Seeing those had brought back some memories of making sure Reilly was dressed and fed before putting her on the bus. If Reese hadn’t gotten Reilly going every morning, her sister never would have gone to school. Most of the time their mother was gone before they woke up or she hadn’t even bothered to come home.
Or she was home and unable to function.
Reese pushed the distant past out of her head and went back to just a little while ago, when she and Reilly had taken quick showers before heading down to the barn together.
Reilly had thrown on a long, flowy skirt with a wide belt, cowboy boots, and a Harley Davidson tank top Reese didn’t even know her sister owned. Or maybe she borrowed it from one of the other ladies, since Reilly didn’t have a lot of clothes with her due to leaving the Philly area so quickly.
But once again her sister looked carefree and happy, and Reilly was practically skipping alongside Reese as they made their way around the backside of the building and through the big, open double barn doors along the side.
When they stepped inside, the deep bass of the loud rock music had hit Reese right in the chest. Since there wasn’t a live band, the club had to have some insanely large speakers.
“Hey, there’s Deacon,” Reilly announced close to Reese’s ear.
The man, wearing Levi’s that fit his ass like a glove and a snug T-shirt that hugged his shoulders and biceps and showed off his arm tattoos, sat in front of what looked like a long, handcrafted wood bar. The shelves behind it were packed with all sorts of liquor bottles, mugs and everything else a typical neighborhood bar would need.
Though, this bar wasn’t in any kind of neighborhood, or open to the public. Reilly had mentioned that hanging out in The Barn was by invitation only.
Since Deacon’s back was turned toward Reese, her gaze landed on the black leather vest he’d worn on the run and still wore. What he called his “cut” which displayed his club’s “colors.” What identified him as a “brother,” or member, of the Blood Fury MC.
His cut was the same as all the other “brothers” who had been along on the run, and the patches also matched the large tattoo inked into his back.
She’d heard of college fraternity and sorority members getting matching tattoos, and sometimes even being branded, but she wasn’t aware of any type of “memberships” requiring them.
She wondered if it was a requirement of this MC.
Her sister leaned into her. “Isn’t Ozzy really cute? He’s about your age.”
Reese turned her head toward the biker, who sported a short salt and pepper beard, and did not look her age. He wasn’t much older, but still...
“Why are you telling me this?”
Reilly shrugged. “Just in case it doesn’t work out between you and Deacon.”
Reese frowned. “What doesn’t work out?”
“Whatever you two have going on.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“Well, good. Because it looks like one of the piranhas is ready to nibble on him.”
Piranha? “What are you talking about?”
“One of the sweet butts.”
Reese stared at her sister like she was an alien. “Will you speak English?”
“A sweet butt. That’s what Brandy is.” Reilly tilted her head toward the bar and Reese glanced that way again.
It was kind of bothersome that her sister was already speaking their language. That did not give Reese the warm fuzzies.
Reilly nudged her forward gently. “Better go claim your man before one of the piranhas do.”
“Reilly, what the hell—”
Reilly jerked her head toward the bar and bugged out her eyes. “Go! Don’t dawdle, or he’ll be diddling someone else.”
“I—”
“Go!”
Reese snapped her mouth shut and glanced at the girl approaching Deacon. Looking like a...
Hungry piranha.
Damn it.
“Why is she called a sweet butt?”
“If you keep standing there like a dumbass, you’ll find out firsthand.”
Reese pressed her lips together and checked out this Brandy, who was unashamedly topless and wore a very short, pleated schoolgirl skirt with thigh high socks. Her brandy-colored hair was pulled into two long pigtails coming out of the sides of her head. She was also cracking her gum with an open mouth.
Apparently, she couldn’t afford panties—or at least had forgotten that part of her outfit—since every time she flounced another step toward Deacon, Reese could see the bottom curves of her bare ass cheeks.
Had Reese stepped into some sort of cheesy porn?
Was the girl even of legal age?
God, she had really nice, young perky breasts. Even if her age was legal, her breasts shouldn’t be.
How could Reese compete with that?
She closed her eyes and shook her head. What was she thinking? She wasn’t in competition with anyone. She was here on this farm, with these bikers, only to stay safe from a violent psycho. Never in her life had she tried to “get her claws into a man” and she certainly wasn’t planning on doing that now.