Page 4 of Z For Butterfly Man
The fabric settles on my shoulders, heavy but warm, smelling of leather, grease, musk and Shane. For a second, I don’t know what to do or feel. No one has ever covered me, protected me, not even with something as simple as a jacket in the cold.
I pull it tighter around me, as if I need proof it’s there, proof that I’m not a little shit, a mistake or a whore. I’m just a girl, a human who needed saving, and someone, finally, thinks she deserves to be saved.
In a heartbeat, my body stops shaking. An unfamiliar calm creeps in, like the jacket itself is a shield between me and the world that does nothing but break me.
For the first time since I can remember, I feel…safe.
My throat tightens from the ache of gratitude I don’t know how to express. “Thank you.” A different kind of tear spills down my face now—softer, cleansing.
“Don’t cry. I hate to see ya cry.”
I wipe my face fast. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Jesus. Ain’t what I meant.” He touches my chin to make me look at him, and my heart pounds louder than the bike. “I don’t wanna see you sad anymore, Reagan.”
A sweet quiver travels through me. His eyes are so blue, the same shade as mine but somehow way prettier. Maybe because I’m blonde and he has dark hair. The contrast works in his favor. His smile is so charming, so magical, it makes me want to smile despite everything.
“Hey, know what it means when a biker makes ya wear his cut?”
“Cut?”
He fixes his jacket to cover more of me, and I realize this isn’t just a leather jacket. There’s a vest on top of it. “Thisis a cut. Haven’t seen the back?”
I shake my head.
“I made it in the MC, silly. Prez even said I’d earn my colors when I’m eighteen.”
I don’t know what any of that means, but he seems happy. About eighteen months ago, I heard Shane moved out to join the notorious motorcycle club that runs Florida and pretty much owns Jacksonville. I didn’t understand much about it then or now, but it looks like he got what he wanted. “Congratulations.”
“Yeah. Things gonna change around here very soon, Reagan, I promise.”
Not for me. Never for me. “So what does it mean, the cut you put on me?”
“It means…” He laughs. “Means I’m breaking a batshit ton of rules.”
I shrug it off. “Take it back then. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Nah.” He folds it back around me. “No one should see ya like this. Gotta protect ya now. Don’t want some fucked-up eyes to see what a beautiful woman you’re becoming.”
Protect me? Beautiful woman? Me? “What?”
He snorts. “C’mon, let’s get ya some clean clothes and shoes.” His eyes drop to my chest again, and he bites his lip. “And a bra.”
My skin tingles with embarrassment. I’m not going bra shopping with Shane Fletcher. “I’ll t-take care of it. There are no s-stores open now anyway.”
“But the clubhouse is open all night. The who— The ladies there will fix you up.” He gestures at the bike with his head. “Hop on.”
I stand still, swallowing.
“What’s wrong?”
“I-I can’t ride your bike.”
“Why not? I’m no stranger, dummy. Ain’t gonna kidnap ya and shit.”
I’ll stain it with my period and soiled pants, and then he’ll be mad at me, too. “You just got home. Your family is waiting for you. They’ll be happy to see you. You should go to them and say hi.”
“It can wait. Besides, this ain’t my home anymore. The MC is. They’re my family now.”
