Page 25 of Sunny Undone

“Thank you.”

Somebody slams both palms on the bar behind me, loud enough to make me jump.

“Sunny!”

The owner of the voice is tall, with broad shoulders. His short beard is streaked with silver, and his leather cut sits over a black T-shirt. It’s stretched across a chest that looks like it’s carved from old oak.

Despite every visual cue telling me to be intimidated, his eyes are warm and smiling. A patch on his cut says his name is Knox.

“You gonna introduce me to our new bartender?” Knox says.

Sunny points to him with all the enthusiasm of a Labrador who just found the perfect stick. “Della, this is Knox, our club president. Knox, this is Dr. Della Hart.”

Why had I never considered that motorcycle clubs would require administration of some sort? I’d made a somewhat, to this point, obvious presumption that they are just clubs of men who like booze, bikes, and…boinking.

Knox extends his hand, and I shake it because it would be rude not to. And I’m also uncertain as to what the penalty for disrespecting a club president would be.

His grip is firm. “So, you’re the woman who hijacked my tail gunner in the early hours of the morning.”

I blink. “I’m not sure hijacked is the word I would have used, seeing as I was being chased, but yes, I am.”

He nods once. “Exactly.”

Sunny points to Knox again. “See. He gets it.”

I’m confused. “I don’t think I know what⁠—”

“He means you’re trouble,” Sunny says, filling in the blanks.

I sometimes get lost in social conversations. The cues go over my head. “I don’t mean to be. I tried to leave.”

Knox chuckles. “Relax, Della. It’s cool you’re here. And Sunny needs a new plaything from time to time.”

My jaw drops open. “Plaything?”

Sunny’s fingertip lifts my chin to close my mouth. “He’s just teasing.”

“Oi, Sunny,” another biker shouts from the end of the bar. This man is younger than Knox, and I wonder what they must put in the water around here because why do all of them have such strong shoulders? “I heard you adopted a scientist. She know you dropped out in ninth grade?”

“Now, that’s unnecessarily mean,” I say. There’s a slight waver in my voice, and I wipe my sweaty palm down my thigh as I turn to Sunny. “It’s none of my business what grade you got to.”

Sunny shrugs, a smile on his face, but close up, I see it doesn’t quite hit his eyes. He’s hurt, but he doesn’t want anyone to see it. “Like I said, Della, you’re doing a lot of the academic lifting in this temporary partnership.”

I look back to the man and scan his cut. It says his name is North and he’s the vice president. “My mom always used to say if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

“She’s not gonna take any shit from you, North,” a third man says.

Sunny sighs. “Della, this is Lock, our treasurer. Lock, this is Della.”

“You have a treasurer,” I say. “This corporate governance within motorcycle clubs is fascinating.”

Lock looks mildly offended.

Well done, Della.

“Someone has to stop these idiots from buying helicopters,” Lock replies, offering me his hand to shake.

“I only suggested it once,” Sunny grumbles. I’m starting to get irritated that they’re making fun of him in front of me. It shows a real lack of class.