Page 45 of Sparrow

Looking around, the brothers glared at the non-members. It didn’t take much to make them scurry off. Club business had nothing to do with hang-arounds or bitches.

A prospect manned the locked door of the shed. Bowie waved him away as well. “Don’t go far,” he growled.

Once the lock to the shed door was removed, Bowie stepped inside. Three loud shots fired before he came back out.

Exiting the shed, still holding the gun, the Ohio chapter’s president turned to the prospect. “Clean that shit up.” He stepped out into his men. With a hard gaze, he made it a point to meet each one of their eyes. “Odin’s Fury won’t take any shit. Make no mistake, I will get my hands dirty if I have to.”

Each man lifted his chin a bit higher, meeting Bowie’s stare.

They stood in a circle around their president while a prospect dealt with the body. The weight of the moment came down on even Romeo’s shoulders. Bowie wasn’t fucking around. In the silence, Romeo could see each man of Ohio processing that.

“Church is over,” Bowie announced.

Making his way back into the clubhouse, the music from the main room grew from a loud murmur to full blast when the door opened. Romeo searched inside for his woman. With the shed business taken care of, the weight on his chest was gone and he could go home with a clear conscience.

“You okay?” Sparrow asked, concern written on her face as she came toward him.

Seeing her, he grinned. “Better now.”

He snaked an arm around her waist when she got close and pulled her against him. She fit, her tight body felt perfect in his arms. Running his right hand through her loose curls, he dipped his chin to kiss the crown of her head. “How was your day? Did you go to the bar?”

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around his middle to squeeze him.

It had only been a week, but the two had already slipped into comfortable familiarity. They’d finally spent more than a long weekend together. Their longest stint in each other’s almost constant company, and neither of them wanted to kill the other. At least, he didn’t. He could only assume about her because she kept coming around. Though, it had to be the safest assumption he’d ever made.

The thought put a grin on his face. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind it was goofy as all hell. He didn’t care. Not when it came to his woman. Resting his chin on her head, he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, some coconut shit.

He knew it was her shampoo, and not a perfume, because a bottle of it had shown up in the shower connected to the room he’d stayed in the first time she’d spent the night with him. He’d never allowed that shit before. Club sluts came and went from his room in Montana. Never, ever, had he let them leave shit behind. That meant they thought they’d be back. When one started moving her shit into a guy’s space, she thought she’d be a permanent fixture. Even if he took the same girl a few nights in a row, he never wanted them to think it was more than just fucking.

Until he had Sparrow.

“I have something for you,” he said, breaking their embrace. His hand slid down her arm to take hold of hers.

Quirking a brow at him, she looked skeptical as she reluctantly allowed him to pull her to the room he’d stayed in. “Do you now?” she mused with a coy grin at the door. “I think I’ve had that before, this morning.”

With a chuckle, he led the way into the room. He enjoyed her dirty mind and her sense of humor. As he went down on one knee at the foot of the bed, her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

“No!” He laughed harder. Taking a moment, his head fell and he enjoyed the thought that’d crossed her mind. Only a few seconds, because he had to admit, it looked the part of her assumption. Once he collected himself, he held out a hand, palm toward her. “Jesus, I’m not fucking psycho.” With his other hand reaching under the bed, he searched for the bag containing his surprise.

At that, her face turned a beautiful shade of pink as she blushed. “I didn’t think—you just—you’re on your…” she trailed off, covering her face and stammering when he continued to laugh.

Standing to his full height, he extended his hand and offered her what he’d gotten at the dealership that day. Quietly, he waited for her to drop her hands and see it.

Slowly, she revealed her speckled face. The urge to kiss those freckles again struck him. He fought it for now. If she accepted his present, there’d be plenty of time for freckle counting and kissing.

Taking it from him, she ran her hands over the black leather cushion, and then down the metal bars. Her brows drew together as she inspected the item. She turned it over and then looked up at him.

“I don’t know what to say?” Her upward inflection let him know she had no idea what he’d given her.

“The ride back to Montana is twenty-five hours,” he said to her blank expression. “It’s going to be twelve ass-numbing hours at a time.”

Still nothing.

“I want you to be comfortable on the ride,” he said to her bewildered expression. “It’s a backrest, for your spot on my bike.” He gestured to the padded sissy bar in her hands.

She blinked at him before her eyes widened in recognition. There it was. She got it. Now it was his turn to hold his breath and wait for her to respond.

“What exactly are you asking me?” she said, looking down at the backrest. “Because I didn’t hear a question in that at all.”

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