Page 36 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

I stop at the closet and grin. “Good. Then I’ll be your first.”

She grins at the double entendre.

“Grab a jacket.”

Once she’s got a warm coat and shoes on, I take her hand, and we walk to the mill. I pass her my helmet and help her with the strap.

“What about you?” she asks.

“I don’t plan on laying the bike down, but I want you to be safe.”

“Being chivalrous. Thank you.”

I tap her nose, then throw my leg over the bike and lift it off the kickstand. “Climb on, sweetheart.”

She scrambles on and wraps her arms around me.

It feels right with her on the back of my bike. I hit the throttle and head out, taking us across town to the clubhouse.

There are numerous tree limbs and branches on the roads, and I go slow and weave around them. When we’re almost to the clubhouse, we catch a light, and I reach back and squeeze her thigh, twisting my head. “You okay?”

She smiles huge. “I love it.”

I chuckle. “Fantastic.”

As I idle, waiting for the light to change, I have to remind myself this relationship can’t go anywhere. Maybe we could be friends, but I don’t think that would ever satisfy me. Even knowing that, I can’t help the warning voice in my head asking me how much I really want to get involved with this girl, because letting her go is going to be hell.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tori—

When the light changes, Rafe goes another two blocks, then makes a turn into an industrial area. The winds were bad riding over here, but Rafe handled his bike with skill, and it's obvious he knows what he’s doing. I was able to relax and enjoy the ride across town. I’m wondering if this right turn is some kind of a cut-through he uses. But when we get to a dead end, and he turns into the lot of an old brick building and I see a bunch of motorcycles, I realize this must be his clubhouse.

The closer we get across the parking lot, the clearer the sign above the door becomes. It’s the same three skulls as the center patch on his back. He finds a spot and parks, and we both climb off the bike.

I take off the helmet and pass it to him. “That was fun.”

“The girl is hooked. I like it. Come on.” He holds his hand out to me, and I take it.

The place is crowded with people when we come through the door. I feel conspicuous in my jeans, sneakers, and little olive-green quilted bomber jacket. Loud music blares over the conversations.

The building obviously once housed some type of manufacturing operation, but all the machinery is long gone. Open industrial type ductwork hangs from the ceiling. The floor is polished cement and the walls are brick, the top half of which contain multi-paned, factory style windows covered in years of dirt and grime. A pool table sits to the left, along with some tables and chairs. A bar sits to the right.

A set of metal stairs on the left wall just past the pool table leads up to a second floor, and the hallway up there appears to go deeper into the big structure.

I spot a couple of men coming in and out of a door on the other side of the staircase. It appears to lead to another long hallway.

Rafe leads me to the bar and greets some other men in the same leather vest he wears with the same patches.

A young guy clasps Rafe’s hand in an arm-wrestler’s grip and pulls him in for a hug. “Rafe.” When they release, he glances at me. “Who’s your friend?”

“TJ, this is Tori Sawyer. Tori, this is TJ, our president’s son.”

I give him a tentative smile, and he lifts his chin.

“Nice to meet you, Tori.” He switches his attention to Rafe. “Good thing you made it on time. How are the winds?”

“Getting worse,” Rafe replies. “Had to avoid a bunch of downed trees.”

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