Page 55 of Grave Games

Eek. “I mean, is this a real thing you want me to have, or is this just protection for me while I have to live here with the rest of your Gravedigger brothers? You’re such a protective man, Romeo, and you take the job of looking after me very seriously. So… I’m just wondering if you’re going to want this jacket back after the danger has passed.”

“Shy. Baby.” With a patient sigh, he came to kneel down in front of me. “That’s not how this works. Once you agree to put this on, it’son. It’s not a lie or some manipulation. I get that after meeting Ashtray earlier today, you might be thinking I’m still playing some kind of Gravedigger game with you, but I’m not. I’m done playing. This is me, being as real and honest with you as I can. And before you give me an answer,” he went on when I opened my mouth to speak, “you should know a couple things. First, I’ve never given a jacket with my name on it to any other woman. Never. I never saw the point of chaining myself to just one woman when there was such a variety out there in the world that needed to be fucked.”

I almost snorted. That sounded like Romeo.

“Then I met you, acitizen, for God’s sake, with your sweet ass, your gorgeous big hair and your untrusting eyes, and I wanted to know why you were the way you were. And the more I learned about you, the more I admired the strength of you, the resilience that keeps you moving forward. You’re the strongest person I know, and I ride with the biggest badasses around. Shit, you put Ashtray’s lights out like it was nothing, then had his ol’ lady believing he was a damn hero over it. Who else would even think of doing something like that?”

“You make me sound like something amazing, and I’m not.” I needed to be very clear about this. “I don’t want you to be disappointed when you find out I’m nothing special.”

Fire burst to life in his eyes. “You only think that because your family treated you like shit when you needed them the most, and because that fucking clown Marvel treated you like you weren’t even human. That left you with scars so deep it made you believe that all the cruelty that hit your life had to be what you deserved. It wasn’t, Shy. It wasn’t deserved. It couldn’t be, because you are my personal definition ofperfect.”

Each word chipped away at something deep inside, a terrible insecurity that was like a frozen nugget of poison that constantly leeched into my system. I hadn’t even known it was there, damaging me, until his words hammered away at it. To have it diminished into nothing was like feeling the sun on my skin for the first time.

Somehow, Romeo was healing me without even trying.

“You said there were a couple things about this.” I indicated the box in my lap while trying to adjust to the wonderful new change in my internal world. “What’s the other thing?”

“When you put this on, it’s not just like putting on any old jacket you’ve got hanging in the closet.” His gaze locked so unwaveringly on mine I could honestly believe he didn’t see anything else but me, and that thought made my heart take flight. “You need to know what it represents. If you choose to put this on, you’re agreeing to bemine, Shiloh. My woman. My ol’ lady. My other half. My home and my shelter when shit gets real.”

God,God, this felt like frigging wedding vows. “I see.”I see?Geez, could I sound any weaker? I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat and tried again. “Am I supposed to give you something in return of equal value? Because I’m kind of penniless at the moment. But if you’ll be patient, I can come up with whatever it is I’m supposed to give you.”

A ghost of a smile touched his beautiful mouth. “It doesn’t work quite like that. See, my giving this jacket to you meansI’m promising to be your man and no one else’s.I’m promising to be yours, your other half, your home and your shelter. The gift you’d be giving to me in return, if you decide to put that jacket on, will be the greatest gift in the world—you.”

“I see.” Dang it, I said it again. I needed to do better, startingnow.

Pulling the jacket out of the box, I shook it out and looked at it. The front was adorned with the usual heavy silver zippers that made a biker jacket a biker jacket, an interior fur collar that was detachable, silver buckles on the side to adjust the waist, and on the left chest there was a smaller Gravediggers patch with the name Shy Girl stitched in silver thread underneath it.

It was glorious.

In silence, he watched me shrug it on. It was a little roomy, heavier than it looked, and for one wild moment I imagined it felt like Romeo’s embrace. Hugging it close around me, I gave him a smile.

“How does it look?”

“Perfect,” he said softly before tackling me back onto the bed, his mouth greedily locking onto mine.

Chapter Nineteen

Rome-eo Has Fallen

“So then the preppy douche dude was like, ‘you asswipe, you just took my parking space,’ and I was like, ‘I don’t see the name Dumbass on it, so it must not be yours.’ Then he got super pissy, so I had to put on my jacket to show him who he was messing with. He shut up double-quick, hopped into his small-dick-energy Porche, and went on his merry way. That’s the power of the jacket you’re wearing right now, Shiloh.”

Alone in the Barracks’ commercial-sized kitchen with Arthur, my protective shadow whenever Romeo wasn’t around, I checked items off the monster-sized grocery list as I put the provisions away. Ten loaves of bread, fifty bags of hamburger and hot dog buns, sixty pounds of ground chuck, an equal amount of bratwurst links, enough ribs to rebuild a small herd of cows, fresh produce standbys like onions, peppers, lettuce, tomatoes and potatoes, countless bags of chips, vats of ranch dip, five extra-large veggie trays, ten trays of cold cuts, plus cheese cubes and slices, and a pyramid of boxes of soda just inside the back door.

Cases of beer and alcohol had already been delivered straight to the Clubhouse. Everything else had been sent to the Barracks in prep for the mandatory regional “church” meeting and the huge barbecue blowout that was supposed to happen immediately after. I’d offered to help in the food prep, which explained why I was in the kitchen at eight in the morning, overseeing the food delivery and getting the coffee going for the likes of Slash, one of the Gravedigger lieutenants. He’d already been in twice to pour himself a cup, and Arthur had gazed at him in something close to puppy-like devotion. I thought it was downright adorable, but since Arthur had aspirations of being a badass—and therefore would die of embarrassment at being calledadorable—I prudently kept my thoughts to myself.

“I’m a native Chicagoan,” I muttered, running a pencil down the receipt that had come with the grocery delivery. Something was off and I couldn’t figure out what it was. “And as a native Chicagoan, I’ll admit I’ve never heard of a barbecue happening in January, unless it’s happening outside Soldier Field during a tailgate party for the Bears. Now that’s something that makes sense to me.”

Arthur’s face lit up. “You’re a Bears fan?”

“No, my friend, I’mtheBears fan. As in, the best fan, the greatest fan, the most rabid fan of all time. Except for my father,” I added fairly. “He’s the one who taught me all about football. We never missed a game, and some of my greatest childhood memories are of us huddled around the TV, screaming our heads off.” I looked around the kitchen, taking stock. “The only barbecue I ever attended in January was a tailgate party when the Bears were one step away from getting into the Super Bowl.” I made a little face at him. “They didn’t make it, so in the end our tailgate party turned into a tailgate wake. My dad was so sad he couldn’t even polish off his bratwurst.”

“Now that’s sad,” Arthur said so seriously I snorted. “I don’t think tonight’s barbecue is going to be sad, though, and the weather’s actually going to be pretty decent for it.”

He wasn’t wrong. The forecast for the next several days was for mild, spring-like temps and clear, sunny skies. Even Mother Nature seemed to bow to the will of the Gravediggers, and who could blame her? Almost all of them were crazy-hot and had that special aura of danger that was impossible to resist. It was like a prerequisite.

Arthur, my stalwart protector, was no exception, even though he was a couple years younger than me. Built like a high school quarterback with that same cocky swagger that I remembered from my own high school years, Arthur had graduated from being a hang-around at the clubhouse to an actual prospect. The next step for him was to become “patched in,” or a full-fledged member of the Gravediggers, something he yearned to be with every fiber of his being. I’d already learned he had a mad love for the open road, and felt genuinely “caged” when inside a car. He rode his bike even in subzero weather, something that not even Romeo was willing to do. He could also break down a motorcycle engine and put it back together in an hour. Apparently this was an awesome feat, and since I couldn’t even fix my toaster when it broke I couldn’t help but be impressed. I wasn’t alone in that regard; since he’d first shown up on the Gravediggers’ doorstep, Arthur had gained the respect of every mechanic and fabricator at Ride Or Die Choppers. Most prospects washed out before ever getting patched in, but everyone knew Arthur wasn’t going to be one of them.

“Speaking of jackets,” I said, sliding Arthur a glance, “let’s talk about yours.”

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