Page 14 of Sparrow

“I might come back after a beer or two,” Romeo offered as he interlaced his fingers. He allowed his eyelids to droop closed. Sleep. He was in desperate need of sleep. He’d have precious little of it during this run if everything went as planned.

His sponsor laughed. “Let me know if they have anything especially hoppy in that stock room.”

“Fuck off,” Romeo said as he kicked off his boots.

“In time, in time.”

Chapter 8

Sparrow

Sparrow hated riding with Pipes when he was fucked up. He could barely keep the bike straight. She’d be lucky if they made it to the clubhouse in one piece. He’d laid the bike down a time or two in the last few months. The once pretty 1999 Harley Davidson Softail Deluxe had far too many bumps and bruises. It was damn near criminal the way he treated her.

When he ran a red light, she held onto him even tighter. Hell, forget surviving the ride, they would be lucky if they made it to the clubhouse without getting pulled over, which would bring unnecessary heat on the club. They didn’t have every cop on the Roughneck Rider payroll. She may not be privy to club business, but she knew that much.

She bit back the scoff when he patted her hand, assuming he misinterpreted the gesture as one of affection and not one of fear, she rolled her eyes. The fucking idiot would get her killed one day.

She should’ve tried harder to drive there. She should’ve offered to drive her damn self. He may have a death wish, but she didn’t. He would’ve never gone for that anyway, but she didn’t have to die for his ego. Next time. Next time she’d fucking drive.

It was purposeful, bringing her to the clubhouse on a night that wasn’t reserved for family. He had to show up with her on the back of his bike. It’d send the message that she was his.

For a group of men who shunned the laws of society, they had a lot of fucking rules. She didn’t even know all of them. The precious few she knew, the ones that applied to women, were confusing enough.

She released her death grip on him when they pulled into the driveway of the clubhouse. Finally. Somehow, they’d made it without incident. She had to remember to do something particularly selfless to thank some deity for getting them there safely. She didn’t know where to find a sacrificial goat, so charity work it was.

Dismounting the bike, she pulled off her helmet and shook out her hair. Hang-arounds and club sluts mingled, laughing, smoking, and heading toward the door. At first, no one registered as familiar to her. That was until she spotted Kimber’s Ol’ Man, Puck. Smoke puffed from a cigarette as he charged toward the door of the clubhouse.

Pipes snaked a hand around her middle while she watched a brassy blonde with fake tits—barely wearing a bikini and a belt as a skirt—tried to press against Puck. He didn’t even break stride when he shoved her off. Score one for Kimber.

“I’m going to make you mine,” Pipes whispered into her neck. His warm breath tickled her skin before he licked the shell of her ear.

Bringing her focus back to him, she rested a hand on his shoulder and looked up into his eyes. He wasn’t a bad man. He lost his temper a time or two, but that wasn’t him. That was the junk he’d been using in the name of the club. Once it was all sorted, she’d figure out how to wean him off that shit. He was such a better man sober.

Keep telling yourself that. One day, you’ll believe it.

When he brought his lips down over hers, she returned the kiss. As his soon-to-be Ol’ Lady, she couldn’t refuse him, not in front of his brothers or the club ass. As much as Pipes claimed her at that moment with that unnecessarily provocative kiss, her returning it claimed him right back. This was her man.

There were plenty a club slut who didn’t care if a guy had a woman at home or not. The blonde who’d tried to hug up on Puck was a prime example. She supposed it was easy for them to forget her existence if they never saw her. Well, this was Sparrow being seen.

“Whoooo!” someone hooted in the distance, distracting him from their kiss.

He broke it to look toward the catcaller, and relief she shouldn’t be feeling washed over her.

“Take her on the bike, man!” the voice suggested.

Classy wasn’t something anyone expected from bikers or those who kept their company. With the intensity of their kiss, someone was bound to say it. Sparrow wasn’t shaken. It’d take a lot more to rattle her. That was barely vulgar.

The same couldn’t be said for her man. When he used that shit, he got testy. Everything bothered him.

“Fuck off!” Pipes spat. Then he turned his attention back to her. “Come on. Let’s go inside so I can make this official.”

Forcing a smile, she lifted her brows. “Yeah,” she agreed. Everything within her screamed to turn back, run out of the parking lot, flee. This wasn’t right, but she pushed forward. This was what she wanted, after all. This was her plan.

Become Ol’ Lady. Earn a degree. Become useful to father’s club. Stay connected. Be more than just property. That was the plan. She could do this. It just took longer than she’d expected. There were a few hiccups, bumps in the road.

Sure, the road didn’t look the way she wanted it to, but who can say their life plan looked exactly the way they wanted it to? Who got to live their dream? Really. She shouldn’t be so hard on herself. And, if anyone judged her, well, she would tell them to look in the mirror.

Except she judged herself.

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