Page 57 of Grave Games

The collective gasp from the women in the doorway was oddly satisfying. Then Mabel let out a whoop of her own, and the next second I was surrounded by everyone, offering up hugs and excited chatter. At some point someone broke out some orange juice and a bottle of cheap champagne they found in the fridge to make mimosas, and before I knew it we were gathered around the kitchen’s stainless-steel island, glasses in hand and sharing stories of how they had received their jackets. This was a surprisingly romantic side of the biker world I hadn’t even known existed, and as I listened to the Gravedigger women tell their tales of the men they loved, I found myself falling for the world Romeo had chosen to live in just as much as I’d fallen for the man himself.

“I’m still adjusting to the mysterious ways of the badass biker,” I admitted with a grin and set my glass aside when my head began to swim oh so gently. Getting lit before lunch was never a cool idea. “But normal events like get-togethers and barbecues help me realize that the world I come from and Romeo’s world have a lot more in common than I thought.”

“Ooh, sister, I like the positive attitude you’ve got going on, because it’s a beautiful thing,” Misty said, toasting me with her glass. “But I also feel that as your self-appointed guide to your new world, I need to prepare you for what’s to come tonight after the men wrap up their regional church meeting.”

My brows raised. “Romeo said that’s when the three Bs get rolled out—bonfire, barbecue and beer.”

“Tonight’s party isn’t going to be like any suburban barbecue you’ve ever gone to, honey,” Mabel put in, before she nodded at Ana-Sofia. “You’re new here too, so the two of you need to listen up, because tonight’s going to be a test for you both—a test to see if you can really handle being in this world.”

Ana-Sofia’s dark eyes widened before she and I exchanged glances. “A test forus? I thought it was just going to be a party now that all the Gravediggers are together.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Misty nodded. “Thing is, when Gravedigger men get together, they partyhard.”

Again Ana-Sofia and I looked at each other, and I wondered if I looked as worried as she did.

“I’ve got a question for you girls,” Mabel said, leaning both hands on the island. “What is a mama?”

Ana-Sofia blinked, while I frowned.

“The opposite of a papa,” I said when it was clear Ana-Sofia wasn’t going to answer other than shaking her head in bewilderment. “I sometimes called my own mother that—you know, when we were still speaking to each other.”

Mabel’s mouth curled ruefully. “That’s the civilian world term. Here in the Gravedigger world, a mama—which is what I used to be back in the day—is a girl or young woman who hangs around the club day in and day out because she loves the scene. More and more often these days they’re called club girls, but they mean the same thing. You two are seen as civilian wives, which is quite different from the mamas or club girls.”

My frown didn’t go away. “Okay, so… what’s the difference? And also, doesn’t this seem like a lot of complicated labeling? It’s almost like another language.”

“That’s exactly what it is.” Mabel beamed at me as if I had said something brilliant. “You’re in a new world, so you’ve got to learn a new language, as well as the importance of all those so-called labels. And the first thing you need to know is that you’re not the only women in your men’s lives.”

Ana-Sofia’s back snapped ramrod straight. “I damn well better be.”

I was liking Ana-Sofia more and more.

Mabel held up a calming hand. “Bear with me, because I’m trying to help you make sense of this new culture you’ve chosen to be in. The men in this world understand you don’t necessarily know the rules, but they’re usually too busy dealing with club business to sort it out for you. That’s why I’m here, trying to explain what everything means.”

“So what is a mama, exactly?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

“A girl or woman who hangs out at the clubhouse because she loves the life of a biker—specifically, getting drunk, getting rowdy, and getting laid.”

Okay, then.

“In other words, mamas-slash-club girls are the biker version of party girls.” Ana-Sofia’s perfect little bow mouth tightened. “I come from Lincoln Park, with its private schools and country clubs, but I assure you, we have our fair share of party girls in that world, too. They’re more like sharks than humans, though—always on the move and always on the lookout for a big, juicy bank account in the form of an unmarried man.”

“See?” Mabel gestured at Ana-Sofia, nodding. “They exist in every world, no matter what label you put on them, and back in the day I was the biggest shark of them all. I was going to land myself a biker, come hell or high water, and that’s the main thought in every hot little mama’s head.”

I nodded, filing it away. Good to know.

“Now,” Mabel went on, “as far as I know, the two of you haven’t actually spent any real time inside the Clubhouse. Is that right?”

Again Ana-Sofia and I exchanged looks before I shook my head. “I’ve never stepped foot inside the Clubhouse.”

“I have,” Ana-Sofia said, with a dainty grimace. “We were headed out to dinner with my parents when Zee got called in by Tyr, so I didn’t have my jacket with me when we walked into the Clubhouse. Some Neanderthal grabbed my ass the instant Zee stepped away. All I remember is lots of shouting, a massive brawl, and then Zee got me the hell out of there. I think I was inside for all of eight minutes.”

“I heard about that misunderstanding,” Misty said from her side of the stainless-steel island, grinning. “Tomahawk was the ass-grabber, and Zee made the idiotic mistake of leaving you all alone without you wearing his patch. Tomahawk thought you were available, since you weren’t officially identified as Zee’s ol’ lady, and there are only two types of women allowed inside the Gravediggers Clubhouse—ol’ ladies, and mamas.”

“Don’t forget the easy lays,” Mabel added, nodding seriously. “Or easy fucks, if you want to get down and dirty, which is how our men usually refer to them. Other clubs sometimes refer to them as sweet butts, but we’re Chicagoans. We call ‘em as we see ‘em.”

This was getting better and better. “What’s the difference between a mama and an easy lay?”

“Agendas,” Misty said smartly, shrugging. “The mamas, or club girls, are genuinely dedicated to the life, and they want to find a good man within this world who feels the same way. On the other hand, an easy lay shows up every now and again to take a walk on the wild side. Maybe she has something to prove to herself. Maybe she just has an itch that needs scratching that no one in her everyday life can reach.”

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