“Is that his wife?” Chelle whispered. She didn’t know why she was whispering, since it was so loud in that huge space, no one would hear her anyway.
“Ol’ lady.”
She hadn’t done too much digging yet on MCs and needed to do more, but one thing she had learned so far was the meaning of “ol’ lady.”
“I assume that’s who he plans to have kids with.”
“Yeah, if he wants to keep breathin’, it’d be smart if he only knocked up Stella.”
“That would be smart, I guess,” she murmured, taking in the whole atmosphere of what he called “The Barn” in his invitation. He’d explained it was their clubhouse, the base for their MC.
“How many of you are there?”
“Dunno. Thirteen, maybe? A couple prospects. Some ol’ ladies and...” He stopped speaking.
“And?” she prodded.
“And some other women.”
Some other women.
“Like girlfriends?”
His gaze circled the interior of the barn and came back to her. “Not girlfriends.”
She remembered reading something about women, similar to groupies, who liked to hang around biker clubs.
She’d also read that the ol’ ladies, children and the “other women” were considered property of a club and, as such, were under the club’s protection. She found that a bit curious but also... archaic.
However, she’d been so busy with learning everything she could about dyslexia and getting together appropriate lesson plans, she hadn’t had time to dig any deeper. She could ask Shade a bunch of questions, but he always got tense when she asked too many, and she wasn’t sure if he’d answer them anyway.
Sometimes he acted like he never heard her question.
Though, that was a typical trait with every male she’d ever known. From her grandfather—who did it to Chelle’s grandmother until she died suddenly and then he regretted ignoring her every day for the rest of his own life—to her own husband and brother, and even her coworkers.
He tugged her hand, began to make rounds, and kind of grunted introductions to the women, who were all genuine smiles, curious looks, but super friendly, to the men wearing cuts.
She was surprised she knew some of them.
She had seen Judge, of course, a couple of times when he picked up Daisy from school. He was hard to forget. But she was finally introduced officially Shade-style, which went something like his introduction to Trip. “Judge, Chelle.” That was it.
Then she recognized four more, who also recognized her. Rev, Whip, Cage and Rook, all the mechanics at the garage in town where she took her Subaru. She had no idea they were part of the Blood Fury MC. They seemed just as shocked with her walking into their clubhouse with Shade as she was seeing them.
Before Shade could introduce her to anyone else, they heard a shriek that made everyone freeze.
“Mrs. Goodson!”
Chelle’s heart stopped. Completely arrested in her chest at what she saw. Who she saw.
What was she doing here? “Angel?” It couldn’t be.
What was Maddie’s closest childhood friend doing here?
And dressed the way she was. She wore clothes, but barely.
Her dark hair was pulled in two pigtails jutting out from the sides of her head. She wore the tiniest powder pink shirt, like one Chelle expected to fit a toddler, clearly no bra, and her flat belly was completely exposed, as was her navel, which was decorated with a dangly piercing. The turquoise shorts she wore were no bigger than the panties Chelle would wear during her time of the month. Angel had finished the outfit with turquoise and white striped knee-high socks and neon pink and white sneakers. The only thing missing were pompoms and she could be out on a football field doing a cheer.
However, if Angel did a split, Chelle was certain a couple of her female parts would be flapping in the breeze.
“Oh my God!” Angel squealed, running over and body slamming into Chelle, almost plowing her over. She was saved from toppling backward when Angel wrapped her arms around her.
And, of course, Shade grabbing her arm with a firm grip and a loud, “What the fuck?”
“I haven’t seen you in so long!” came the piercing exclamation.
Chelle winced. “Um...” Holy shit.
“What are you doing here, Mrs. Goodson?”
She was beginning to ask herself the same thing.
It didn’t help that she was having a hard time breathing with Angel trying to squeeze her insides out like a tube of toothpaste. “Please... don’t call me that... here. You can call me Chelle.”
Angel leaned back but didn’t release her completely. “I almost didn’t recognize you! With your glasses and jeans and cute ponytail and everything! And because you’re,” she swept a hand through the air, indicating The Barn, “here.” She frowned and asked again, not so enthusiastically this time, “What are you doing here?”
Her blue eyes landed on Shade for a few seconds, then sliced back to Chelle. Angel dropped her arms, stepped back and put some space between them. “You’re here with Shade?” That sounded like an accusation more than a question.