Chapter 24
Lexi
Dust swirled around us as Maverick and I rumbled off the main highway onto a gravel road. The bike’s tires kicked up loose stones, and I clung to him, my heart fluttering more from anticipation than fear. We were riding through the flat, endless plains of Kansas, the geographic center of the lower forty-eight states, or so he told me. There wasn’t a building for miles, except for a battered sign announcingWelcome to Lebanonin faded paint.
Finally, we spotted what looked like a low-slung compound behind a tall chain-link fence. A large patch of land surrounded it, dotted with a few scraggly trees. The building itself was long and rectangular, topped with a rusted metal roof. Several motorcycles were parked out front, a handful of men milling about, wearing cuts with the sameRoad Monsters' insignia Maverick wore.
We pulled into the makeshift parking lot. A dirt patch, really. The men turned to stare, eyes narrowing at our arrival. Maverick cut the engine, and the sudden silence felt deafening.
He gave my thigh a reassuring squeeze before I swung off the bike. My legs were sore from the long ride, my mind still reeling from the past events. Gunshots in Dallas, fleeing to a shitty motel, then this trek north across two states. Butsomehow, just knowing I was with Maverick made me feel marginally safer.
A gigantic man with a long, bushy beard, nearly down to his belt, stepped forward. His cut read Sarge in white lettering. He had arms as thick as logs and tattoos everywhere I could see, coiling snakes, flaming skulls, a giant cross, a heart, like he was checking off boxes. He eyed me suspiciously.
“Maverick,” he greeted, voice as gravelly as the road leading here. “Didn’t figure I’d see your face ‘round here again so soon.”
Maverick lifted his chin in a silent nod. “It’s been a while, I know.”
“Got to check in. Them’s the rules.”
“Had business. Brought my…” he hesitated a fraction of a second, then forged on, “…my woman.”
The words clanged in my head. My woman. I swallowed hard, self-conscious before all those biker men with Maverick's patch.Woman, property, old lady,the terms I’d read in countless MC romance books. Now, it seemed I was living it for real.
Sarge’s gaze flicked to me, taking in my worn jeans and dusty T-shirt. “Your property, huh?” he asked, tone testing.
Maverick didn’t hesitate this time. “Yeah, she’s mine.”
The big man grunted. “All right, brother. Let’s see if the others are on board with you bringing an outsider.”
I stiffened at the word outsider, but did my best to keep my face neutral. I’d known we’d face some hostility or suspicion. After all, these men wouldn’t just let anyone waltz into their secret clubhouse. Some part of me was flattered that Maverickwas introducing me as his so firmly, but another part bristled at being labeled that way. Yet I had to remind myself, we’re in danger, and I’m not about to question what keeps me alive.
Another man appeared, this one with a long, red beard parted in the middle and braided at the end, like a Viking. He was short but stocky, and a patch on his cut read Stumpy. I tried not to stare, but the beard was mesmerizing.
“Who’s she?” Stumpy asked, hooking a thumb in my direction.
“Lexi,” Maverick answered quickly, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “She’s with me.”
Stumpy scratched at his braided beard, shooting me an assessing look. “All right. Long ride?”
I nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Very long.”
He let out a grunt that might’ve been acknowledgment or amusement, then jerked his head toward the building. “C’mon in, then. We got cold beer.”
I couldn’t miss the hush that fell among the other men, tall, short, heavy, lean, each with his own scowl or suspicious glance.Jesus,I thought,this is intense.But I stuck close to Maverick, letting him navigate me through the cluster of bikers who parted like wary animals. Every so often, he’d murmur, “She’s with me,” in a tone that brooked no argument. And every so often, I’d catch a flicker of interest in one of their eyes that made my blood run cold.God, this is so much like the books I read… but real.
A small voice in my head whispered,You’re safer as his.Something about that knowledge both comforted me and made me uneasy. Because was I really just “his” so men wouldn’t make a move on me or see me as a free-for-all?
Sarge led us inside. The clubhouse’s interior was surprisingly large, a wide-open common area with a bar along one wall, several worn leather couches, a pool table, and a couple of doors that presumably led to more private rooms. Emblems and trophies, likely from charitable events or rides, decorated the walls. However, I also noticed a large symbol on the back wall. A flaming motorcycle and skull with four playing cards fanned out.Four Aces.It matched the patch on Maverick’s cut, Road Monsters MC logo.
“Yo, Maverick!” called a voice from across the room. A man with a buzz cut and a spider tattoo creeping up his neck stood there, raising a beer. “Didn’t expect to see your sorry ass again.”
Maverick gave him a mock salute. “Taz. Been a while.”
Taz sauntered over, giving me a once-over before focusing on Maverick. “Who’s the sweet piece?”
I bristled. Maverick’s arm tightened around my shoulders. “Her name’s Lexi,” he said, voice edging with warning. “Watch your mouth, Taz.”
Taz raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m just sayin’ she’s pretty. Calm down.” Then he stuck his hand out to me. “I’m Taz. I do ink for the club.”