Page 121 of Ridin’ Dirty
“Alright. What now?” asked Rusty.
“Now, I call Bull.”
We were throwing a pig roast.
Max had fled town. The Kings were doing their best to terrorize everyone with any association with the Wild Stallions. And Viv closed Route 66 for the night on account of the rival club. It seemed like a horrible time to host a gigantic cookout—but it was Friday night, and I was at the clubhouse, mixing a giant bowl of coleslaw.
“If you’re about done with that, I’ve got a spot for it,” said Sofia as she breezed by me, her hands laden with no less than six bags of Hawaiian sweet rolls.
I jammed the serving spoon into the middle of the salad and wrapped my arms around the bowl, following her out of the back kitchen and through the lounge, toward the front entrance. The smell of smoked pork, grilled hamburgers, and charcoal filled the cool, early autumn air. Near the picnic tables they always kept out front was a long folding table where the food was being served. Classic Rock blared from big speakers, and the guys had carried out a few of the indoor couches for extra seating around the fire pit. Most of the Stallions were in attendance, a few hang-arounds too, the club sheep doing their part to help finish set-up.
Somehow, all the hubbub made it easy to forget the conflict stirring outside the safe boundaries of the compound.
The unmistakable sound of a herd of bikers approaching caught my attention. At first, the reverberation of so many engines approaching made me nervous. Then I realized our new arrivals were friends, not foes.
They were brothers.
They were…familiar.
“The cavalry’s here,” announced Sofia to no one in particular.
Glancing at her, I saw as she looked on with a crooked smile.
“You knew they were coming?”
“Yeah,” she said, meeting my gaze. “They’re here to help put this issue with the Kings to bed. It’s why we’re having a roast—to disguise the arrival of ten more Stallions. Pistol didn’t tell you?”
“No,” I breathed, looking back at the neighboring brood. “He didn’t.”
It was Maverick I identified first, at the front of the pack. As Road Captain, I would have assumed it was him—but it was his long, curly hair piled in a bun on top of his head that truly gave him away.
Wrangler was flanked to his right, with Mustang on his left. Bull was the next to plant his feet, pivot his front wheel, and lower his kickstand.
And then I saw him.
Twister.
It felt like my stomach bottomed out at the sight of him, and I stopped trying to see which other Stallions came, stuck on the one I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again.
If I stopped long enough to think about it—really think about it—I would have imagined this day. If not today, at some point in the future, I was bound to rub shoulders with the men from other chapters. I was married to a Stallion, now. Pig roasts, cookouts, biker rallies—the brothers would gather like they always did.
Except, I’d been a wife for all of four weeks, and not a normal four weeks by a long-shot. I didn’t see this coming. And if I was being honest, it occurred to me right then, I wasn’t ready for it.
It wasn’t longing I felt at the sight of Twister. Neither was it sadness. But it was a shock to the system. My old world and my new world were colliding. While I wasn’t afraid of the things Twister might say to Riley, my secrets already exposed to the man I loved, I was unprepared.
Unprepared for the reminder of him.
Unprepared for the moment after.
It was three years gone by, but I still remembered our last encounter.
I still remembered his awful perception of me—remembered how my love had somehow gone unnoticed.
“Angel?”
With a quiet gasp, I twisted my neck in search of the man to whom I belonged. He was standing a few feet away, his kutte missing from his shoulders, his front covered in a black apron that did hardly anything to cover his broad chest. He’d been hard at it most of the day, part of the crew in charge of smoking the whole pig. His fascination for cooking shows had never made more sense.
However, at present, he seemed more interested in me than the main dish.
