Page 46 of Rambler's Snow Bunny
We finish our shower quickly, the hot water starting to run out. Aaron helps me wash my hair, his big hands gentle as they massage my scalp. It’s these little moments of tenderness that keep catching me off guard, showing me a side of him I’m not sure many people get to see.
Once we’re clean, we dry off and get dressed. I choose a pair of tight jeans, a black sweater, and my new boots, adding a touch of mascara and some lip gloss. Aaron keeps it simple with his usual distressed jeans, black t-shirt, and his Bastard Saints cut.
“You look beautiful,” he says, watching me from the doorway as I put my large gold hoops in my ears.
I smile at him in the mirror. “You don’t look so bad yourself, handsome.”
His lips twitch at the compliment, and he holds out his hand. “Ready?”
I nod, taking his hand and letting him lead me out to the truck.
The drive to the Underground is short, but it takes us into a part of town I haven’t seen before. The buildings here are older, more run-down, with fewer streetlights illuminating the darkness.
Aaron parks in an alley behind what appears to be an old warehouse. There’s no sign, no indication that anything is happening here, but I can see a few other bikes and vehicles parked nearby.
“This is it?” I ask, peering out the window.
“Yep.” Aaron hops out and comes around to my side, helping me down. “Don’t let the outside fool you. Place is always packed.”
He leads me to a heavy metal door where two enormous men are standing guard. They nod to Aaron, their eyes flicking to me curiously before they step aside.
“Rambler,” one of them acknowledges. “Ladies are already inside.”
Aaron nods his thanks, then guides me through the door. A steep metal staircase descends into what looks like complete darkness. The sound of pounding music and a roaring crowd grows louder with each step we take.
“Stay close,” Aaron says, his hand firm on the small of my back.
At the bottom of the stairs, we emerge into a large, open space filled with people. The ceiling is low, with exposed pipes and ductwork, and the lighting is dim except for the bright floodlights aimed at the octagonal cage in the center of the room.
The air is thick with the smell of cigarettes, and it’s hot down here, the press of bodies generating enough heat to make me start sweating in my sweater.
“This way,” Aaron says, leading me through the crowd toward a raised section at the back.
People move aside for him, nodding respectfully or calling out greetings. Everyone here knows who he is.
A waist-high barrier ropes off the VIP section. Inside, leather couches and chairs are arranged around small tables, offering a perfect view of the cage. I spot Demi, Cleo, and McKenna sitting together on one of the couches, drinks in hand.
“Pinky!” McKenna calls out when she sees me, waving excitedly. “Over here!”
Aaron helps me over the barrier, then leans in close. “I’ll be at the bar keeping an eye on you. Are you good here with your girls?”
I nod, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. “I’m perfect. Go do your thing.”
He kisses me back, hard and possessive, his hand cupping the back of my neck. There are whistles and catcalls from the girls, but Aaron doesn’t seem to care. When he finally pulls away, his eyes are dark and heated.
“I’ll be right over there if you need anything,” he says, nodding toward the bar. “Don’t leave this section without me, understand?”
I roll my eyes but nod. “Yes, sir.”
With a final kiss to my forehead, he turns and makes his way to the bar, where I can see Pee Wee and several other club members gathered.
“Look at you,” Cleo says as I join them on the couch. “Got the big bad biker wrapped around your little finger.”
I laugh, settling in beside her. “Hardly. He’s just... protective.”
“That’s one word for it,” McKenna snorts, passing me a drink. “Here, I got you a vodka cranberry.”
I take a sip, the sweet-tart liquid burning pleasantly down my throat. “Thanks.”
