Out of the Ashes (Sons of Templar MC 3)

“Really? That is aces, Zane! I’m free, you know, whenever. Well, apart from when I’m obviously at school. But any time after that. Seriously. Whenever suits you,” she chattered, her words almost blending together.

Bull couldn’t do more than nod. He had already dug himself a huge fuckin’ hole.

Lexie seemed to sense his need for silence. She wandered back over to where he was working on his bike. And to his complete surprise, she plonked herself down. Right on the grease-stained concrete floor. Right beside him.

“You mind if I sit here and watch for a while?” she asked, her voice back to shy. “Sometimes I just need a bit of quiet after all the music makes up all the noise in my head,” she explained.

Bull somehow found himself unable to do anything but nod again, turning his attention back to his bike. She sat there quietly watching him for close to half an hour. He didn’t find her gaze or the silence uncomfortable. He lived in silence. He was used to it. Welcomed it. But he wasn’t used to the company. He found himself being comforted by it.

As she got up to leave, he found himself uncharacteristically not wanting to be devoid of company. So that’s why he said, “Heard you,” he clipped. “The band. You’re good.”

Her beam and wave goodbye was worth it.

I sat in my car, in the parking lot of the Sons compound…clubhouse…hangout…whatever. Shit. I didn’t even know what to call this place. My biker vocab was limited to the couple of episodes of biker TV shows I watched. And even then I barely paid attention, merely drooled at the main character. On top of everything else, I hadn’t known how to dress for this. I glimpsed down. Black skinny jeans seemed a safe choice. They were Lexie’s, since I didn’t own black skinny jeans. Well, I technically did, since I paid for them; they merely resided in my daughter’s closet. I wore a black long-sleeved blouse made of tight jersey fabric. It looked modest at the front but the drape at the back went way deep, showing a lot of back. I had a chunky silver belt slung over top and my hair was piled into a messy ponytail, showcasing awesome dangling earrings. My makeup was heavy, for me at least, and a vibrant red decorated my lips. It was as biker chic as I was going to get. But thinking of Gwen and Amy, I didn’t worry too much about abiding to some sort of dress code that required leather or chaps. I should more likely be worried about whatever mental condition I had that made me think it was a good idea to accept Gwen’s invitation to a “club party”. Especially to Zane’s club. I hadn’t seen or talked to him since he had spanked and screwed me in the very spot my eyes were focused on right now. He had somehow made me lose all sense of self preservation and let him screw me in a semi-public place. And I loved it. My belly flipped just thinking about it. Which was why I shouldn’t be here. Which was why I had avoided him for the past week. I certainly hadn’t snuck over in the night for some crazy sex, as much as I had wanted to.

I swallowed, then contemplated turning my car back on and driving away. A tapping at the window foiled my plan. I jumped to see Lucky’s attractive face grinning at me. Before I knew it he had opened the door and yanked me out.

“Party isn’t in the car, sweetheart. Let’s get you to the real party,” he declared, slinging his arm around my shoulders.

“Hello to you too, Lucky,” I half laughed, feeling at ease in his presence. He may be a hulking biker covered in tattoos, but I had a feeling he was a puppy dog under all of those muscles. His calm demeanor and perpetual smile had me feeling safe.

“I don’t consider it a proper hello until we both have a beer in our hands,” he exclaimed, directing us through a crowd we had just approached.

I struggled not to open my eyes in childlike wonder. I had never seen anything like this. In saying that, it wasn’t hard to amaze me, considering I hadn’t gone out much in my thirty-three years. I had been too busy raising a child. I liked hanging out on the couch with her, rather than trolling bars and drinking overpriced drinks. I was mighty fine with ten dollar bottles of wine and the occasional night in with a girlfriend.

This party was not as wild as I had expected. The outside area was packed. It was all yellowed grass with picnic tables scattered around and one long table in the middle. Fire barrels were also scattered, unlit due to the fact it was still early. A couple of men with beers in their hands manned a grill. To my right was a big building with a wraparound porch. It stood separate from the garage bays in the distance. I guessed it was the clubhouse. There were men in leather everywhere, ranging from young, muscled and yummy to old, barreled, and decidedly yucky. And everything in between. The women were much the same. Some were what I guessed were “club girls”, scantily clad and hanging off multiple men. Others looked to be showing a bit less skin and had some enviable outfits. I exhaled when some were similar to mine. Nothing worse than going to a party and totally fucking up the dress code. Not that I’d been to many parties.

“Here you go, darlin,’” Lucky handed me an unopened beer; then his face blanched. “Shit, you drink beer, don’t you? Not like Chardon-fucking-nay or some shit?” he asked, sounding panicked at my potential wine drinking preference.

I laughed and patted his well-muscled arm before opening my beer. “Yes, I drink beer,” I reassured him. “Chardon-fucking-nay is reserved for when I’m feeling real classy, or when I’m drinking with the Queen,” I teased.