Ride Steady(151)

“Baby—” he began.

“I don’t want to offend you by making the comparison,” she said over him and kept going. “But Aaron defends criminals. You… don’t.”

That was good.

He thought.

So he gave her more in hopes of making her understand.

“Like I said, Club was tied to some nasty shit,” he told her. “Tack took over the Club, it was hostile, and he got them out. This was before me. But I hope it goes without sayin’, I would not be a brother if that’s where they were still at. That said, not sayin’ if I knew where Tack was leadin’ them, I wouldn’t be all in to get the Club where it is now. We got two missions. Keep the store and garage thriving, keep our patch clean so that shit can’t ever touch the Club again. I came on board knowin’ both and givin’ allegiance knowin’ it. Chaos is not a club I’m a member of, Carrie. It’s a part of me. That work is a part of me. And I need you to understand that.”

“Well, of course.”

It was then he was staring at her.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“What’s it?”

“You’re down with that?”

She shrugged. “If you changed my tire and took me to coffee, sharing all this, probably not. But now I know you. I know them. I know who you are. I know what you all stand for. And it isn’t the garage and the store and vigilantism. It’s family. So am I happy my new, handsome, manly man biker boyfriend, and his brothers are in a power struggle with a bad guy? No. Am I okay with the fact that you take me as I am, all my baggage, the way my life was messed up, the unknown ways Aaron hopes to keep messing it up, and you don’t waver? Yes. A thousand times yes. So it wouldn’t say much for me at my first opportunity, I waver against you.”

Fuck, he loved her.

Straight up, down to his gut, for the rest of his life, loved her.

He didn’t tell her that.

He told her, “The manly man biker shit you spout is cute, Butterfly, but it’s also goofy.”

She grinned, pushed forward on her knees, then crawled to him where he sat on the edge of her bed, twisted to her. She got close, landed on her hip pressed to his, and put a hand on his chest.

“I’m not goofy,” she whispered.

She totally was.

“Whatever,” he whispered back.

“Not sure I can get back to sleep for the whole hour I could do that,” she shared.

“What are you sure you can do?” he asked.

She leaned in and ran her nose along his jaw.

That was what he was hoping would be her answer.

And it was an answer to a lot of things, all of what they’d just talked about.

An answer he liked.

Luckily, he was sure he could do that too.

So he pulled her into his arms, took her to her back, and they did it.





Chapter Nineteen




Give Good Girlfriend





Carissa

WHILE MY BIKER was in the kitchen making coffee, droopy-eyed, I stood at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth, thinking about all that had happened the night before and early that morning.

I gave Joker what I needed to give him when we had our talk.

That didn’t mean what he said didn’t alarm me.

It did.

And in the light of the coming day, tired and facing work and an important meet-the-friends dinner that night, that alarm grew.

Still brushing, I saw Joker walk in wearing nothing but his jeans (and by that, I meant nothing—he’d pulled them on commando to go make coffee), his miraculous chest (and shoulders, and head, and face, etc.) on display.

And I saw his tattoos.

He had a variety of them he’d explained were Chaos tattoos. A big one on his back, one on his inside biceps, one on his outside forearm.

He also had a tattoo over his left pectoral that was a playing card of a joker.

To be honest, I’d never liked tattoos. I thought they were common, not in the sense they were low-class, but when everyone started getting them, the coolness factor went out of them.

But Joker had told me the story of his Chaos tattoos, and the joker card was obvious.

So I’d changed my mind.

First of all, they were amazing to look at. I was no art expert, but it was clear they were that. Art on skin.

But it was more. They told the story of the person who had them. Inked forever in their skin was their history, or what was important to them, or lessons they’d learned they didn’t want to forget.