Another hour and half later, we make it back to the clubhouse and pass the patrol car still parked down the road from the clubhouse. I’m tempted to stop and approach Davis myself, but I know that won’t get me any results. I’ll let the club know we’ve got eyes on us. Tomorrow I’ll call Ortega, his boss, to see if he knows what his deputy’s up to. Tell him to put his boy on a tighter leash.

I back Eve in the line of bikes in front of the clubhouse and shut her down. Taz does the same and asks, “Better?”

My body feels weightless. My shoulders are still tense but now it’s from the ride and not the imaginary weight I feel piled on them. I swear to God, laying my thoughts out on the road like that is the only therapy I need. It’s freeing.

I roll my shoulders, flex my fingers, and then rest my hands on my thighs. “Yeah.”

He gets off his bike. “That new tart a problem for you? Spinnin’ your head? I know that bitch, the one that ratted out Edge to Davis, she was a redhead, yeah? Dana?”

My chest cracks open a bit and a searing pain penetrates my heart. All I can do is give a curt nod.

But it’s not just her hair color that’s the problem. It’s the way desperation leaks from her very pores. It’s the turmoil in her eyes. It’s the fact I’ve always felt nothing for the women around the club, the ones walking by me on the street; and then bam, it’s as if I’ve been hit by a fucking cupid’s arrow and can’t fucking think straight. All I see is her. All my body wants is her. This time it’s as if I’ve been dead for five fucking years and I’ve just taken my first real breath. My blood rushes through my veins, flowing like a river and reawakening a heart I thought was black and shriveled before today.

That’s what Dozer doesn’t understand. What I can’t say? This is similar to the way I felt for Dana. Only, for some reason, this seems more intense. Ten times more intense.

Dana needed me. She needed someone to help her put her broken pieces back together. Be the glue that kept her straight. I loved being that glue. It gave me a purpose when I was struggling to find my purpose in life. I thought it was to love her. Take care of her. Marry her and start a family. But Christ, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Doll might not be as broken, but I think maybe she’s been burned by somebody. She has scars, visible and invisible ones. The scars make her wary, cautious, and untrusting. She wasn’t comfortable talking about her family. Or her boyfriend . . . ex-boyfriend. I probably would have found out why if I hadn’t gotten so caught up in my own bullshit.

“Want me to take care of her?” Taz asks.

If anyone’s taking care of her . . . Irritation barrels through me until I realize I misunderstood his meaning.

Glancing up, I see he’s watching for my reaction.

“Send her packin’,” he clarifies, as if he knows what I’m thinking.

If I say yes, he’ll scare her off until she’s nothing but a memory. Something I obviously don’t have the ability to do.

This is the answer I need, but at the same time . . . the idea of siccing Taz, the clubs enforcer, on her doesn’t sit right with me?

I pull my pack of smokes from my pocket, take one out, and light up. After blowing out the drag, I say, “Gave Dozer my word I wouldn’t force her out. She’s here at least until the party.”

I can tell he’s puzzling out a solution because he reaches into his pocket and takes out a toothpick. He looks at the ground while he discards the wrapper.

“But if she leaves on her own . . .” He glances up at me and has a wicked grin that creeps over his face.

Yeah . . . decision time.

Sucking in a drag, I ask, “What are you thinkin’?”

He shrugs. “Just gonna do what I do. She’s a problem you don’t need right now, right? Then consider her taken care of.”

Air expels from my lungs as if I’ve suffered a punch to the gut. I fight the instinct to call him off. But words slip past my lips. “Just . . . don’t touch her.”

His eyes narrow on me. “I’d ask, but don’t think I wanna know. Won’t touch her. Don’t need to.”

“Good.”

“Gonna do what I do best.”

Fuck with her head.

My silent acceptance is just that. Permission to do what it takes to get Doll . . . Pumpkin . . . out.

I ignore the heavy pressure I feel on my chest. After taking a couple more drags from my smoke, I flick it to the ground.

It’s for the best.

For my sanity’s sake. For the club.

So then why do I feel like this is a mistake I can’t afford to make?

I face Taz. “Don’t be too fuckin’ obvious. Dozer’s got some bug up his ass about her. Goose and Lil’, too.”

His smile flashes again. “When have I ever been caught causin’ chaos?”

I huff out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. It’s almost not forced. “Too many times to count.” Taz is the kind of guy with the skills to get in and out without being seen. But he doesn’t use them. He loves to leave a wake in his path. He’s built quite the reputation for himself in so little time. That’s why I started calling him Taz. Not only is he fast as hell, and a menace, but when it suits him, he leaves a path of destruction with his name on it behind.

I get off my bike and we head in. “Only once by the law though. I expect you learned your lesson?”

“Yeah, I did.”

We enter the clubhouse and head to the bar. The party’s died down. Bikers and semi-naked women flounder about. Some are passed the fuck out on the floors, couches, and one girl is naked and snoring on top of the bar.

Lita pours me a drink.

I only have to scan the room for a second to know she’s not here. All I see is an ocean of gray. An image of Dozer following Doll into his room flashes through my mind and has my fingers tightening around my glass.

Star heads over. She looks up at me, but thank fuck for whatever she sees in my eyes, because she moves past me and onto Taz who accepts her affections.

Griz claps me on the back to get my attention. “Deeds called while you were out. Pappy wants a meet. And Sonny Psycho was being pretty damn adamant about it. Told him to tell his daddy-o I’d talk to you and let him know.”

I sigh out, “That’s not gonna happen. Not until every HOC is sittin’ at the table. After the party. After the vote.”

“Right. I’ll tell ’em again.”

“They comin’ to Edge’s party?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell them to stick around for a few days and after we have our vote, we’ll talk then.”

“Okay.”

Bodie stumbles over with his arm around one of the twins. I think it’s Lo, since Lita is usually behind the bar. Honestly I can never tell the two apart. They look like the same fuckin’ woman to me—long dark hair, dark eyes, and Latino with huge rose tattoos that lock together when they stand arm to arm.

Slurring, Bodie asks, “So what’s up with the new ginger snack? She really h-hands off? Because if not, and she bends over like she was doin’, I’m gonna take a bite out of her.” He growls and playfully bites at Lo’s boob.

She giggles and halfheartedly pushes him away.

His comment has my stomach knotting up. The image of me knocking his ass out rolls through my mind. I stretch my neck, trying to relieve some of the tension rebuilding there.

“You’ll be waitin’ a while then.” Griz chimes in.

Bodie stops trying to molest Lo. “Why? You already in line old man?” Then his nose scrunches up. “Dude, that’s sick. She looks like she’s your daughter.”

“What? What the fuck?” Griz looks stunned. Like the thought never crossed his mind.

Bodie’s eyes widen to the size of golf balls. “Oh, my God, man! What if she’s your daughter and you don’t know it and you fuck her? That’s like fuckin’ incest.”

I shake my head and mutter, “Not like incest, Tweedle Dumb. It is incest.”

Griz’s face pales then his eyes flash with annoyance. “Why the fuck would you say somethin’ like that? Now I’m not—you selfish son of a bitch!” He pushes Bodie back.