6. Riley

six

Riley

"We're all family." Dylan walked me around Archer's bike. An old, faded vest lay draped across the handlebars. Very similar to the one I'd been given.

"That looks like…"

A striking, rangy man approached. Attractive with tattoos up to his chin, and blond hair cut short on the sides but pulled back in a tight, high ponytail. "His original cut." He tossed a tatted-up arm over Dylan's shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

"Love you, Dee."

"I know." She stopped, seemingly caught between beaming up at him and giving him a hard shove.

I chuckled. They knew each other well.

"Another brother?"

She shook her head and shrugged his arm off. He stumbled with more drama than necessary before catching himself. "No, this is Jester."

He made a mock bow, with a grandiose gesture of his free arm. The other clutched a dark beer bottle. Import. Fancy.

On one side of his neck, a full house of hearts was splayed across like a winning hand on a table. Across his throat, fire and smoke, and on the other side, a demonic jester face. The tattoos blending together seamlessly.

When he caught me looking, he grinned and nodded to a corner of the bar where a clean, clinical tattoo station was set up. The man who sat there didn't just have wide shoulders but rippling muscles that bulged from the t-shirt he wore. At first glance, he looked older. But he wasn't. Behind the beard, the face was young, barely thirty, if that.

The woman on the chair in front of him, her hip being worked on, was much older. The contrast was interesting.

"Puck did everything up here." Jester waved at his throat. "Got a shop in town, nice place. If you want any ink, check him out. Because you're Archer's kid, you'll get one hell of a discount."

I'd never thought of a tattoo. But the tequila was making a lot of things seem like good ideas. I searched the room and saw Cam standing with Dylan's brother. He was laughing, his face bright. That's new . All I'd seen was his brooding side. This was equal parts attractive and disarming.

To keep from thinking of all the ways I found Cam attractive, even after he'd basically assaulted me, I focused on Dylan's brother instead. His dark hair hung shaggy over his ears and too long on his neck but not long enough to tie back like Jester's. Were it not for the dark hair covering his jaw and chin, he'd be gorgeous. Maybe he was even with it.

A warmth spread out over my chest when I turned and got caught in Cam's blueish gaze. He held me frozen as Jester and Dylan talked around me. I couldn't move. All I could do was look at him and think of...things I shouldn't. More bad ideas.

I shivered and blinked, breaking the moment.

"That one I'll claim." Dylan bumped me with her shoulder. "Got eyes for Jace?"

"Merc." Jester interjected and took a swig of beer. "Her and every other chick in here."

He pointed at Cam. "Or maybe Savage."

I must have made a face, because he laughed. "It's his name. Seriously, but my man lives up to it."

"Not surprising." I'd experienced a small amount of his fierceness.

"Don't scare her off when she's got to sleep at Archer's. It's not going to make her run to your place instead." Dylan gave Jester a gentle kick to the shin.

"Is this the face of someone who would do such a thing?" He batted his lashes, feigning innocence.

"One hundred percent." I laughed, more at ease than I had been in months. Maybe it was the company, but I was betting it was the tequila. Somewhere, my mom was telling me not to let my guard down—to get out of there.

He conceded with a wink.

Needing the conversation to be about anything other than Cam, I brushed my fingers over the worn patch that read Archer on the chest of the original vest. "He started the club, right?"

"Yeah. Him, AP, and Preacher were the first official three." This time, he slung his arm around my shoulders. He rattled off names I would never remember. "They all came later."

I expected him to smell like gasoline and stale cigarettes. But he didn't. There was a woodsy, clean scent and his touch was companionable, lulling me into an even bigger sense of calm and comfort.

No warning bells.

"Let me take you on a tour." Jester steered me to a well-lit hallway behind the stairs.

He dropped his arm when we rounded the corner. The walls were lined with pictures and framed leather vests, even a flag or two. Two large, wooden doors dominated the end of the hall. The Desert King MC insignia—a skull with piston crossbones and a crooked crown—burned into them.

"Archer and AP rode dirt bikes together growing up, followed along behind a bunch of outlaw motorcycle clubs in southern Cali. Archer served a few tours in the middle east, then came back and decided he needed space and freedom but missed the brotherhood. He collected some guys, came here, built bikes, and sold weed. The MC was born from that."

Which one was which, I wondered, searching the faded image of several men of various ages. Jester gestured with a long, nimble finger, with dark lines soaked into the skin. He pointed to a tall man, older than the others, all the way to the left. "Goat. Got creamed by a semi when I was first patched in." Then to the man beside him. "AP."

"He could never deny Merc." His father could have been his double, save for the devilish grin. When Merc did smile, it was like he wasn't sure he was doing it right.

"Yup."

He moved down the wall a few paces and nodded to another image. This one less faded and without the orange hue. Brighter, three young men all in vests, laughing together. I recognized AP and Archer, but the other…

"Who?"

"Preacher. Before he got fat." He sniggered. "Archer brought him back with them from the desert."

I took another swallow of tequila and leaned a little closer to Jester who placed the tips of the fingers of his freehand against the small of my back. Unlike when Preacher had touched me, this was light and companionable. I didn't feel like I should be jerking away.

He was attractive, but in a different way than Cam. Both dangerous, but Jester more agreeable.

"Are a lot of the guys ex-military?"

"Yeah, some of them." He tossed his bottle into a trashcan behind us and took my tequila for a long swig before making a face.

"Any of the younger guys military, too?"

He shook his head. "Well, Merc was for a little while. Coincidentally, if you need any guns—for the zombie apocalypse or whatever—he's your man."

"Zombies?"

"Yup." He laughed and handed me back my bottle. "Hey, our government has been known to do some weird shit. I'm convinced Area Fifty-One isn't aliens at all."

There were worse things than being prepared. Amused, I moved to a group of pictures on a table beside the double doors. These pictures were more official. Five men hovered around a large oak table. The picture tinted almost brown and faded. Then six, the faces changing—some aging, some new. I followed them all the way to the most current.

My father was there, at the head of that table. So were AP, Preacher, Cam, Merc, and Jester.

"The table," he said, as if that told me everything I needed to know.

"What's that mean?"

"Officers, governing body of the Desert Kings." He puffed up, full of pride. "I'm Road Captain."

"That makes you something special, huh?" I teased and thumped him on his chest, though I had no idea what he was talking about.

"I mean…" He wiped at something invisible on his shoulder and preened a little. "If you're ever of the mind to find out, I could take you for a ride sometime."

"Or not." The voice from the end of the hall was so cold the temperature dropped twenty degrees.

Jester whistled long and low, and I hugged the bottle to my chest.

Cam leaned against the door frame and jerked his chin back out in the main part of the clubhouse. I wanted to shout at him. The past fifteen or so minutes had been the most fun I'd had in weeks. I opened my mouth, shut it, and managed to glare at him.

Jester wasn't bothered at all. He chuckled and strolled down the hall. Smacking Cam on the shoulder as he went.

Cam watched him quietly before making his way toward me. I ducked away, focusing on the pictures, to keep from watching the way the black t-shirt bunched and shifted as he walked.

"That was rude." I tried to bite back the comment. I was intruding on his world, but it didn't give him the right to act like he could tell me what to do.

"Was it?" He said unbothered, from behind me.

I could feel him there, though he didn't touch me. The prickling awareness radiated all around me, clanging like warning bells. I'd flirted with guys before, but it hadn't felt like this. Would I flirt with Cam or just melt at his feet like the groupies that hovered all around the clubhouse?

"It was." I doubled down, focused on my annoyance to ignore the attraction.

I took another swig of tequila. It would have been better with some orange slices, maybe even a lime, but the burn down my throat strengthened me. The warmth of my buzz chased away anything else and left me strong enough to turn to face him.

"You sure that's what you're into?"

Jester was handsome, tattoos and all. Sure, he didn't quite compare to Cam, but...

"I could be."

He leaned closer, so that his goatee tickled against my ear. "If you want to get a little kinky…that's one thing, darlin. But that shit?" He slipped his hand up until it wrapped around my throat. He didn't squeeze, but his meaning was clear.

Trembling, more from his touch than anything, I met his blue gaze.

"I didn't think so." He grinned and let go. "But I bet you'd look hot all tied up in that throne of his."

I blinked twice and chased him back the way he had come.

"Wait, what? A throne?"

His laugh was easy and warm, something I hadn't expected. "He's very proud of it."

"Holy shit." I took another sip and shook my head. "You're right. Not for me."

He spun, walking backwards, his brow raised and, for the first time for me, an easy smile on his face. "Believe me, darlin, I know. That's why I intervened."

I twisted my lips and narrowed my gaze. "So that's what the asshole vibe is all about. You're looking out for me."

He stopped at the doorway. "I haven't been a dick to you."

Not entirely true. "But…" I let that trail off without agreeing.

With a flustered sigh, he rubbed a hand over his mouth.

"You don't like me. I get it." The tequila hampered my ability to staunch the flow of words. "I show up out of nowhere, mess up everything you've got going on. I'm sorry. Really, I am. I want to be here even less than you want me here."

"Stop." He looked down at his feet and mumbled something about too much, but I missed it. "Let me show you something."

He started up the stairs, when I didn't immediately follow, he glanced over his shoulder. "Should I be offended that you'll go into a dead-end hallway with Jester, but not up a flight of stairs with me?"

I looked back to where Jester was cutting up with several others, including Dylan. "He's nice."

"For fuck's sake." Cam spat and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

Both amused and curious enough, I followed him.