Page 72 of Logan
He shrugs. “Hadn’t really thought about it. Let’s get you inside, show you around.”
“Don’t change the subject,” she snaps. “I’m not even kidding, Dec, I’m mad at you!”
“You hang around bikers,” he says, nonchalant. “I don’t see the difference.”
“We’ll talk about this later,” she says as Declan rolls his eyes, but his back is to her so she doesn’t see. “Bigger fish to fry. So, how you holdin’ up?” He swings an arm around her shoulders as we walk toward the clubhouse doors.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, and there’s a handful of motorcycles parked out front.
“I’ve been better,” Payden admits. “Things were pretty intense yesterday. I-I’m still coming to terms with it.”
“I’ll say. Always said bein’ a lawyer was more dangerous than a cop,” Declan goes on. “Crazies everywhere. What did Mom and Dad say?”
“Well, they were pretty shaken up by the whole thing, and then I had to tell them about the entire faking my death thing, and as you can imagine, that went down a real treat.”
I’ve heard her parents are conservative, but from the overheard conversation last night they were glad the MC were there.
“It’s so fuckin’ shit. I worry about you, Payd. Shoulda taken me up on that huntin’ lesson.” He turns to me. “Thank you. I owe you a debt.”
“Don’t owe me shit,” I say. “Woulda done it no matter what. Payden is… she’s club property.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I wince. We only just had a talk about this, and it just kinda slipped out.
Declan does a double take, scoffing to himself. Clearly he knows his sister well.
She gives me a side eye that I choose to ignore.
If Payden is gonna fit in around here, she’s gonna have to learn to deal with it because Bane and his men don’t pussyfoot around. Whether I agree with it or not, Payden is club property because she chooses to hang there, and she’s chosen to share my bed. That makes her mine, at least in the general sense. I know the guys in this MC will try their luck, so for all intents and purposes, we’re stuck together. I don’t want the men hitting on her, so if she’s my ol’ lady they’ll back off. Something I had words with her about in the truck on the way here…
“What do you mean, I’m your ol’ lady?” Her eyes bore into me as I concentrate on the road.
“Payd, it’s crazy country in Mississippi. Bane does things differently. His club is not like ours, and the second you set foot in there, if you’re not mine, then you’re fair game. If you want men comin’ up to you twenty-four-seven then be my guest.” Of course, I don’t mean a word of it.
“If anyone tries to hit on me, it’ll be the last thing they do,” she mutters. “And while we’re at it, none of this ‘club property’ talk. You make it sound like a damn cattle auction.”
I chuckle. “Babe, there are worse things than pretendin’ to like me. You’re a lawyer, you’ve seen it all.”
I feel her eyes on me, her tone softening when she says, “I’m not pretending to like you, dummy head. It’s the whole men beating on their chests thing like women are property. I’m not owned by anyone and I don’t care who knows it.”
Kinda reminds me of Star when she and Nevada first got together. She said exactly the same thing.
“Does it look like I’m beatin’ on my chest?”
“No, but you’re a club member. You abide by the laws and rules of the club. One of them is owning property, such as women.”
“It’s not what you think it is. Do you really believe a woman in the NOLA Rebels doesn’t have a say with her ol’ man?” I shake my head. “You think Tag is an asshole to Luna like he is to the rest of us? I’ll bet he’s not. Luna wouldn’t put up with that shit. Or Deanna? Or Star? Or Crystal?”
“You made your point, but my point still remains.”
“Which is?”
“You see women as property.”
“No, don’t put words in my mouth. Our motto is Ride or Die, and I live by that. Everything else comes in a close second. If protectin’ you means that you gotta peddle some pond scum by bein’ my ol’ lady, then that’s what you’re gonna do,” I tell her. “Because even Bane can’t protect you unless you’re claimed. But by all means, maybe you want a little variety?” The very idea has me gripping the wheel even tighter.
“I don’t sleep around,” she tells me, her voice firm. “And we had an agreement. If you’re breaking that agreement?—”
“Not breakin’ shit, but when we set foot inside that clubhouse, Payd, you’re mine.”
Our eyes lock for a second before I turn back to the road. “Yours?”
