Page 122 of Ridin’ Dirty

He crooked a finger, silently beckoning me to close the distance between us, and I didn’t deny him.

“You good?”

The easiest answer was a lie, but I didn’t want to lie to him.

Down in Big Sky, I confessed my affiliation with the Gillette chapter, but I never mentioned Twister. I didn’t tell him why I moved back home; why I got a job; why I changed my life. I didn’t tell him it was heartbreak that drove me to it, and now didn’t feel like the time to mention it.

Moreover, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted him to know.

What I once felt for Twister paled in comparison to what I had with Riley. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t seem worth mentioning.

Unfortunately, that didn’t change how much I still felt unprepared.

“You didn’t tell me they were invited.”

“Wasn’t born yesterday, Ly. Figured you wouldn’t show if you knew.”

The sound of Shepherd’s old, familiar laughter rang out, snatching my attention, and I looked once more to see the crew dispersing throughout our crowd. Unintentionally, my eyes found Twister again. This time, he saw me. I knew he didn’t recognize me at first.

It was his double take that gave it away.

I shifted my attention back up at my husband, not wishing to watch the full dawning of his awareness of me. Riley lifted an eyebrow, silently reiterating his comment, and I sighed in defeat, annoyed he was right. Annoyed I somehow let myself become a coward.

I was pulled from my thoughts when Riley grabbed hold of my face before edging closer to me. Speaking hardly louder than a hush, he admitted, “Things with me and Prez are on the mend, but in spite of what people might see from the outside lookin’ in, this shit storm we’ve got rainin’ down on us is heavy. We might be partyin’ tonight, but that does not mean we’re not all on edge.

“Don’t know which of my brothers have been inside you. Don’t care to know, either. As far as I’m concerned—hell, as far as every fucker here is concerned—you’re mine. Ring on your finger means if I want my woman by my side, on my lap, or laid out across the poker table, legs spread for my mouth then you’ll be there. Not gettin’ through this shit without my angel. You hearin’ me?”

Now, my heart was racing for entirely different reasons.

“Mmhmm,” I managed, my words swallowed up by the thought of Riley’s head between my thighs in a room full of bikers.

I didn’t feel so cowardly anymore.

Then I wasn’t thinking anything.

Riley’s mouth pressed down against mine before prying my lips open with his tongue. He kissed me deep and long, with a possessiveness that left my thong soaked.

He was claiming me.

He was marking me.

Fuck, but I loved him.

I was practically panting when he pulled away. His fingers buried in my hair, he kept me close as he commanded, “Go fix your lipstick, babe. Grab me a beer on your way back, yeah?”

“K,” I breathed.

He didn’t let me go at first, his dark green eyes roaming freely around my face before a small smile curled one corner of his mouth. He then tugged on my hair, forcing my chin up, giving him the space to dip his head and trace the tip of his tongue up the length of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I knew he felt it when he chuckled softly as he released me.He then turned on the heel of his boot, headed back for the smoke pit.

I watched him go, taking a moment to catch my breath, then strolled inside in a daze—Twister now the furthest thing from my mind.

It was after everyone had eaten their fill; after every ranked member in attendance from both the Gillette chapter and the Missoula chapter disappeared to round-table while the rest of us cleaned up the food; after the sun was set, the moon was shining, and the drinks flowing when I found myself settled across Riley’s lap, the two of us on one side of the fire pit. Even with the beer he was nursing in his hand, he still had me wrapped in his arms, shielding me from the cool night wind.

Nighthawk and Viv were on a bench beside us, Nighthawk’s legs straddled on either side, with Viv stretched out in front of him, her back propped against his chest. In spite of everything, the night was helping ease the tension they both wore on their faces. For now, Max was safe and assistance was present, allowing them to kick back with the rest of us.

Nomad sat on our other side, Reaper’s chin resting atop his thigh as she dozed—lulled by the slow, repetitive stroke of his fingers along her back.

Across from us was where Shep, Bull, Twister, and Mustang were settled. I couldn’t say if it was my short hair, the ring on my finger, or the fact that I hadn’t left a lasting impression that was to blame for Shep not recognizing me, but I could tell he didn’t. I sensed early on Mustang remembered me, yet—true to my memory of him—he was a man of few words and didn’t say as much. It was Bull, in that way which could only be described as his, who was the first to openly acknowledge me.