Page 5 of Redemption

I look behind me, surprised that he seems to be waiting for me.

“Sloane, right? I’m Roman.” His long legs quickly eat up the distance between us as he shakes my hand, before walking around to introduce himself to my grandfather. “Paul. Vector is just wrapping up a little business but wanted me to keep an eye out for you both. Unless you are interested in a pony ride, why don’t we head to the garage?”

With barely a pause for us to grin at his joke, the large biker turned tour guide, spins on his heel and heads to one of the buildings to the side of the main clubhouse. Pops motions for me to get moving.

While Roman is leading the way, the moment Pops crosses into the building, under the open bay door, he takes over. Even our tour guide looks a little surprised when my grandfather turns to his left and starts talking about the odd shaped table that has some pieces of machinery on it, taken apart so it looks like Lego pieces neatly laid out and ready for assembly.

“This is Swann’s current project,” Roman says as I approach it, reaching out to where there’s a nick in the edge of the stained wood counter. “He can be intense, so make sure you don’t disturb it.”

“Jigsaw did that,” Pops tells me, smiling at the imperfection that my finger had traced over. “Not ten minutes after I completed this section. He told me to leave it, he said it would be a reminder not to go around touching all the pretty things he wanted to lay his hands on.”

Roman snorts at that comment, immediately answering my unvoiced question about Jigsaw.

Following behind Pops and Roman, I listen to the stories that my grandfather recounts, his voice sounding more animated than it has since I moved here and I’m grateful for this opportunity. I smile and nod every time Pops turns to make sure I’m payingattention, careful not to let him see how moist my eyes have become.

It’s one of the times that I turn from the men to swat at the dampness that threatens to flow down my cheek, that I see Vector watching us from the entranceway.

He throws me a wink, more of a teasingI saw that, than anything flirtatious. It almost makes me wonder if I misread the interest I thought I saw in his eyes the other day.

I’ve been trying to figure out what I would say if he did make a pass at me. I know he’s a bit older than I am, and putting his looks aside—because there’s no denying that he’s sexy as fuck—there is something in him that calls to me. Several of my dad’s friends were in an MC back in Louisiana, and having attended some of those parties, I know that the party going on today is the fairy-tale version of what this lifestyle entails.

“It’s a hot day,” he drawls out, drawing the others’ attention, as he approaches me. “Would have been nice to offer them something cool, Roman.”

“Well, he did offer us a pony ride,” I retort in his defense. Kind of.

“I’m happy to give you a ride later,” Vector says for my ears only, eliminating any doubt of his intentions. He gives me a wolfish grin and lightly squeezes my upper arm in a greeting of sorts, before he moves past me to reintroduce himself to my grandfather.

Considering it’s been a couple of decades, Pops goes on about how reed thin Vector was as a boy. When Roman takes his leave, Vector points to an ATV parked in the back corner of the garage and suggests taking that back to the house.

I appreciate his thoughtfulness, but I see my grandfather’s pride rearing its head, so I speak up, “That sounds great! I swear I almost got sunburned on the walk from the car.”

“Yeah, you do look a little red,” Pops grudgingly admits, although he looks mildly suspicious.

“Great.” Vector pulls the keys out of his pocket and signals for us to wait a moment.

“Is your sister around today?” I call out to him.

“Naw, she got delayed,” he says before starting up the vehicle and pulling up even to us. I jump in the back before Pops can say anything, leaving him to take shotgun.

“Your sister?” Pops asks, sounding confused and I’m glad he asks the next question about the woman I’m strangely curious about.

Vector lets out a deep breath as he circumvents the party to drive back to the house. “Dad had another kid, I don’t know, maybe a year or so after you finished up around here?”

“That must have been about the time all that trouble started,” Pops comments with a shrug of his shoulders. “I was sorry to hear of his passing, for all that we didn’t stay in touch.”

“Nah, it was too messy back then, he cut ties with a lot of people—trying to limit any collateral damage,” Vector replies, giving me a glance over his shoulder.

Questions are firing through my brain, but I decide to sit back and listen for now. If there comes a time that needing to know Vector’s history becomes relevant, I’ll sure as hell have questions then. Besides, Pops will probably talk my ear off about the subject over dinner in the nights to come.

“You know when my wife died, Jigsaw worked out groceries being delivered to my house once a week for a month,” Popsannounces out of the blue and I catch the look of surprise on Vector’s face. “I sent him a thank you card, but that never seemed enough to me. I don’t think I had been to a grocery store for more than a dozen years before Cathy died.”

“I had no idea.” Vector’s voice sounds low and thick, telling me how much hearing about this side of his father means to him.

“Ever since then, when someone I know passes away, I don’t send flowers. I try to do something useful,” Pops tells us as we’re about to step onto the porch of the house. “What good are flowers anyway? They just wither and die, making everything worse.”

I can’t help the shiver that goes down my spine at his words, remembering how furious the sight of all those flowers on the altar made me the day we buried my younger brother. Funny to think Pops and I feel the same way when it’s not something we ever spoke about to each other.

A second thought hits me, well, my pride, really. That suddenly talking more about his arthritis the day of Billy’s funeral and laterbegrudginglyaccepting my help, was his way ofdoing something useful.

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