As if he knew, he did little more than pull down my sweats and underwear. And then he slid down my body, inserted himself between my thighs and had me put one leg over his shoulder. I was upright only through the combination of sheer will and his strength. And I was under no illusion that it was mainly the latter.
I was half naked. He was dressed, his face buried between my legs as electric currents shot through me, the quickness of the climax unsurprising.
I trembled but his arms were strong around me as he rose and wrapped me around him. I buried my face in his shoulder. “You made me come alive, Cage. You made me really live. And I don’t ever want it to end.”
He tightened his grip. “Good. ’Cause I’m not planning on going anywhere, babe.”
When he’d first come back to the empty apartment, Cage had known exactly where Calla had gone. He’d found her resting so comfortably in the space, and had been ready to pick her up and bring her to bed when he’d seen the sketchbook on the chair, not the table where he’d left it.
It was a new one he’d just bought the day before to start framing out new jobs, since he’d put out the word that he’d be taking orders again. He flipped through to find the first twenty or so pages taken up with sketches and a signature with a jagged E.
At least the old man gave us this. Because their grandfather had been the artist in the family. His father was a good mechanic, but he’d never had the patience for putting together a bike from scratch.
But Eli did, at least from what these drawings indicated. And he had the potential for a talent well beyond Cage’s . . . if he kept practicing.
Cage would gladly make room for another artist in his garage, but what Eli needed wasn’t in this space.
He needs you, Tenn had told him that morning. But Cage had learned that sometimes giving people their freedom to grow was the best gift you could give them.
Chapter 29
Cage was dealing with finding Eli a tutor for his GED. He couldn’t enroll him in school without bringing child protective services down on him in some fashion. For the moment, there was a fragile peace and getting the law involved would make it much worse. I understood that, because in this situation Eli would be placed back with the Heathens, or in foster care. I wasn’t sure exactly which would be worse, but Eli threatened to run if CPS got involved.
I was going to hang around the apartment, but Preacher came to pick me up. I was surprised to see him, but when I went to let him in, he shook his head and said, “Let’s take a ride and get something to eat.”
He had his truck, a dark gray Suburban that rumbled as he drove it. We parked in town and walked through to the small restaurant. It was a warm day, so we sat outside. It was the first time I really got to people-watch and I enjoyed it. A couple of other Vipers members came to join us, and there were others going about their business in town.
As the afternoon wore on, I watched the men and women, cognizant of what Cage had told me, that most of the general population didn’t know the contributions Vipers made. But maybe it took an outsider to notice, because I could see easily how the town treated these men, and me by extension, with a mixture of fear and gratitude. I saw it in their eyes—the little boys who watched the leather and Harleys with a gleam of awe as mothers and fathers hurried them by. Fathers, maybe a little more slowly, and I definitely saw some mothers looking over their shoulders.
Everyone has a wild side.
I also saw it in the giggle of older teenage girls as they gazed on the bikers for just a little too long.
The dichotomy was fascinating.
The town definitely knew that Vipers was a big part of their infrastructure.
“Does it bother you?” I asked Preacher after two teenage girls focused on him, giggling and reddening like he was a celebrity, until an older woman sternly shooed them away and glared at Preacher as though he’d encouraged it.
Which, for the record, he hadn’t.
“What? That I’ll never be invited to Sunday dinner?” Preacher asked now. “Fuck ’em. They should be grateful.”
He couldn’t hide the hurt and it actually made me want to shake these people a little. Although, in theory, a little bit of fear put the best kind of separation between the town and the Vipers. Best for both, because enemies could easily use that relationship against Vipers. Anything that left the MC vulnerable wasn’t good, and so pretending to only give a shit about their interests protected the town from all the things that went roar in the night.
I dropped the subject and we ate. Talked about Eli and school, and his art.
“Cage showed me some of his stuff. The boy’s good,” Preacher said.
“He should go to art school.”
“We don’t have that around here.”
They did in New York. That made me think about my father, and the fact that I hadn’t been in touch with him. I felt guilty about it, but the investigation surrounding Ned’s murder was ongoing. At least it was the last time I’d called to check, because no matter how much I couldn’t stand him, I couldn’t let him be buried in a pauper’s grave. “Do you think Officer Flores contacted my father?”
Preacher nodded. “And I’m sure he knows exactly where you are.”
“You think so?”
“If you were my daughter and I heard you were hanging around an MC, I’d know.”
The thought of Preacher with a daughter made me smile—I couldn’t help it. Because the idea of a wild guy saddled with a daughter to worry about was some kind of sweet revenge.
“I know what you’re thinking, Calla,” he chided. We finished lunch uneventfully and then we got back into his truck.
When I saw we were heading toward the clubhouse, I must’ve tensed.
“Cage told me you have a rough time coming here,” he said. “It’s quiet now. I need your help.”
I didn’t ask why, just nodded, because certainly they’d helped me. Granted, they’d almost gotten me killed too. But once we were inside the clubhouse and I saw it was quiet, I relaxed slightly, until Preacher pointed down the hall and said, “I can’t get through to Holly.”
“You think I can?”
“I think she won’t be able to resist being a bitch to you, no.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“Better than zoning out and crying, yes,” he said firmly, pointing. I walked down the hall with only slightly less enthusiasm than if I’d been going to the electric chair.
I knocked on the half-open door and saw Holly lying on her side. As soon as she glanced up and saw it was me, she straightened, propped herself on the pillow.
Even with no makeup and with messy hair, she managed to look haughty. And I didn’t even have to say anything before she started in.
“What, none of them could get through to me, so they figured, send in the rich girl?” Holly asked. She was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, her leg still bandaged, and her gaze flickered over me for a brief second before turning back to the TV. She was changing channels incessantly.
Finally I said, “I’m not a rich girl.”
She turned the TV off and stared at me. “I’m sure Cage told you how I came here.”
“A little.”
“Well, let me explain it, Calla, so you can understand the difference between you and me. Because I don’t want you to become deluded into thinking we could be friends.”
I crossed my arms, leaned against the wall without saying a word.
She continued. “I fell in love with an American when I came here on vacation with some friends.”