"A dress? You guys are not that dressy."
"Yeah because Hope thinks leather pants are formal wear," Gracie teased, getting a shrug from Hope. "And because I had nothing else clean. But if it makes you feel any better, I will steal one of your skirts."
It did.
So she did.
And about an hour later after I made sure Nugget had eaten, had a short walk, and was settled down with a treat with his doggy friends, we were off.
"Wait," I said, stiffening as Hope pulled her black Mustang into the lot of the Henchmen compound. "You didn't say the party was at the clubhouse."
"Where else would we party these days?" Gracie asked, eyebrows pinching as she looked over her shoulder at me, not understanding why I was suddenly so tense.
And, yes, of course. I really should have thought of that. It wasn't like we were in high school anymore. No one had house parties. Hell, most of us didn't have houses, just apartments.
But several of our cousins were now members of the Henchmen MC.
On top of that, our cousins always had hot guy friends.
"The clubwhores can get annoying," Hope said, shrugging as she cut the engine.
"I really don't think we should be calling them whores," Gracie said, wincing. I had to admit, the term had never sat right with me. Luckily, when I was growing up, there hadn't been many younger, wild members around, so those women had never really been much of a presence in the club. I wasn't surprised, though, to find that had changed since the next generation of bikers started getting old enough to throw their own parties at the clubhouse.
"I hardly think cut-sluts sounds better," Hope said, snorting.
"I think I've heard them referred to as club bunnies," Gracie volunteered, shrugging.
"That's just ridiculous," Hope decided, climbing out of the car. "But whatever we call them, they can get stupidly possessive of the guys. It's obnoxious. Anyway, the drinks are free. We can crash if we want to. And we will know most of the people here, so there's no creeps grabbing ass. It's a win-win-win."
With that, the two of them moved forward with the casualness that said they had no idea that Niro and I had been experiencing a falling out of sorts. I guess that was a good thing, though, right? They wouldn't get weird about it, try to force us together to reconnect or anything like that.
I also figured it was a good thing that they hadn't mentioned anything about Niro being different than he used to be either. Maybe my father was just overreacting after all.
Still, the closer we got to the front door, the more my stomach wobbled ominously, the harder my heart hammered against my ribcage.
The music was thumping, the bass of the unfamiliar song making my pulse skitter around, putting me even more on-edge.
"Come on!" Gracie called, voice raised to be heard over the music, reaching out to grab my hand, pulling me inside.
Ready or not.
The clubhouse hadn't changed much ever since I was a kid. Sure, it went through some fresh painting, a new pool table felt color, changes in furniture, and the gaming systems were something that had never been around before—likely brought by the newest, younger members.
I'd been here a million times. I fell out of a tree out back after settling a baby bird back in its nest, and sprained my ankle, needing to be carried back to the clubhouse by Niro to get help. I'd played tag with my cousins—none of whom were by blood—in the back during big family barbecues. I had bunkered down in the barracks-style basement when there had been security scares. I'd had a picnic with Niro up in the glass room on the roof, both of us lying flat on the hard floor with over-full bellies, and I raised my arm and pointed out the constellations to him like I had done many times before because he always claimed he forgot them.
I knew every inch of this place.
Hell, I'd even been inside the armory in the basement once.
Still, it felt oddly foreign to be back.
It was weirder still to be back and not see any of my uncles or aunts around. They'd been such a permanent staple when I was growing up. But now, they were likely home snuggled in bed while the next generation of bikers were throwing big parties.
And big it was.
Bodies were crushed close around the bar. Lines were waiting for their turn at the pool table. The couches were full. And people milled in and out of the kitchen, drinks in hands.
For once, I found I didn't know all the faces around. Sure, there were some familiar ones dotted around. Fallon, Finn, Seth, Malcolm. But the majority of the people were strangers to me, new friends the club members had made while I was away.