurate to say, you owe me fifty."

"Ha ha."

Kyle heads down the drive.

I look at Rafe. "You could be nicer to him, you know. Sounds like he does a lot of favors for you."

"Guess he does. You gonna be on my case, too, like Mrs. Alvarez? You tryin' to save my soul, baby girl?" He walks backward, following his brother.

"That's up to you, Rafe. Some things you have to do for yourself."