I shake my head but smile as I watch her go to her closet to change. I’m done before her, tucking both my gun and phone away before I make my way to her front door and open it mid-knock.
“About damn time. What, you get lost in here or something?” Bane grumbles as he, Mickey, Rooster, and Lucky come in.
I just smile because he’s not wrong. I did get lost. So lost in my girl that I forgot for a second that everything else existed.
“All right, who was knocking so much that I couldn’t get a decent five extra minutes?” Viv calls out before she appears in front of the boys.
Lucky is quick to move behind everyone and points at Mickey like a five-year-old does when ratting on their siblings to avoid being punished. It gets even worse when Mickey points at Rooster, who just nods at Bane.
That’s about the time I lose it. This girl is perfect. And the fact that my brothers are scared of her just makes me want to call her mine all the more.
Chapter 16—Viv
Imove around the kitchen and try to pretend that my stomach isn’t in knots from hearing Domino laugh. He gets my humor. Even better, he also finds it funny that his boys react like that to me. I still don’t know if I could actually take down a Hound, but I took down the three other bikers we met. Granted, they all seemed to have one-eighth of a brain cell altogether, but they had some bulk. They just didn’t know what to do with it.
I recognize that half the reason I won was because they were surprised I could fight back. Unlike the Hounds, who know I can handle my own. The element of surprise can help in a fight. But when it’s one-on-one, full-on, that’s different. You expect things. You react to everything. You have time to think things through. Time stands still then.
At least it does for me. I can see things coming. I can react. Everything slows down to a snail’s crawl in my mind. Which is why Mack keeps me on his fighting roster. I’m not some hotheaded girl who forgets everything he taught me once I’m in a ring. I remember. I react and counter like I’m meant to, and then I listen for him to tell me what to do next, if he’s in a willing mood to shout out an order.
Most of the time, he just collects the money and watches, since he’s the one who sets up the fights, and he doesn’t want people to think they’re rigged and whatnot. Not that he cares, but a rigged fight is just a loss in potentialrevenue if word gets out. He chooses not to rely on faking it and just aims to win every time.
I open my fridge and see there’s nothing in it but some old takeout that should be tossed and expired milk that’s more than a week old. Instead of doing anything about it, I just shut the door and turn around to face the rest of my space. The one that seems to have shrunk with everyone in it.
My place isn’t big, I know. But I’ve also never had more than two guests at a time. Even when Summer brings her kids, they’re small enough to only take up the space of one person, unless they’ve had sugar. Then it’s pandemonium in here.
But I digress. My place is too small for this, and I’m hungry.
“You guys got food over at your place?”
Mickey eyes me. “Aye. You be wanting some nourishment for some reason?” He smirks, as if he thinks I’ll blush at his attempt to say I was getting fucked. Well, news flash, I wasn’t. I was just enjoying a tongue-lashing.
I would stick my tongue out at him in triumph, but he wouldn’t get it, so I roll my eyes instead. “Yes, leprechaun man. I just woke up and haven’t eaten since last night, well over twelve hours ago. Anyone would be hungry.”
Thankfully, I don’t get my throat punched for my small jab at his accent. He gives me a half smile instead. “Pretty sure Domino is the one that’s seeking out that bit of gold between your legs, but I’d be happy to lend a hand.”
“Mickey.” Domino only says his name. It’s clear. Not an ounce of hostility or outrage. Just a command to look at him,which we all do. One shake of the head, and those butterflies are floating around again in my stomach. I clamp my mouth shut to prevent one from flying out.
“Boys just ordered pulled pork sandwiches from the deli a street over. Should be here in a minute,” Rooster offers, and his boss nods.
“Works for me. Something tells me I’m also going to need a coffee for this,” Domino says as everyone starts to leave through the front door.
“On it,” Rooster says over his shoulder as he pulls his phone out and heads down the stairs. “Want anything?” he calls up, and only when I see everyone looking back at me do I realize who he’s talking to.
“Huh?”
Domino waits with me as I lock up while the rest descend the flight of stairs. “He’s going to place a drink order. Want anything?”
“Oh, um, hot chocolate, please.” I can hear Rooster’s snort from up here, but I ignore it as I make my way down the stairs and follow the others across the street. “You don’t have coffee at the clubhouse?”
Lucky’s the one to turn around in front of us, walking backward as he talks. “Oh, we do. But fancy pants over here needs something special.”
I look at Domino, and he shrugs. “Don’t like black coffee.” It’s all I get, but the smirk on Lucky’s face before he turns back around says it’s more than that.
I don’t recall much from the last time I was here. I saw some faces, but I was in a drug-induced haze when I entered, and when I left, I was just looking for Summer. Now, in the light of day,I can see the appeal of this place. The couches look comfortable enough. The pool tables, foosball table, and two pinball machines set in one area don’t seem scuffed up and unplayable. Even the bar top looks clean, and I note that my feet don’t make that sticky sound when I walk—something most places with bars can’t seem to figure out how to avoid. I can tell you. It’s called a mop, and apparently the Hounds know how to use it.
We get a few looks from some members, and I see a few girls giving me the eye. Not the evil one, at least not that I notice, so I keep walking. I might not start a fight, but I’ll end one. And no, I didn’t start the fight at the bar. I would call that “deescalating the inevitable.” Sure, I was the first one to push the table back into them, but I didn’t throw a punch till they did. The chair also doesn’t count. In fact, furniture being thrown in general doesn’t count in a fight. Personal opinion, of course. If you use it, that’s fine. No issues there. I mean, it helps keeps my nails from breaking. Not that I keep them long, but I think we all get the point I’m trying to make. And if not, that’s fine. I’ve lost the point myself when the smell hits me.
“Mmmm, that smells heavenly.”
