Own the Wind(73)

His face changed, I held my breath at the change as he growled, “There will never come a time when you don’t mind my clothes are on the floor at the Compound.”

A vow.

Absolutely.

Not an apology but I got him and I’d take it.

I was smart enough not to gloat.

“Right, so, I’ve brushed my teeth, you haven’t, so you’re free to eat something before you go to sleep,” I declared. That intense look left his face, his eyes flashed with heat, then I was off the vanity, in the bedroom, tossed on the bed, my panties were gone, and Shy ate something before he went to sleep.

Truth was, I used my mouth before finally falling asleep too, but fortunately what I used it for wouldn’t give me any cavities.

Also, before falling asleep, Shy proved he intended to make it worth it, and it wasn’t by giving me two orgasms (or it wasn’t only that).

It was by muttering right before I fell asleep, “Just so you know, babe, the kind of biker I am does not f*ck around on his woman.”

Other women might not think it was worth knowing she was the one who would be cleaning the toilets without a break for the rest of her life, but it worked for me.

That was the worst run-in we’d had. Although we’d butted heads a couple of times, it was nothing that sent me to fuming alone in my bedroom.

And in an effort to continue that run, I was not sharing with Shy about Dr. Dickhead.

Shy, like all the members of the Club, got a monthly cut of the profits from Ride Custom Car and Bikes as well as the three auto supply stores they ran, one in Denver, one in Colorado Springs, and one in Fort Collins. The boys moseyed their badasses into the store to work the counter, stock the shelves, keep the inventory, and those, like Shy, who had the skills worked in the garage on the cars and bikes. No one scheduled it but such was the loyalty to the brotherhood, not to mention their livelihood, no one sluffed off either.

The cut of profits was only graduated as to whether you were a full member or a recruit.

Every member had to pledge the Club and put up with however much crap the brothers made him do for however long they decided it lasted. Chaos wasn’t into rules, so it wasn’t like if they pledged, they’d be facing six months or a year and the boys knew when the torture would end, they’d get their cut, ink their tat on their back, and they could sally forth as full-fledged badasses. It was never six months or less, but it could be over a year before the boys sat down and voted a new man in.

And by crap they had to take from the members, I meant anything.

Anything.

And anything was really anything when you lived in a biker world.

So recruits got paid because they also worked in the store or the garage but they got paid less.

The Club made no distinction on pay according to terms of membership for full brothers. Although the cut went up and down with the profits, according to Shy, the checks tripled between recruit and member. The amounts, even in leaner months, were also not shabby.

This meant, with Shy keeping a low-profile apartment and not buying clothes for about six years, he was sitting on a mountain of money.

So Shy, like all the brothers, did his bit at the store and he also worked in the garage. As far as I could see, he pretty much did both in equal measure. Therefore, he didn’t keep a schedule, he went when he went, came home when he was done working, but he was at Ride often.

He also did things with his brothers and for the Club in daylight hours and sometimes at night that he didn’t share with me, and I knew enough about the life not to ask. No, strike that, never to ask. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. I’d heard my mom and dad fighting enough to learn that lesson.

I knew the Club was clean, Dad fought to make it that way.

But the golden rule for any Chaos old lady was to take her man’s back when needed, stand at his side when needed, ask no questions in order to get no lies, and know the goodness of her man outweighed the things he might need to do to keep the Club thriving. If she didn’t follow this golden rule, she would find herself no longer an old lady.

In other words, Shy was around, we spent time together, we talked, we made love, we ate together, we watched TV together, but Shy also had his own life, his own things to do, and his own things on his mind so not sharing about Dr. Dickhead had been successful.

“He still f*ckin’ with you?” Lan asked, and I focused from my thoughts onto him.

“It’s his way,” I tried to blow it off, but his eyes narrowed on me.

“Better or worse?”

“Depends on the day, Lan.” I shook my head. “It’s just him. He does it to everybody.”

Though not as much as he does it to me, I thought, but didn’t share.

“Not cool, you’re quiet, off work, at a party with your man and family, and it’s on your mind,” Landon pushed.

He wasn’t wrong.

Still, I shrugged again and muttered, “That’s life.”

He dropped his arm from around my shoulders and turned to me. “Tab, I know you wanna make sure you don’t have a reputation as flighty or trouble at work, but if a bunch of folks are eatin’ this guy’s shit, maybe someone should do something. Maybe you can talk to a few of ’em, strength in numbers, so it isn’t just you swingin’ your ass out there.”

That, actually, wasn’t a bad idea.

So I nodded and replied, “I’ll think about that. I know some of the other nurses are over it, so I’ll talk with a few of them. Test the waters.”