“Just making some tea.”
“You mind if I put the TV on?”
“Of course not.”
When the tea’s finished, I join him in the living room. I’m about to sit in the opposite corner from him when he reaches up and guides me to his side with a hand on my hip.
“Why you wanna always be so far away from me?”
“I don’t. I mean. I don’t want to crowd you. That’s all.” I turn my attention to the television. “What are you watching?”
He shrugs. “Some true crime thing that was on.”
“Uh-oh, doing some research?”
“Nah.” He flashes an impish grin that’s so similar to our son’s my heart skips.
“I think we should talk to Chance tomorrow. About you being his father,” I say without taking my eyes off him.
Z’s devilish expression softens. He seems eager, awed, happy with the idea, not concerned or nervous.
“I’d like that.”
He touches my chin and turns my head toward him. “I want you to come up to the clubhouse this weekend.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
This is monumental. I’m not sure I’m ready to face his brothers. “Do we have to do the big, family dinner thing? Could we maybe start out smaller?”
He seems to consider the question and with it my feelings.
“Yeah, we can do that. Maybe I can take Chance for a ride around the property.”
“He’d probably love that.”
Z nods and curls his hand around my mug and tugs it out of my hands.
“Careful, it’s hot,” I warn.
After setting the mug on the end table, he flashes his fingers at me. “I can handle a little burn.”
I pull one of his hands into my lap, palm up, and trace the lines, callouses, and scars. “You work hard.”
“Sometimes.” He glances down at our hands. “That tickles.”
“Big, bad Angus Frazier is ticklish?” I barely recognize my husky voice.
His eyelids drift closed. “I like when you say my name.”
“So, you admit you’re ticklish?”
He rumbles with laughter. “That’s the part you focus on.”
“What? I’ve said your name before.”
“I’m not afraid to admit anything.”
I turn his hand over and trace swirls of color, letters, and designs. Each bit of ink means something to him, I’m sure of it. “L.O.S.T. Let me see the other one.”
He closes his hands and pushes his fists together.
“Lost King. I should’ve guessed.”
“You never noticed before?”
“Probably. A couple of your brothers have the same, right?”
“Mhm,” he agrees in a lazy murmur.
“You’re not required to each get something different?”
He bursts out laughing. “No one’s required to do anything. That’s kind of the whole point.”
“That’s not true. It’s mandatory that you attend…church, right?”
The corners of his mouth quirk. “With limited exceptions.” He focuses those intense blue eyes on me again. “What’s with the questions tonight?”
I can pinpoint exactly what’s bothering me. That he saw into my fractured family, who I was, where I come from. How little regard the people who should love me the most have for me. It’s left me feeling unsettled and vulnerable.
Things I don’t want him to see. Feelings I can’t name.
I shrug and sit back, but he wraps an arm around me, keeping me close. “I’m curious, that’s all. No one’s related by blood?”
He opens his mouth, closes it and seems to think before answering. “Not really. Murphy and Teller might as well be, they’ve known each other for so long. And Teller’s sister is marrying Murphy, so…”
“Aw, I remember what a big crush Heidi had on him.”
His lips curl into an affectionate smile. “She’s had a rough time, but they’re finally together.”
“Is Teller handling it okay?”
Z wobbles his hand back and forth. “He’s mostly gotten over it. He knows no one will take better care of Heidi and her daughter than Murphy. And she makes him happy. Once in a while, he throws a big brother tantrum.” He chuckles. “Usually when Murphy provokes him.”
The easy, affectionate way Z talks about the men he considers his brothers endears him to me in a whole new way.
“Was Rock’s father in the club?”
“No, why?”
“I don’t know. Would you expect Chance to join the club when he’s older?”
He exhales a long, slow breath. “That worry you?”
I pull up my knees, resting my chin on them. “Maybe.”
“If he wanted to join, I’d be thrilled. But I wouldn’t expect it. We don’t want anyone who isn’t one hundred percent committed.”
“Oh.”
“No matter what, he’d always be protected by the club though. Because he’s mine.”
“Oh,” I whisper even softer.
“Lots of clubs have legacy members. We’re still…younger than most.” He coughs and sits up. “A lot of our older members up and retired a little over ten years ago, leaving it to us. Our downstate president’s son decided he didn’t want to patch-in after prospecting for a while, and no one gave him any shit about it. Another club we’re friendly with, the father is the president and the son is the VP.” He barks out a quick laugh. “Although I’m pretty sure Chaser’s about to retire his old man any day now.”
“I think I remember them from Hope and Rock’s wedding.”
“Yeah, they were there.” He shrugs. “Every club is different, Lilly.”
“How so?”
“Well, some treat it like a club. A place to hang out, party, ride with like-minded bikers.”
“And others?”
“It’s a brotherhood, a lifestyle, a career, a place to belong.”
“Hmm, I think I can guess where yours falls.”
He smiles, dimples flashing.
“A career, though? That seems at odds with everything else you named.”
“People have this idea all bikers are the trash of society—”
“I don’t think that, Z. I’ve never thought that about you.”
He brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “Just a hard body to take for a ride, right?”
My cheeks burn, because, yes, that’s probably exactly what I thought when I met him.
When I don’t answer, he nods.
“Like you didn’t notice my tits right away,” I accuse.
He laughs. “I won’t lie.” He drops his gaze and my traitorous nipples perk up from the attention. “Damn right I did.”
He touches my cheek, drawing my attention back to his face. “You know the second thing I noticed, though?”
“My ass?”
“No, Siren.” He traces a finger down my nose. “These soul-sucking, pretty eyes of yours.” He wraps his hand in my ponytail and gently tugs. “Your long, beautiful hair.”
He sits back and smirks. “And then, yeah, your hot, fuckable ass.”
I shove my palm against his chest, and he tips over sideways, laughing.
“Go back to the career thing.”
He adopts a more serious expression. “Like I said, people in general think bikers, MCs are the dregs of society.”
I nod to acknowledge the statement even if I don’t agree.
“Some clubs, the smart ones, are run more like a business. We only want people who are valuable to the club. Everyone has a purpose. A job.”
“That makes sense.” I tilt my head. “What’s your purpose?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He grins. “I’m friendlier and more approachable than Rock.”
“What else?”
“Tech stuff. Finding people. Finding out stuff about people. Plus, I’m good at landscaping, outdoor work, stuff like that.”
“Must come in handy with all that property the clubhouse has.”
“Right.”
“Tech and manual labor? How’d you get so good at both?”
“Curiosity?” He stares past me. Maybe he’s considering how much is safe to share with me, I’m not sure. But I wait patiently. “My father owned a landscaping company. Still does, actually. Sort of.” He snorts. “My bio-brothers are running it into the ground.”
“Obviously, you’re adept at running a business since you’re managing Crystal Ball. Why aren’t you helping them out?”
He forces a smile that looks more pained than cocky. “Black sheep, baby. They don’t want my help and I got sick of trying.” He glances down and taps his fingers against his leg for a few seconds. “My youngest brother’s an addict. He’s always been my father’s favorite. The golden boy who can do no wrong. Even though he’s always been a selfish fuck up.”
“I’m sort of familiar with that situation. I wouldn’t call Alex a fuck up, but he is the favorite.”
“Well, my father, genius that he is, let it slip that “giving” baby brother the family business might straighten him out. Never mind I’d been busting my ass working for him since I was like ten years old. He’s been in and out of rehab too many times to count. I’ve footed the bill each time.”