Page 18 of Strider's Misstep

As we approach the compound, I use a tissue to dry my eyes, apply some makeup to hopefully hide some of the redness, but there’s no way to disguise the fact that I’ve been crying. Trying to keep my head down, I wave my hand in acknowledgment to a greeting someone calls out, exit the back of the clubhouse, and make my way to the room that I’ve lived in for the last three years.

For a moment, I stand at the door, considering the space. It’s furnished like so many others—bed, closet, drawers, desk and a television on the wall. I made it my own with a colourful rug on the floor, and the cheerful bed coverings. It might not be much, but it’s felt more like home than any place I’ve resided.Because of Strider. And my foolish hopes.

Telling myself I’m not the same broken girl as I’d been when I’d arrived, I draw out the shabby suitcase from under the bed and start to fill it with my clothes and personal items. It doesn’t take long to pack. The last thing, my precious laptop, goes into my backpack. Glancing around one more time, I realise I’m leaving behind some of the stuff that made this room mine.I’ll leave it for some other club girl. Someone else to warm Strider’s bed.

Unable to continue thinking along those lines, I blink back more tears, then quickly go to the door, open it, step through and leave my key in the lock outside. I pause for a second.Am I doing the right thing? Could I stay?I don’t see how. Strider will need space to manage his grief. It would be better if I wasn’t around. Knowing what I do now, it would break my heart all over again if I was used as a prop to lean on. Straightening my shoulders, I grab the handle of my suitcase and swing around.

“Jesus!” My hand goes over my fast-beating heart. “Warn a girl next time, will ya?”

The massive form of Shotgun, leaning against the wall, as if he’d been waiting for me, vibrates with laughter. He grins unapologetically and nods toward my luggage. “Going somewhere?”

I sigh. “It’s time,” I reply.

He heaves in a breath, then sighs and hazards a guess. “You went off with Strider. He took you to see his wife.”

Knowledge or conjecture? Well, either way, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t wait for my confirmation.

“You might not think it, but you’ve made yourself a place in this club. You don’t need to work on your back to stay here. Surely you must know that by now?”

My eyes widen as my head moves side to side. “I’ve been taking advantage. I’ve got my own career and can move out and support myself.”

He shrugs. “Just because you can stand on your own two feet doesn’t mean you have to. Hey, Jas, we all like you being here. You run things for us.” His lips turn up into a smile. “I don’t think you realise how much we’ve come to depend on you to keep the club girls in line, food on the table, and the right drinks on the bar. Why don’t you stay, Jassy?” The last is said in a cajoling tone.

I’m surprised the offer is being made. All I’ve ever done is make myself useful to continue to have a roof over my head. I hadn’t realised they’d appreciated me in that way. How much would it take to persuade me to stay? But as I feel myself weakening, the thought of Strider comes into my mind. How could I cope with seeing him around the club, knowing what a fool I’ve been.

I came here for protection. That was three long years ago. In the intervening time, there’s been no sign of Barclay. It must be safe for me to leave now. Why would he still be looking for me? Yes, it’s time for me to go. Time to build a new life.

As the thoughts go through my head, I notice Shotgun has taken out his phone and is texting, seemingly oblivious to my presence.

Great.Yeah, like I’m so important when he’s clearly got other things on his mind.

Now, I have no reluctance in saying, “I need to go. It’s time.Pasttime.” I pull back my shoulders and take hold of the handle of my suitcase again.

He spares me a glance, examines the commitment on my face, then nods. Without words, he takes my luggage from my hand and precedes me through the corridor and out into the clubroom.

I come to an abrupt halt. There, in front of me, is Buzz, Tequila, and half a dozen other members. Their arms are folded, and they are forming a barrier between me and the door.

CHAPTER SEVEN

STRIDER

When I return to the club, it seems ominously quiet, as if you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. As Prez, I’m not used to being given the cold shoulder as I enter, nor treated to some of the looks of derision that are being sent my way.

What the fuck?

I’m really not in the mood for this. It’s hard enough returning, knowing I’ll see Jasmine while accepting I’ve lost all right to touch her.

I don’t understand what I thought I’d get from introducing her to my wife. I just knew it had to be done. Jasmine deserved to know the complications I had, and seeing Anna would explain more than any inadequate words that could come out of my mouth.

In a different world, a different time, Jasmine would be mine.

I suppose I thought she’d wait, that she’d comprehend that I still wanted her around. But while I hadn’t blatantly lied to her,I had let her think I was single and free to explore a relationship. She could rightly berate me for leading her on.

Straightening my back, I broaden my shoulders, ready to accept whatever the brothers want to bring. The expressions on their faces make me suspect Jasmine has got in with her side of the story first. I hadn’t taken her for a blabbermouth. I hadn’t explicitly asked her to refrain from telling all the brothers about my wife—of course, they know I’ve got another life. But that’s far from unusual. Many bikers also lead civilian lives. Only my top team, the brothers who I’ve ridden with longest, know the details of Anna’s illness. I’m not ashamed of it, but I haven’t wanted any concessions made because of what I’ve got to deal with outside of the club.

I’ve prided myself on being an MC prez and a husband to a terminally sick wife.

Damn it.I never wanted my two lives to collide, but Jasmine might have spread my secrets far and wide. Though, as I glance around at the assembled brothers, no one’s looking at me with the compassion I’d expect if they’d been told about the seriousness of Anna’s plight. If anything, they look disgusted with me, making me feel angry inside.How dare they judge me for making the best of the hand I was dealt, one I never asked for?

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