Hooked (Viking Bastards MC #1)(12)

I don’t know why that pisses me off.

“You leaving?” I grab my cut from the closet so she doesn’t get the wrong idea and think I want her to stay or some shit like that. Except I haven’t had enough of her yet. So technically I guess that means I don’t want her to go.

“That was the plan. My cell’s charged now.”

I eye her from across the room. Before our shower fun, I called a brother and we put one of our prospects on night duty to make sure Grace’s car didn’t end up as scrap metal. The plan, as I recall, involved me fixing her car today.

“You changed your mind about wanting me to take a look at your Merc?” Why the f*ck am I pushing it? If I’m that crazy for * I can get some at the club after church.

“Oh.” She raises her eyebrows as though I’ve surprised her. “I didn’t think you meant it. Would you really not mind taking a look? I’m happy to pay for your time.”

That’s the second time she’s offered to pay me for services rendered. On the other hand, she’s just asked me to look at her car. My irritation at the way she seems to think I want money before I’d help her fades.

“I don’t say something if I don’t mean it.” I shove my cell into my pocket. “You need to be anywhere today?”

She holds my gaze, and a small smile plays around her lips. “Are you asking me to stay?”

I shrug, partly to show her I don’t give a shit whether she stays or goes, but mostly to hide the fact this is new territory for me. If a chick hangs around without demanding anything, a casual hookup can sometimes result in a replay. Or five. But I’ve never invited any of them to stay at my place.

“I’m sorry.” She doesn’t sound at all sorry, and my hackles rise. “I don’t want to intrude, or jump to conclusions. If you want me to stay another night I’d love to, but if not, that’s cool. I just don’t want to play guessing games.”

It’s not often—make that never—that a woman leaves me speechless, but Grace comes damn close. I grin, can’t help it, because the hottest chick I’ve ever f*cked is happy to stay another night, no strings attached.

“Stay,” I tell her. “We’ve unfinished business.”

…

After checking her car is still in one piece, I ride to the clubhouse. It’s not that far from where I grew up and still live, although still on the wrong side of town as far as Grace is concerned. The two-story building is set well back from the road with a fair bit of land surrounding it, and has been a part of my family since my grandfather’s time.

Yeah, I’m a third generation Viking Bastard and proud of it.

I pull up on the forecourt where several bikes are already parked. As I dismount I give the nod to a couple of my brothers and stroll toward them. Joel, who’s been hanging around the club for the last year hoping to make prospect, joins us, and because I’m feeling all mellow and shit, I give him the nod, too.

He grins like a f*cking puppy, and I snort with laughter before returning my attention to the others.

“Sounds like I should’ve gone to Odin’s last night.” Ty grins, and it’s obvious he and Cade have both heard about Grace from Joel.

“Fuck you,” Cade says. “If I’d been there, neither of you would’ve stood a chance.”

I smirk but don’t say anything, and that’s enough to let them know this chick isn’t up for discussion.

“The bitch was real hot,” Joel says. I whip round, and my fist smashes his face before I even think. He drops like a stone, and I’m only distantly aware that both Ty and Cade step back.

“Fuck.” Joel spits blood and staggers to his knees. “Didn’t mean any disrespect, Zach. I—”

“Did I say you could get up?” My voice is deadly calm, and I claw back the urge to grind my boot in the mouthy bastard’s face.

He freezes on his hands and knees, real fear in his eyes now. Fucker doesn’t know what fear is. I turn my back on him, and my brothers flank me as we make our way inside the club.

It’s been my second home since I made prospect nine years ago, but even before I hit eighteen I used to frequently hang out here with my old man. He was Sergeant-at-Arms before he was jailed, and died inside defending the Bastards’ honor.

The clubhouse is nothing fancy, but the display of framed photos over by the bar—some of them dating back fifty years to when this Charter was first formed—always fills me with purpose and a strange sense of peace.

Not today, though. No one trashes my girl. Prick’s gonna wish he never set foot inside Odin’s last night.

We enter a room at the back of the club where a solid wood table in the center dominates the space. Everyone but our president is already there, including my brother Gage, who gives me the nod. I sit next to him, and when Jett strolls in and takes his place at the head of the table, I push Grace from my mind and focus.

Church is usually held on Tuesday evenings, but Jett and a couple of others are heading to Florida in the morning for talks with our chapter there. Finally, Jett gets to the last item on the agenda.

“Joel Gray. Any objections to bringing him in as a prospect?”

Seven brothers indicate they have no objections. Jett looks right at me. “Zach?”

Too right, I do. “He’s not ready.”