Page 48 of Jacob

Letting her hand go, she watched as her man went in and slapped the doughier man’s back for the brief embrace.

“Good run,” Tut complimented. “Good fucking run.” He gestured toward the bar to something she couldn’t see. Though, when Pipes bent over it, she knew she didn’t have to, and the disappointment rolled through her.

She folded her arms and scanned the crowd, determined not to watch him snort a line of meth in front of her in the open. He didn’t know who the fuck was at that party.

“Sparrow,” Tut sang her name. Dragging her focus back, she offered him a weak smile. His arms shot out again. “Come ’ere.”

Doing her best to keep the smile on her face, she glanced toward Pipes. He wiped at his nostrils and pinched his nose, sniffling. When he caught her eye, he gestured, as though giving her permission. She didn’t want permission, she wanted him to actually back up that whole ‘my woman’ thing—that whole claim on her thing.

Disappointment sunk heavily in her gut as she, politely, accepted the hug. As soon as she had, his hands slid down and cupped her ass, digging his fingers into not just her cheeks, but between them as well.

“The fuck?” She balked and shoved him back against the bar.

Laughing, Tut held his hands up, palms toward her. “No harm meant.”

“What?” Pipes asked, his gaze shifting between them.

“He fucking grabbed my ass.”

Pipes’ jaw set and his hands curled into fists. His eyes locked onto Tut while his nostrils flared. “What?” he repeated, only the tone had shifted substantially. This time he didn’t sound bewildered—this time he sounded as though he gave Tut a chance to give a different answer—or else.

Another chuckle came from his sponsor, who turned to the bar, slapping the top with an open hand. “Another round of shots,” he ordered before looking back to Pipes. “Prospect.” He grinned, using a placating tone. “I’ve known Sparrow forever. We grew up together. Both our dads were officers.” He gave her a nod and a wink. Her skin crawled when he brought up her dad. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a crush on her back in the day.” He again chuckled as the drinks came and he offered two glasses to them.

Neither Sparrow nor Pipes reached for the drinks.

Tut’s gaze darkened. “Drink with me,Prospect.”

Her boyfriend’s left eye twitched as he snatched the small glass from the bar.

“To Sparrow’s hot ass,” Tut toasted, and drank the shot before placing it on the bar calmly. “I will touch, squeeze, slap, bite, fucking eat any bitch’s ass in this clubhouse I want.” He reached for Sparrow.

A breeze whizzed past her nose. A breeze? What the hell? It didn’t register immediately. However, the squish and crack did. Sparrow’s eyes widened and she covered her gaping mouth as she gasped. Jumping back, bumping into someone, she stared, stunned, as Tut flew back into his father, Jackal.

Pipes continued to move forward, ready to follow through with another blow after he’d just punched his sponsor in the face. “Pipes!” someone hollered.

“What the fuck?” someone else called.

“Fight!”

She couldn’t move. He’d just punched his sponsor for her. That was club suicide.

Chapter 28

Jacob

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jacob curled the end of his beard between his fingers, staring at the floral pattern of the comforter on the opposite mattress. Go home. It was time to go home. The run was done. He’d have to leave Sparrow behind.

His stomach churned, unsettled. It felt unfinished. One time wasn’t enough. Hell, he didn’t even want to do it on the back of her car. Sure, it was hot, but shit, on a bed would be nice. Indoors would be good too.

Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands and let out a heavy sigh. He couldn’t leave Ohio like this. He couldn’t leave her behind without some sort of explanation. She wasn’t just some ass.

She was Sparrow—the woman who wouldn’t take candy from strangers because of loyalty. And apologized for reasons he didn’t understand. What he wouldn’t give to have her number, fuck, at this point he’d settle for her damn address.

He’d old school this shit—Morse code, smoke signals—anything was better than nothing. He didn’t want to lose contact with her again. She wasn’t like any other woman he’d known. She didn’t need the club, she wanted to give something back—be productive—not just siphon from it.

“Going to be one hell of a ride without your leathers,” Dash commented as he zipped up his jacket and reached for his cut.

“Huh?” The younger biker peered up at his sponsor as he was ripped from his thoughts. “Oh.” He scrubbed his hands up and down his jean covered thighs, considering the long ride back to Montana. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go yet.”

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