Page 73 of Bullet

Ishould have heeded Bullet’s warning.

The low pulsing rumbles of his bike judder through me, jarring my sore muscles. There’s one place in particular that I’m so sore, I can hardly bear sitting like this, but I have to say, I did it to myself.

I can almost see my sister giving me a slow clap if I told her—which I never will—that I left the house in a near sex-coma.

Low hanging iron gray clouds hang overhead. You get used to that leaden sky living in Seattle, but I noticed that the sun shines more in Hart. Maybe it just seems that way. The air doesn’t smell like impending rain.

Bullet drives us carefully to the clubhouse. It’s only a few miles, but despite the short distance and my sore muscles, I can understand the allure of the bike. Even at low speeds, the wind rushes around us, lashing my hair into a tangled whirlwind over my shoulders. I know there won’t be a single bit of me that’s presentable in a professional sense when we reach the club, but Bullet assured me that jeans and Willa’s borrowed jacket from some random high school across the country would do just fine.

Maybe it’s not the bike or the sense of freedom and openness that I enjoy so much. The man whose broad back I have my arms hugged around might just have something to do with it.

It’s probably a combination of many different things. By the time we reach the brick clubhouse, I’m nearly breathless. Half ofit is nerves, but half of it is a thrilling exhilaration that I’m just starting to learn even exists.

Bullet cements the breathlessness when he rolls his bike into the compound next to a long row of parked Harleys, shuts it off, and helps me dismount.

He pops my helmet off, eyes twinkling like he knows exactly how badly my thighs are burning and other parts of me are aching. Boldly, his hand sweeps around to the small of my back, but he’s the one who steps into me, until there’s no space between our bodies. He kisses me with his own hair mussed from the helmet and his beard windblown.

I made sure we took a break from our sexathon to have lunch and tea. He’s a lovely mix of pumpkin muffins and Earl Grey.

I’m distinctly off-kilter when he breaks away for air. He keeps his hand at the small of my back, and that’s when I finally notice that the parking lot just off the compound, as well as this area itself, are full of bikes, but also a ton of cars, trucks, and even a few vans.

“Umm, this is just a meeting with Tyrant and Raiden and maybe a few other officers, right?”

Bullet grins and shrugs casually. He’s loose and fluid, far more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. He looks happy. Well fucked. Sated.

Do I have that same look?

I dearly hope that I do not. Especially not if there are more than just a few men in there.

“It looks like the old ladies and probably some of their kids might be here. All the guys for sure.”

“This isn’t some kind of surprise party, is it? Some welcome to the club that I wasn’t aware was going to happen?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.” He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “It’ll be alright, Lynette. You’re not just the club’s lawyer, and that’s what people are gonna want to celebrate. You’re a part of this club now because you’re my woman.”

I send him a slanted look, but it’s pretty half assed given that he’s just spent the entire day up until an hour ago making me eager, proud, and desperate to be just that. Honestly, the things we did probably bordered on deviancy.

Great. Now I’m positive that I’m red from the crown of my hair all the way down to my toes.

“That’s just semantics. You’re my partner. Remember what I said about being called an old lady? It’s a sign of respect.” He tips my chin up tenderly. “I’m so proud to be here with you. You’re so much more than just the club’s lawyer. You’re a part of this place now, which means that it’s not just me who would give their life to protect you. You might not have any biological brothers, but you now have a whole club full of my brothers who would do anything for you. We have a queen, and that’s Lark, because she’s the prez’s old lady, but in my eyes, you’ll always be my queen.”

Well. Who could argue with that?

I cover Bullet’s hand with my own, pressing it flat against my cheek and nuzzling into it. “More Bullet poetry. I’m goingto have to start writing it down. Maybe someday, someone will quote you the way they do the bard.”

“Don’t you even dare.” He steps forward, urging me on, but when I start walking, he swats me lightly on the ass.

The old me would have lost her mind if someone had ever done that to me before. I still would if anyone but Bullet ever dared to lay a hand on me. I’m already starting to understand words like ‘mine’, or ‘belong to’, because I feel them for him, and they don’t sound the least bit toxic in my head. They sound exquisite.

Bullet holds the metal door open for me as the prospects in the compound nod and smile at us. They don’t come in and I figure they’re probably out there guarding the bikes.

Bullet’s hand laces tightly through mine. “You okay? With all of this, I mean? It’s a lot. Lots of change, lots of people, lots of newness. It’s overwhelming.”

I lift our joined hands, as if the unbreakable linkage of our fingers should speak for itself. “You’re right, it is, but it’s also wonderful.” I sound so silly saying it. So lovesick and gushy, but I refuse to be humiliated.

Choosing this path doesn’t make me weak. I know Bullet would take on the world for me already, and as a survivor and a fighter myself, I would battle with everything I have for him too. I’ve done that for Willa since I was just a kid. I’d call that love, but I can’t go that far with that word in my head yet.

There are a thousand others I could use, each of them combining to lay the base, stone by stone, for the monumental building that is love.

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