Page 33 of Bolt (Iron Thunder MC 1)
“He’s doing okay. As okay as he possibly could be in his situation.”
Sophie nodded. She was in a tight red dress today with a neck that plunged deep, opening up her cleavage. I was wearing just jeans and a regular blouse. Nothing fancy. I felt severely underdressed around Sophie, but I liked her. Despite the circumstances, she treated me as a friend.
“Yeah, your brother’s got himself into pretty big trouble around here.”
“And I’m surprised nobody’s attacking me. Not outrightly anyway.”
“Nobody’s going to do anything to you while Bolt still has you under his wing,” Sophie said.
I started stacking the glasses away and she turned to me. She was studying me. “For whatever reason, I can see he’s protective of you.”
My heart was racing. She was confirming something I had hoped for. Did Bolt like me? I couldn’t ask her that. It would be stupid.
“He’s protecting me because he needs to keep me safe and away from the cops. I’m just a prisoner to him.”
She shrugged.
“Maybe so, but he could’ve just locked you up in a room somewhere. Instead, he’s given you free rein here. He accompanies you to work.”
What was she trying to say? I gulped nervously.
“I am grateful to him for it. I know I’ve acted like a bitch. I can see now the kind of damage Chip has done to the Club.”
Sophie sighed. “I’m glad you see that. Not many outsiders will actually get it. All they see is a bunch of rough bikers who drink a lot and get into fights with each other.”
She was right. That was the way I first viewed this place too. But it hadn’t taken me long to see the other side of it. That people really looked out for each other in this place. These guys were good friends. They respected each other. They especially respected Bolt.
“Does he have a lot of responsibilities around here?” I asked.
“Who? Bolt? Well, yeah. He’s the Sergeant of Arms. He has a lot to think about and plans to make.”
“So why is he wasting his time with me? Like you said, he could’ve just locked me up somewhere or had someone else watch me.”
I wanted Sophie to say it. I wanted to hear it from someone else—that there was a possibility Bolt liked me. That he wanted to keep me safe. That, just maybe, he liked spending time with me too.
But Sophie wasn’t going to fall for that. I wasn’t going to be able to put words in her mouth.
“He’s just being cautious. I don’t know why Bolt does the things he does, but I trust him to know what he’s doing. You should too.”
A guy came up to the counter and Sophie had to attend to him. With the glasses done, I started working on cleaning the counters and the floor. I saw the way Sophie interacted with these people. They joked with her; there was a lot of open flirting, but it was harmless. Sophie enjoyed it—I could tell.
As different as it was from the world I lived in, this was where Sophie wanted to be.
Did I want to be here too? In all these years, with the losses I faced, including the loss of connection with my brother, I’d never actually felt like I belonged anywhere. Now, if we lost our house, I wouldn’t even belong there.
Maybe that was the reason I liked being around Bolt; because I had someone to look after me. Someone I could potentially look after too.
“Hey! Sweetheart! Beer.” A man was calling out to me over the counter. I put away the mop and grabbed a beer for him. I suddenly realized that I was fitting in here. It didn’t feel like a strange place to me anymore, and it was all because Bolt made me feel right at home.Another sleepless night was spent sharing the same bed as Bolt. After the meeting, we came up to the bedroom. We talked a little, but he said he was sleepy and I should sleep too.
As he slept at the other end of the bed, I couldn’t help but stay awake and listen to him breathing. I wanted to be able to move closer to him, touch him, have him touch me. I wanted to ask what that kiss had meant to him. Would he kiss me again? Did he think it was a mistake?
It didn’t feel like a mistake anymore.
The next day at work in the cafe, he put on the white apron without me nudging him to do so. Silently, he worked at the coffee machine, making espressos whenever he was asked to.
All eyes were on him at my cafe, the way all eyes were on me at his Clubhouse. But while I felt self-conscious, Bolt didn’t even seem to notice that people were watching him.
“Hot friend. Does he talk though?” Carol, one of my baristas, asked me. She was staring at Bolt while he made another espresso, this time, for himself.
