“Ohhh.” She laughs. “I don’t think you need backup. But okay. Next time, I’ll get Jiggy.”
“You call for me, songbird?” Jigsaw jumps onto our blanket, knocking us sideways.
Laughing, Shelby reaches over and pats his leg. “Yup. Hadn’t seen ya in five minutes. Was gettin’ Jiggy withdrawals.”
“That’s not a thing,” I grumble.
“Sure it is.” Jiggy thumps me on the back.
“Dinner!” Pony yells.
We mostly form an orderly line, waiting to get to the grill.
Anita, Dana, and some of the other women hand out paper plates and plastic utensils to everyone in line. Shelby studies hers for a few seconds.
“You all right?” I ask.
She leans up on tiptoes to whisper in my ear, “Afraid they mighta licked it or something.”
“Doubt it.”
Jiggy swoops in. “Only thing they’re lickin’ is dicks. Your plate is safe, songbird.”
“Listen in much?” Shelby sasses.
I shove his face away from us. “Get out of here.”
When we make it to the food, Acorn’s handing out hot dogs. Taking a cue from Shelby, I avoid ‘em just in case. Asshole might poison mine.
He nods at me, though. Seems almost contrite. Still don’t trust him.
Not sure what I expected to find by coming back to my home charter but whatever it was is gone.
Shelby’s words back on the beach ring truer than ever.
My home and my future belong with her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rooster
We leave the park an hour or so before dusk to return to the clubhouse.
When we reach the last gas station on the edge of town, Pony signals that he’s stopping. It’s a small two-pump kind of station. The attached store blends into the surrounding environment, looking more like a log cabin than a gas station, complete with green metal roof. Jiggy and I use the time to fill up while Pony and some of the others run inside. When we’re finished, we move the bikes to the side of the building where the rest of the club parked.
I try not to groan when Smoke approaches us.
“Think you’re gonna make it down to the rally in Florida this year?” he asks me.
“I know Z wants to make a showing, so probably.”
He cocks his head. “Yeah, how you got three of Z’s underlings out on the road, anyway? What’s he doing now, runnin’ the whole charter himself?” He spits on the ground. “Rock always wanted to take over downstate, so wouldn’t surprise me one bit now that he’s got his boy installed there.”
I’d love to see Smoke refer to Z as boy to his face.
“Z’s no one’s boy,” Dex says, walking over to join the conversation.
“Rock’s got more than enough to handle upstate,” I add.
“It’s too bad you left, bro.” Jiggy runs his hand over his chin and flashes one of his dickish smirks. “Things have been running a lot smoother with Z at the head of the table.”
“Amen to that!” Steer hollers, punching both fists in the air.
“Don’t remember any of you disrespecting Sway like this when he was runnin’ the show,” Smoke grumbles.
“Speaking truth isn’t disrespect.” Jiggy’s tone drops to deadly calm. “And I’m not saying anything to you that I wouldn’t say to Sway’s face.”
“Sway’s still recovering for fuck’s sake.” Mindful Shelby’s standing next to me, I choose my next words carefully. “From the shit your boy Shadow pulled. Remember that when you’re mouthin’ off about our prez, Smoke.”
His face pales and he sputters.
The rumble of a pack of motorcycles ricochets over the highway, drawing our attention to the road.
“Thought the others went ahead of us,” Smoke says.
We all move toward the front of the building. Pony, Hopper, and Ink meet us at the corner.
“Who the fuck’s that?” Pony asks.
“Could be a riding club,” Steer offers without taking his eyes off the road.
Five bikers pull into the station. I study the pack of incoming riders carefully. Cuts. Patches. Can’t identify them from where we’re standing.
Until they circle the pumps a few times providing us with a full view of the three-piece patches on their backs.
“Fuck, that’s Red Storm MC.” I nudge Jigsaw.
Two riders stop for fuel while the others shut their bikes down under a cluster of trees on the other side of the building.
“The fuck they doing here?” Jiggy looks around as if our club’s invisible territory lines should be etched into the ground. “Thought they held the Canadian side of the border. Why are they riding around Washington like they own it?”
“Don’t know,” I mutter.
“Uh.” Shelby nudges my arm. “Looks like they’re from my neck of the woods.”
She’s right. The one who appears to be the leader of the pack sports a bottom rocker that claims ‘Texas.’
“Thought they got pushed out of Texas?” Shelby gestures to two more bikers with Texas bottom rockers. “They’re not supposed to still wear those patches, right?”
How fucking hot is my girl?
“Well, well.” Jiggy taps his cheek. “Bet our friends in the Savage Dragons MC will be interested to know Red Storm still thinks they run Texas.”