Page 8 of Dash

“I’m not saying you gotta jump in with both feet or anything, but damn. Stop denying who you are.” Anemone released Liz’s face and scooted back on the pillows again, looping her arm around Liz and tucking her against her side. “Stop hiding. Start slow. The scene needs you. I need you out there. It’s boring without you.”

She nuzzled into her friend’s side. She couldn’t help it. It was nice to be cuddled and reassured. She missed it—the cuddles and the life, but… “I’m not sure if I’m ready.”

“For what?”

Another sigh slipped past her lips. “To be that open again.”

“Then don’t be. Just be around it again.” Anemone stroked her hair. “Bottling it up and pretending you aren’t kinky is going to make it worse. It’s going to explode one day and you’re going to make a horrible decision—worse than Richard—if you don’t.” She kissed Liz’s forehead.

Liz doubted her friend was aware, but she’d basically described how she’d gotten involved with Richard in the first place. She’d been eager to experience things. She’d wanted to know what it felt like to be with someone who knew what they were doing.

He’d been known in the community for his rope work, and stupid scene name aside, he had good word-of-mouth with rope stuff. So, she turned a blind eye to her gut, telling her he didn’t actually know how to be dominant and that she wanted more than just rope stuff.

She just wanted to be in the scene—to have someone with her—to be seen. She had gotten that, but the cost was far too high, and now look at her.

“I don’t know,” Liz admitted.

“Just start a new online profile and lurk around. Start slow,” her friend urged. “It won’t go away, hon. No one will force you to go to anything.”

“You sure about that?” Liz teased with a grin as she pushed off her friend to give her the side eye.

Without a hint of guilt, Anemone grinned with a shrug. “Baby steps.”

She rolled her eyes, considering it. She did miss it, and deep down, she knew her friend was right.

Chapter 5

Dash

One of the few things Odin’s Fury Montana chapter and the Ohio chapter had in common was their choice in clubhouse location. Both opted for industrial areas. Ohio’s was a repurposed pipe fitting factory nestled between a logistics company and a tire company with a furniture warehouse across the street. After six or seven o’clock at night, they had the entire street to themselves.

Around ten o’clock on a cool, cloudy evening in May, Dash smiled when they approached the perimeter of the compound. The visibly new fifteen feet of anti-climb security fencing topped with razor wire was one of Clark’s recent upgrades. The motorized gate appeared to be the same model as the one in Montana. Tempted, Dash opted to press the buzzer on the keypad, rather than try the Montana code. He doubted Clark would use it.

Eyeing the camera atop the pole pointed at him, he gave a salute before the gate whirred to life, rolling open. He and Romeo twisted their throttles to make their way through and onto club property.

The smell of freshly poured asphalt assaulted his nose as they entered the parking lot. Illuminated by several bright flood lights stood the two-story, freshly re-painted, cinderblock clubhouse. It’d only been six months, but Clark had done a lot of work.

Both of the bikers parked along the wall of the clubhouse in the spots reserved for patches. Dash counted ten bikes in line. Slim pickings. Seems Monty’s “in a bad way” meant more than just Bowie’s health. This venture may not last if it kept on its current course.

At least the rest of the lot had cars, other bikes, and people. It meant interest in spending time with the club. They needed that.

A group caught Dash’s eye as they made their way toward the entrance. He focused on the lanky fella in the cut posted at the door. Hopefully, a prospect. After the guests got a pat down, they were granted entrance. A small bit of hope there. More hang-arounds. Hang-arounds could become prospects. Prospects led to brothers. Brothers were something Ohio desperately needed.

“Clark’s been busy,” Romeo commented, breaking into Dash’s thoughts as he pulled off his helmet.

Taking off his own, Dash stowed it on the bike before he grabbed his pack of cigarettes from his pocket. A quick pat of his wrist against his forearm meant the filter ends of the cigarettes rose, and he offered them to his brother. “Improvements and interest lead to growth,” he agreed.

Waving a hand, the younger biker declined the offered butt. “I quit.”

With a chortle, Dash shook his head, considering they’d just smoked before church two days ago. “Right.” He nodded, resting his cigarette on his lip. Slipping the pack back into its pocket, he swapped it with the lighter. The yellow flame burned the tip, heated his mouth, and burned his lungs. “Ahh.” He reveled, inhaling before pulling the Marlboro from his mouth. “Cancer.” He sighed.

“That’s not funny,” The curly-haired, freckle-faced woman slapped his chest after she climbed off Romeo’s bike, almost knocking his cigarette from between his fingers.

Shit. She’d been so quiet he’d forgotten she was there. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“You need to quit too,” Sparrow declared, jutting her finger in his face.

Dash cut his gaze to his brother. He liked the guy’s Ol’ Lady. She was cute, had fire, and he’d never seen someone as freckled as her. She’d grown up in a club, in Ohio, as a matter-of-fact, which meant she never gave Romeo shit because she knew how shit went.

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