Patriot (Silver Saints MC)

“Root beer would be great,” I whispered, stunned to learn they were okay with members bringing children to the clubhouse. Heck, it sounded as though they actually encouraged it if they were keeping drinks in stock for them and hosting movie parties. The president of the Devil’s Jesters never even brought his kids to the compound, and he had four sons.

Instead of pouring me a fountain drink from the nozzle, she reached into the fridge under the bar, grabbed a glass bottle, and popped the top off. After she came out from behind the bar, she handed it to me. “Rider is a root beer snob, so we always have bottles of the good stuff in the fridge.”

“Oh, you should save this one for him then.” I tried to shove the drink back at her, but she wouldn’t take it. The last thing I wanted was to irritate a member of the MC who was offering me protection. “I’m fine with anything, really. I wouldn’t want him to run out of his favorite drink.”

“Don’t worry.” She waved off my concern and smiled. “He’s used to people dipping into his stash. Now he buys like ten cases at a time.”

My hold on the bottle tightened as the guy who’d helped me onto the back of Patriot's motorcycle back at Hell’s Kitchen stomped into the room and dropped down onto one of the couches. Kicking his legs out and crossing his arms over his chest, he grumbled, “Maybe our captain will be less of a stickler for the rules now that he’s found himself a woman.”

My mouth went bone-dry at the thought of Patriot with someone else. My reaction forced me to admit that I was more attracted to him than I’d realized since I was feeling territorial. I looked at my feet as I took a gulp of the root beer Bridget had given me, trying not to let on how devastated I was feeling. But my gaze slid toward her when she bumped my shoulder and whispered, “He’s talking about you, not someone else.”

“Oh.” I hid my satisfied smile by taking a long pull from the bottle.

Nova chuckled and shook his head. “You know Patriot better than that, Breaker. His time in the military taught him that rules save lives. It’s what makes him such a great captain.”

“I get what you’re saying, but I still think it’s more than possible. The man has lived like a monk for a damn long time.” Breaker shifted positions on the couch. “Why the man put hardware in his dick when he never uses it is a mystery to me.”

I almost spit out the root beer I was swallowing as the blonde gasped, “Patriot has a piercing?”

“At least you don’t have to worry about our captain kicking your ass for talking about dick piercings in front of his woman.” Nova sighed as he laced his fingers together to crack his knuckles. “I’m going to do it instead since you’re the reason my Rylee is asking about his dick.”

“Nah, Patriot will just wait till he’s healed and then do it again,” Dax disagreed as he grinned at Nova over Arya’s shoulder. “And the most hilarious part of this all is that Breaker started it by talking shit about Patriot living like a monk when his sex life isn’t any better.”

“And I think that’s past our cue to leave.” Bridget nudged me across the room and toward a set of stairs. She flashed me an apologetic smile when we got to the top, pointing to the left. “This way.”

I followed her down the hall to the last room on the right. After she opened the door, I took a couple of steps inside and froze when I noticed a few items scattered around the space. The bed was perfectly made, but their presence made it clear that someone was using the room. A pair of running shoes were on the floor next to the couch, a sketchpad and pencils were on the desk, and a hardcover book was on the bedside table. Suddenly, the back and forth between Bridget and the Silver Saints president made sense to me. “Is this Patriot’s room?”

“Yup.” She let the P pop on the end, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the doorjamb. “I’d trust every single one of Jared’s men with my life, but that doesn’t mean their Neanderthal tendencies don’t drive me up the wall.”

This was the second time she’d used the Silver Saints president's first name in front of me. Now that we were alone, I gave in to my impulse to ask her about it. “Your old man doesn’t mind that you don’t call him by his road name all the time?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Not at all. In fact, he demands I call him Jared because he’s more than just Mac to me. He’s my husband and the father of my daughter.”