She took my hand and pulled me across the courtyard to the giant black BBQ. Several men stood around it drinking from red plastic cups. They turned as we walked up, openly checking me out. Clearly, subtlety wasn’t a highly valued trait here at the Armory.
“This is my dad, Picnic,” Em said, stepping forward to wrap her arm around the one standing closest to us. He pulled her close, offering her an indulgent smile. He was tall and fairly well-built. He shared her piercing light blue eyes and his hair was a couple months overdue for a trim. I could tell he was older by the faint lines around his eyes, but his hair held only a hint of gray at the temples. And his body? Nice. Em’s dad was hot for an old guy.
Not that I’d tell her that—who wants to hear that their dad’s hot?
The most compelling thing about Picnic, though, was his air of command, mixed with just a hint of menace. I would’ve known he was club president even without the patch on his cut to tell me.
No wonder guys were scared to ask her out.
“Dad, this is Sophie,” Em continued. “She’s Ruger’s … Um, what are you, anyway?”
“I’m sort of his stepsister-in-law,” I said, smiling awkwardly. “His stepbrother, Zach, is my son’s father.”
“He mentioned you were back in town,” Picnic said. His face gave away nothing, and I couldn’t tell if he was happy to meet me or annoyed I’d crashed their party.
“This is Slide and Gage,” Em continued, nodding toward the other men.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. Slide was a short, middle-aged guy with a bit of a gut and a beard that wasn’t totally white, but close. He didn’t actually look old enough for such white hair, so maybe he was just one of those guys whose hair changes early? He had a real Santa vibe going for him. Well, if Santa wore ripped jeans and carried a giant knife on his belt.
Gage was another hottie. He had dark hair, so dark it was almost black, and his skin held just enough color to make me think his ancestors hadn’t all been of the milky-white variety. Latino or Indian, most likely. Because sometimes God is generous and kind, Gage wasn’t wearing a shirt, offering me glimpses of his bare chest, which was every bit as ripped as Ruger’s. He had fewer tattoos, though. His cut had a little patch under his name that said “Sgt. at Arms,” which surprised me. I guess I hadn’t expected bikers to have so many officers and such. It just seemed so … organized?
Not only that, they obviously had to pass some sort of minimum hotness test to join up.
“You Ruger’s woman?” he asked, breaking the spell I’d fallen into. I blushed, hoping my pervy thoughts weren’t totally written all over my face. The smirk on his face wasn’t comforting.
“Um, no,” I said, glancing over at Em. She grinned. “But he’s letting us stay in his basement. I have a seven-year-old. Our old place in Seattle wasn’t working out.”
That was the understatement of the year, for sure.
“Where’s the kid?” he asked, glancing around.
“He’s with a sitter,” I said. “This is my first club event, and I sort of wanted to check things out for myself before dragging him along.”
Picnic raised a brow, and I realized I’d probably just insulted them. Great.
“Also, I hear the parties go pretty late,” I added quickly. “I didn’t want to have to leave just when things were getting fun. A friend offered to watch him, so here I am.”
Em grinned at me and I gave a sigh of relief. Okay, apparently my quick save had actually worked.
“Well, you get bored, come and see me,” Gage said, offering a slow smile. “I’d be happy to show you around, maybe even take you for a ride later.”
“Um, thanks,” I replied, Ruger’s warning ringing through my head. Gage was cute, but despite the fact that I didn’t acknowledge Ruger’s right to give orders, I also didn’t want to get into a huge fight with him. “Nice to meet you all. I’m gonna go find Marie and Dancer now. I want to make sure they don’t need any help setting things up or something.”
“I’ll come with,” Em said, popping up on her toes to give Picnic a quick kiss on the cheek. For all her whining about him, she obviously adored the man. I felt a twinge of jealousy. Even before they’d kicked me out, my parents were never the kind of people you’d just casually walk up to and kiss.
Nope, not in the Williams household. I’d been devastated when they said they’d have nothing to do with a daughter who was a whore, let alone her bastard. Now I realized I was way better off without them. Noah’s circle might be small, but everyone in it loved him unconditionally, and they weren’t afraid to show it.
My parents didn’t deserve to meet their grandson.
We found Dancer, Marie, and Maggs arranging a mountain of food on the tables, laughing and smacking hands playfully as guys tried to steal bites before it was ready.
“Thanks for picking up the chips,” Maggs said. I noticed all three women wore black leather vests.
“I thought you said only guys could be club members?” I asked, nodding toward them.
“Oh, these aren’t club cuts,” Dancer said. “Check it out.”
She turned around and I saw a patch on the back that said “Property of Bam Bam,” along with a Reapers symbol. My eyes widened.
“I didn’t realize the property thing was so … literal …”
“The guys have their colors and we have ours,” Maggs said. “Civilians don’t get it, but all the patches mean something. The guys fly their colors because they’re proud of the club, but their cuts tell stories, too. You can learn a lot about the guy by the patches he wears. It’s like a language or something. Everyone knows where everyone else stands.”
“The great thing about a property patch is that you’re totally covered,” Dancer added. “There’s not a man here who’s gonna touch me, no matter how drunk or stupid he gets by the end of the night. Not that I’m too worried here at our own clubhouse, but we go on runs where there are hundreds of riders, even thousands. Everyone who knows a damned thing about the MC world takes one look at this and they know not to fuck with me.”
“Yeah,” Em said. “You fuck with one Reaper’s property, you better be ready to take down every guy in the club.”
“Huh,” I said, trying to sound noncommittal. I liked the idea of protection as much as anyone, but there was something very uncomfortable to me about a woman choosing to call herself property. Shades of Zach and how possessive he was, maybe. But Maggs and the others didn’t seem too terribly oppressed, either.
I glanced around, taking in how many women were starting to fill the courtyard. Only a handful wore property patches.
“What about the rest of them?” I asked. Em shrugged.
“They’re not important,” she said bluntly. “Some of them are sweetbutts and club whores, which means they’re around a lot—the guys share them. Some are just random girls looking for a walk on the wild side. But none of them really count, not compared to us. They’re all fair game.”
“Fair game?”
“Free pussy,” Maggs said, her voice matter-of-fact. “They’re just here to party, and if we’re lucky, they’ll help clean up. They give anyone shit, their asses are out the door. Good news is, they know their place. Half these girls work at The Line anyway.”
“What about me?” I asked, unnerved. “I don’t have a patch.”
“That’s why you’ll stick with us,” Dancer said, her voice serious. “Despite his general dickitude, Ruger’s right about one thing. You really don’t want to fuck around with the brothers. Don’t flirt if you aren’t interested in following through. And for fuck’s sake, don’t go off alone or into the Armory with anyone, particularly upstairs. There’s some wild shit that happens up there. You don’t want to be part of it, trust me.”
“Jesus, you’re gonna scare her,” Em said, frowning. “Look at it this way—would you go to any party or bar without taking some basic safety precautions? Only take drinks you’ve poured yourself, or ones that we’ve given you. You ever been to a frat party? Think of it that way. Dad, Horse, Ruger, and Bam Bam are safe. Don’t go off with someone you don’t know, though. Stay in public areas. Use common sense and you’ll be fine.”