Page 10 of Her Possessive Bikers

I reach into my kutte and pull out the pressed handkerchief I keep there - old habits die hard. Her shoulders shake as the chaplain finishes speaking about brotherhood and legacy.

"Here." The white cloth looks stark against her black-painted nails as she takes it. "Keep it. Something tells me you might need it later."

She dabs at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. "Thanks. Didn't expect to fall apart like this."

"You're holding up better than most." My thumb traces circles on her knuckles where I'm still holding her other hand. "Your old man would be proud."

The service wraps up, and people start filing past to pay their respects. Indy stands, accepting the polished wooden urn with trembling hands. She traces the engraved MC logo with her fingertips.

"Want to come inside?" I nod toward the clubhouse. "Might do you good to sit for a minute before heading out."

A sad smile tugs at her lips. "Actually... would it be weird if I wanted to have one last beer with my dad?"

"Not weird at all." Something in my chest tightens at the request. "Come on. I know just the spot."

I guide her through the clubhouse to the bar where Brick and I spent countless nights solving the world's problems over cold ones. His favorite stool still sits empty - nobody's had the heart to claim it.

"This was his seat," I say, pulling it out for her. "Every Friday night, right here, telling stories about his little girl saving lives down in Alabama."

She settles onto the stool, setting the urn carefully on the bar. "Got any of his favorite?"

I reach under the bar and pull out two bottles of the cheap domestic beer Brick always insisted tasted better than the fancy craft stuff. "Wouldn't be a proper sendoff without it."

6

JACOBY

Ican't take my eyes off her. Brick's infamous daughter. She's grown into quite the woman since I last saw her - what, fifteen years ago? Back then she was just a kid visiting her old man. Now she's all curves in that black dress, and that leather jacket suits her like she was born to wear it.

She's sitting at the bar next to Tres, nursing a beer and sharing stories about Brick. Lucky bastard hasn't left her side since she arrived. I lean against the pool table, pretending to watch the game while I wait for my chance.

"Remember when he caught those prospects trying to steal his bike?" Tres says, making her laugh. The sound carries across the room, drawing more than a few appreciative glances from the brothers.

"Prez!" One of the older members, Haus, waves Tres over. "Got something you need to see."

Tres hesitates, glancing at Indy. "You good here for a minute?"

"Go ahead," she says, lifting her beer. "I'm not going anywhere."

The moment Tres stands up, I'm moving. Slide right into his vacated seat before anyone else can claim it.

I raise my bottle to the urn sitting on the bar. "To the man who saved my ass more times than I can count."

Indy turns, her eyes catching mine. Damn, she's got Brick's stare down pat.

"Jacoby Wilson. VP. Your old man took me under his wing when I was nothing but trouble on two wheels."

"He had a habit of collecting strays," she says, a hint of a smile playing at her garnet-painted lips.

"That he did. I was running with a rough crew before he stepped in. The kind that makes our club look like choir boys." I take a pull from my beer. "Found me in a bar fight, about to get my head caved in by three guys. Know what he did?"

She leans forward, elbows on the bar. "Knowing my dad? Something dramatic."

"Actually, he walked right in, calm as you please, and told them if they wanted to fight someone, they could try him instead." I shake my head at the memory. "They took one look at him and scattered like roaches."

"Well, that also sounds exactly like him." Her fingers trace the rim of her bottle. "He always said the biggest fights were the ones you could avoid."

"Yeah, then he dragged my sorry ass to this clubhouse and put me to work. Said if I had enough energy to start fights, I had enough energy to rebuild engines."

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