Saving Dallas Forever (Saving Dallas 3)

“Red, come on!” Brooklyn yelled from the kitchen. The bikes were close now, the pipes rumbling loudly as I danced in place for a moment at the thought of seeing my man. I ran from the bathroom to find the house dark, and nearly broke my neck stepping on someone.

“Fuck, Red!” Maddie snapped, as my stiletto collided with her toe.

“Dammit,” I heard Mary mutter, as I slapped her in the head, feeling my way around the room.

“Sorry,” I said through my laughter. I found a spot next to Logan and hunkered down, listening as the sound of cheerful voices got closer and closer to the door. They were home. My family was home and no matter what happened in the future, nothing could take the happiness out of this moment.

Dallas

On the ride home, I had never felt freer in my life, yet I wore a leather vest covered in orange patches that read “PROPERTY OF DEVIL’S RENEGADES PRESIDENT LLC” that let everyone know that free was something I was not. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, pushing all thoughts of the previous forty-eight hours of my life out of my mind, as we rode home at a leisurely pace of ninety miles per hour. I had to be the luckiest woman in the world. I had found the man of my dreams, a blood sister, a beautiful blue-eyed nephew, and a host of brothers and sisters that I never knew existed. If my life was taken from me tomorrow, I could say that I had lived the dream. Nothing could take this happiness from me.

By the time we arrived at Luke’s, the sky was dark and the cool October air had turned frigid with the sun’s descent. No one seemed to notice the cold, as we pulled up and dismounted from the bikes. Every face was plastered with a smile as cigarettes were lit, and talk of the ride began in earnest. I learned that every stop we had made between Lake Charles and Hattiesburg served as a memory, permanently imprinted on each of our minds. At a gas station in Hammond, Louisiana, I learned that Ronnie, the president of the Devil’s Renegades, Lake Charles Chapter, loved beer infused with tomato juice. He loved it so much that he downed three sixteen-ounce cans, then led us into oncoming traffic. I should have been mortified, but I could only laugh as each bike made a U-turn in the middle of the highway, each full-face helmet shaking visibly with laughter once we made it safely to the median. In Kentwood, Mississippi, we spent twenty minutes trying to figure out how Regg was going to strap a four-foot, stuffed red rose to his bike. He said Red would kill him if he came back with nothing to give her. He managed to bend it enough to sit on his back seat, and secured it with a bungee cord; cursing himself the entire time for not bringing along a PROSPECT, someone who dedicated a minimum of one year to the club in hopes of one day becoming a member. These were just a couple of the memories that were created on our short 5-hour journey back to the new life that awaited me. I removed my gloves, and flexed my fingers, which were now numb from squeezing Luke’s leather cut so tight, not in fear of falling off the bike, but in fear of not being able to hold onto him. I turned to him, as he graced me with a beaming smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Ready to go inside and thaw out, babe?” he asked, rubbing his hands up and down my leather clad arms. I nodded to him, anxious to see everyone, but my smile died when I noticed no cars and no lights on inside the house. I might have been wrong, or had anticipated too much. I was expecting to see the front yard illuminated with lights from the house, hear music blaring out, and find a slew of cars in the driveway. I mentally kicked myself for being so ungrateful and selfish, a move that was still new to me. Luke reassured me with one of his winks, and the fire inside me ignited once again, as I took in all that was Luke. He was dressed head-to-toe in leather. His thick jacket was zipped up to his neck, and the cut he wore so proudly was displayed on top of it, for all to see. Four chain extenders linked the cut together, each one hanging loosely over his abdomen. His black chaps covered his denim-clad legs, but left that perfectly toned ass of his fully visible, even through his baggy jeans. He grabbed my hand, interrupting my eye-raping, and pulled me toward the door in the carport that led to his kitchen.