Page 27 of Rambler's Snow Bunny
We approach the gates of the compound, and I see the prospect, Rookie, manning the entrance. I flick out two fingers in greeting as we coast through.
The kid’s eyes round to the size of saucers when he sees Pinky on the back of my bike. Fucking probie better mind his business and keep his eyes off my woman. Hate to have to snap him like a twig.
I follow my brothers into the parking area, a concrete slab big enough to hold a couple dozen bikes. Klutch and Train park near the entrance, and I guide my hog into the spot next to them.
I cut the motor and let out a sigh. Time to face the music.
“What?” Pinky asks.
I shake my head and lie. “Nothing, baby.”
Groaning, I climb off, my body stiff as fuck from the long ride. My lower back protests as I plant both feet on the ground and pull off my brain bucket.
“Ready, butterfly?”
She nods, unclasping her helmet and pulling it off. Her pink hair is flattened against her head, and her nose and cheeks are red from the cold. She still looks beautiful.
I hold out my hand and she takes it, letting me help her off the bike.
The second her feet hit the asphalt, her legs start to buckle. “Crap.”
Raching out, I yank her body flush against mine to steady her.
“Gotcha.”
She blushes. “My legs feel like Jello.”
“Been riding awhile,” I say, keeping her upright until I feel her gain some stability.
Once she has her legs under her and she’s steady, I let her go.
“Thanks,” she says, rubbing her thighs.
“No sweat.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and head for the clubhouse door. The building looms before us, three stories of weathered brick with barred windows, and a metal door painted a matte black.
Kodiak is at the door, holding it open for us. I growl when I catch the baby biker checking my woman out, his eyes lingering a little too long on her ass as we pass.
My woman?
I’m getting awfully presumptuous.
Fuck. I need to get my head on straight before I go up in here and plead with Denali and Pee Wee to let her stay.
We step inside, and it’s much warmer. The heat wraps around us like a boa constrictor, and Pinky lets out an appreciative sigh as she rubs her hands up and down her arms.
Yeah. I really can’t take her back to the trailer with how cold it is.
Dropping my arm from around her shoulders, I pull out my keys and work the one for my trailer off the ring. “Head over to my place and turn the heat on. Make sure the pipes haven’t burst, too.”
The probie nods and takes the key from my hand. “On it, Rambler. I’ll head out now.”
I make a mental note that despite his wandering eyes, the baby biker will get my vote when it comes time to decide if he has what it takes to be a Bastard Saint. Kodiak is a good kid. And he’s always ready to jump in and help when needed.
The main room of the clubhouse is quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. Several of my brothers are playing pool in the corner, and a few others are at the bar, drinking and bullshitting. A couple of the sweetbutts are pow-wowed over on the couch, watching that stupid Kardashian show on TV.
Slipping my arm around Pinky’s waist, I lead her over to a table where McKenna is sitting alone, nursing what looks like a vodka cranberry. Klutch and Train march their women over to the brunette’s table as well.
“We’ve got club shit to handle,” Klutch says, bending to kiss Demi. “Stay out of trouble.”
