Page 23 of Outlaws' Dirty Secret

Another gunshot has us all looking towards the front gates. Despite their easy chatter, it's obvious I'm not the only one who's worried. I wish I knew what was going on. “Are they going to be okay?”

“Of course. They usually are,” Paige replies, but the implication that it's not always the case is there.

“How do you handle it? When you know there's dangerous stuff going on out there?”

Paige and Bonnie share a loaded look. It’s Bonnie that answers. “This isn’t an easy life. If you had a husband and he drove to work every day, would you be worried?”

“I—” I was about to say no, but I stop. “A little maybe, but only if the roads were really bad.”

“But car accidents are common. Statistically speaking, every time we get into a car, there's a chance something could happen.”

Paige nods. “It’s not exactly the same, but she’s right. This life comes with a certain amount of risk, and believe it or not, this isjust our version of wondering if the roads will be plowed before they have to leave work.”

“That sounds absolutely insane, but I think I know what you mean.”

The others fall into more casual topics, and I think they're trying to make me worry less. How can there be real danger if we're just hanging out having a girl’s night in here? Paige tells me one of her men is a big reader and she’s trying to find books he’ll like, so I actually have things I can talk about. Blaze is in beauty school, hoping to find something a little more stable than the part-time job she's got now. Bonnie has tons of stories about her life with General, who was the old president of the Outlaw Sons before he was betrayed and assassinated. It’s interesting to hear her point of view from the time when the club moved into the neighborhood, and knowing she knew my grandmother makes me feel a little connected.

After a bit, I realize I haven't heard a gunshot in a good while. “It's quiet out there.”

Paige nods. “They'll come when it's safe, but that's a good sign. Probably.”

As if in response, someone knocks on the door. We all jump to our feet, but Bonnie pushes herself to the front, checking before opening. “Took you fucking long enough.” She lets in Dragon, followed by two other members I don't know.

“Crank! Poe!” Paige throws herself into their arms, and they pull her in close, kissing her senseless in turn, the kind of kissing that makes me wonder if I should even be watching.

“Are we… are they… is it okay?” I ask Dragon, not sure which answer I need first.

I want to throw myself into his arms like Paige did with her guys, but I hold back. They're all talking quietly together now, and the hitch in Paige’s whispers makes me think she was a lot more worried than she let on.

“It’s all good, baby,” Dragon reassures me. Maybe what I need is clear, because he pulls me to him and wraps his arms around my shoulders, holding me close. “Just some assholes looking to make trouble. We sent ‘em running.”

“I want to go home,” I whisper.

“Of course. I'll take you.”

Fifteen minutes later, I'm unlocking the front door, but suddenly Grandma's house seems huge and empty. The last thing I want right now is to be alone. I send Grace a quick text to let her know I made it home, and then a sudden shudder rocks me. I was almost caught up in a freaking shootout, and the guys that I barely know, but already feel so close to, could've gotten hurt. A sob comes out of nowhere, and my eyes start to sting. Oh God, I'm going to break down, right here in the doorway.

I smile weakly up at Dragon. “I’m good. I’m fine.”

Then Dragon is right there, his warm hand on my hip. “Shit, Willow. Go get ready for bed. I'll be here as long as you need me.” He closes the door behind us and throws the bolt.

12

WILLOW

I wakeup to the smell of smoke.

My eyes shoot open and I’m out of bed before my brain kicks in. An adrenaline spike launches me from sound asleep to wide awake in a microsecond. I take the stairs two at a time, the smell getting stronger as I go. Following my nose, I rush into the kitchen and find… a biker making breakfast.

Dragon looks up as he dumps a couple of pieces of charred toast into the garbage. “You need a toaster from this fucking century.” On the stove, bacon is sizzling away in my grandmother’s cast iron frying pan.

I definitely don’t hate seeing him standing there shirtless and barefoot, with his jeans hanging on his narrow waist by a belt and a prayer. His hair is loose, tucked behind his ears and hanging down his back like a silky curtain. I must be staring, because his eyebrow quirks up and he smirks at me. “If you want a closer look, I’m not stopping you, but fair warning, the view isn’t bad from here, either.”

For the first time I remember I'm wearing an old concert t-shirt and nothing else. I cross my arms over my chest so I don't blind him with my headlights but it only makes his eyes drift down to where the shirt skirts my thighs. “I thought the house was burning down. There wasn’t exactly time for pants. And yeah, you have to watch that toaster like a hawk, it goes straight from barely warm to charcoal.”

He nods his head towards the kitchen table. “Sit down. I’m just about ready to start the eggs if you’re hungry. How do you like ‘em?”

“Over easy. Thank you. I'm just going to go put on?—”

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