17. Riley

seventeen

Riley

Each ride was different, but the tingling sensation when I pressed against him was constant. This time was slower, cruising through Dry Valley, not blazing down the highway, the rush of exhilaration ripping the breath from my lungs.

I relaxed behind him, hands on my knees, and took the time to check out the revitalized downtown district. The evening was late enough that most storefronts were dark. But there were enough bars and restaurants that steady foot traffic filled the sidewalks.

The roar of Cam's bike echoed off the brick buildings that butted up against mountains on one side. The reverberation drew attention. Awe from the teenagers, envy from the men, and something else entirely from the women.

I understood. Cam Savage had that effect, with his slicked back blond hair, short on the sides, lanky denim-clad legs, and dark blue plaid flannel shirt. But it wasn't the handsome face that got the attention. No, it was the smug arrogance. He knew people watched, and he didn't give a shit.

And this was the biggest turn on of all. When he caught me watching him through the mirror, he winked.

As we continued on, I noticed other things. The cop that didn't even look up when we passed, and the gold and black stickers on some of the storefronts…Desert Kings logo and all.

AP's house wasn't out in the desert like the clubhouse, or in one of the tidy neighborhoods like Archer's, but right on the edge of downtown. There were trees here, and grass in places. The neighborhood was older and with a good deal more character than Archer's. This was the sort of place where the homes spanned generations.

A few kids played out in a yard. All of them glanced up as Cam rolled down the street and pulled into a long, large driveway.

Several vehicles were already there. I recognized Dylan's Jeep and relaxed. I didn't feel so out of place when she was around. The feminine energy was appreciated. Cam rode past the cars and turned around in a wide area at the top, leaving his bike beside several others facing outward.

He backed the bike in a lot, as if he was always ready to make a quick getaway. Maybe he was.

That thought left a prickle up the back of my neck. Each time I started to feel a sense of normalcy in Cam's world, something popped up to remind me of all the frightening tales Mom had told me. Each time made it harder to convince myself she was just trying to spook me.

I followed Cam through the tidy backyard and up the back steps, through a laundry room, and into the kitchen. Instantly, the scent of garlic and pasta sauce wrapped me in a fond memory. I'd went to an Italian restaurant in the city with Mom a few times, but those aromas didn't even come close to this.

My mouth watered and my stomach growled.

"Dad made lasagna," Dylan called from the stove, over the bluesy music and laughter that trickled in from the other room. "He put tables out in the living room, too."

I was about to ask if she needed help, and then AP stepped into the room, oven mitts on his hands. The fluffy green gloves looked out of place on the denim-clad, scruffy man.

"What's happening, kids?" He grinned, but then looked from me to Dylan. In that one look, a thousand different questions passed.

I was eager to know what they were. Cam didn't seem to care at all. "Not a damn thing. But I'm about to rip into that lasagna, old man."

Merc slipped in behind his dad, a beer in his hand, and the corner of his mouth twisted up beneath the facial hair in an uncharacteristic grin.

Cam narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Merc's face exploded with a smile that could light up the entire desert on a moonless night. He should really do that more. "Deke's out."

Cam whooped, stopping just shy of jumping into the air before he stormed past Merc. I followed so far as the doorway, to see Cam wrapped in a back slapping bear hug with a guy that looked like he'd been a biker for longer than I'd been alive.

Dishwater brown hair, threaded with gray, pulled back in a ponytail. Tall and slender, with faded jeans that were almost too big. Beside him stood a mousy woman with a smile that hinted at her former beauty. Now, she just looked tired and relieved.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here." Dekes, I assumed, murmured into Cam's neck.

"Don't be. You're here now, brother."

"Who's this?" The man settled his kind brown eyes on me, over Cam's shoulder.

"Riley." Cam turned to me, grinning and waving me to him. "Come meet Dirty Dekes."

"Call me Dekes, or Frank if you want. This is my old lady, Shannon." I shook her small, but warm hand before he tilted his head sideways. "Do I know you?"

His wife jabbed a bony elbow into his side and raised both her eyebrows in that I already told you this way of wives and girlfriends.

"Archer's girl?"

"Seems so."

"Well then!" He scooped me up in a big hug. "Sorry for your loss, kid…but good to have you here."

And unlike with Preacher, Dekes seemed genuine and, in truth, it felt like he might be family.

***

The lasagna was delicious. Savory sauce covered pasta that practically melted with each bite, all wrapped up in gooey cheese. I ate until my stomach hurt. Considering how few hot meals I'd had the past few months, that didn't take long.

But I had a chance to study Cam in his element. Guard down, belly laughs, two plates of food. Dekes, apparently, had been a big influence on his life in the club.

Others had joined AP's family seated around folding tables in the great room. Puck and Jester were here. Puck's son, barely more than a toddler, rolled trains around beneath his table. Every so often he'd sneak grins highlighted in red sauce in my direction.

There was a family feel, an easiness that was missing at the clubhouse. Even I relaxed, enjoying a glass of wine as Cam's face lit in a big smile to some jail story Dekes regaled us with.

"I tell you, kid, you damn sure don't want to go back. They ain't washed none of the pods since you were there."

"You went to jail?" I wasn't surprised, but the way Dekes watched me, he was itching to talk about it.

There was something cute and innocent in the way Cam's cheeks reddened when put on the spot. "Yeah, juvie here and then in Clark County a few years ago."

He pushed his hand through his hair and Dekes chuckled. "Don't be shy now, Savage. If you ain't going to tell your little girlfriend about it, I will."

"I'm not—"

He waved off my protest.

Cam, for what it was worth, reacted like a shy little kid, shaking his head and rubbing his hand over his face. Could he be any cuter?

"We were all in Vegas, doing the Casino shit during a bike week event. Cam got a little too hot handed, security got involved—"

"What's that mean?" I interrupted him, leaning forward with genuine interest.

"I was winning too much." The cockiness seeped back in and Cam straightened. "They thought I was cheating but couldn't prove shit."

"They saw you leaving that blond dealer's apartment the night before." Merc tossed a wadded-up napkin at him.

Cam swatted it out of the way. "You can't prove that either, brother."

"Don't need to." Merc leaned back with a snort.

"Can a man tell a story?" Dekes barked with playful exasperation.

"Please, I'm riveted." I didn't bother looking at Cam. I could feel his smile. Like something warm, it tingled across my skin and left me far too comfortable at his side.

There was a rush of pleasure when he draped his arm over the back of my chair and twisted a lock of my hair around his fingers. His touch, however innocent, made me hyper aware, and I almost squirmed.

"He mucks it up with security, breaks one guy's nose, knocks a table over, and hauls ass out of there. Jumping over shit, going full on parkour with stacks of chips in his hands."

Dekes paused long enough to kiss his wife as she left the table, bored with a story she'd probably heard dozens of times.

I cast a quick glance at Cam as Dekes continued. He was happy here, letting this man tell his story.

"Jumps on his hog, shoving chips in his pockets, those mother fuckers falling everywhere, some homeless guy scrambling around scooping them up—"

"I'm standing there, taking a smoke break, and trying to figure out why the hell the kid is tearing ass out of the parking garage, and then I hear the sirens."

"I almost made it." Cam chuckled.

"Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." Dekes flipped a toothpick into his mouth. "We follow behind the cops, breaking a hundred miles an hour outside of the city, just seeing if the kid could make it to the county line."

He leaned forward and shook his head. "He didn't."

When I glanced at Cam, he lifted his shoulders like, what can I say ?

"Why not?"

Merc actually laughed, and Dekes' grin shone all the way to his eyes. "This idiot ran out of gas."

The entire room erupted into laughter, Dylan standing to clear plates even as she chuckled. Shooting Cam an amused grin I followed her with more dishes.

"Thanks, I'm glad you came," she said once we were in the kitchen.

I rinsed utensils and plates, passing them to her as she loaded the dishwasher. The aroma of garlic and marinara was slowly swallowed by the crisp, fresh scent of the dish soap she was soaking pots in.

"Me too." I glanced out through the door, Merc and Cam with their heads together whispering, AP at the end of a table, watching them all with a happy smile on his face. "This feels more like a home than anywhere I've ever been."

The corners of her mouth curled. "Yeah. Where'd you get the jacket?"

Her question caught me off guard, jerking me from the buzz of happiness I found myself caught in, and my guard slid back in place. It wasn't the question, so much as the almost robotic way she asked it.

"Cam gave it to me."

She turned to me, not smiling, but with a soft look on her face. "Be careful, Riley." She took a deep breath. "I really like you. And I love Cam. If he's happy, I'm always going to be happy. But riding on his bike, wearing his first cut…that's making statements with weight."

The earnestness in her gaze worried me.

Had I done something wrong? He'd said I wouldn't be trouble for him, but I couldn't help but feel like I'd stepped over some imaginary line. "I didn't mean to—"

She grabbed my hand. "You haven't done anything. But this life—there are rules, and I don't think he's telling you everything."

"All right, ladies. My turn!" A jovial voice bounded into the kitchen, interrupting us and leaving me tangled in so many questions I felt like a moth stuck in a web, flailing to be free—the vibrations calling the spider right to me.

Jester was carrying more plates. I stepped out of his way as he deposited them in the sink. Dylan busied herself with turning the dishwasher on.

"A real man washes his own shit," he told me, before carrying on solemnly. "Except his bike. He leaves that to babes in bikinis."

His salacious wink was so over the top, I laughed.

"She's looking a little dirty. You should help me out, Dylan." He twisted a towel and popped her on the ass as she turned away.

She snatched the towel before he could get her a second time and was practically growling when he jerked her close. "Not for a million bucks, asshole."

"Yo, get a room!" Someone tossed from the doorway.

But Jester's eyes had darkened, something changing in his facial features. Dangerous, sexy, and sucking out all the air in the room.

Dylan dropped the towel and stepped back. "No thanks." Then after a long pause, a challenge passed in the slight curl of his upper lip. "I don't like being told what to do, and I don't listen for shit."

He laughed, leaning against the counter, and watching her as she walked away. "She's got me all wrong. I like 'em feisty first."