GRIT: A Spartan Riders Novel (4 page)

FIVE

Gabby stared up at the quaint, two-story clapboard house surrounded by at least an acre of land and enough cars, trucks, and motorcycles to fill a stadium and cursed. “What the hell are you doing here, Gabby?”

At least it wasn’t at one of those cliché compounds with a garage out back. Even so, she knew it wasn’t a good idea to come even as she dressed for the occasion and climbed into her car. She even gave herself several outs, starting with staying up late the night before in hopes of having a headache that would leave her bedridden the next morning. No such luck. Thanks to a power surge, her alarm reset and never went off, so she got more than enough rest to set her to rights.

So she asked her dad if he wanted any help in the garden, knowing his arthritis had been acting up as of late and he was putting down fertilizer. But he’d stanchly refused, wishing to be left alone. She wasn’t sure what had crawled up his ass, but when he got in one of his moods, it was best to give him a wide berth.

Out of sheer desperation, Gabby made one last-ditch effort and appealed to her mother, who, last she’d checked, didn’t have much fondness for “modern men.” She thought Gabby’s generation had lost their way, forgetting their manners and how to be generally good people. With the exception of Gabby, of course.

She was also leaning heavily on her distaste for bikers.

To her dismay, her mother had brushed her off with a very unlike-her response.
“You’re a woman now, and you have your own mind and your own life. It’s up to you to decide how to live it.”
Then she’d handed her a platter of freshly baked cookies and told her to have a good time.

So here she was, not at all sure she was making the right decision, but she needed to put the burning curiosity coursing through her veins to bed, and the only way she could think to do it was by stepping straight into the inferno. Afterward, with her curiosity sated, she could leave it all behind. Go back to being a school teacher without so much as an inkling of wonder for the six-foot-something leather-clad biker whose stern brow and forbidding stare twisted something deep inside her.

With an unsteady breath, Gabby pushed open the car door and strode up the gravel drive, her wedge heels rocking precariously as they sunk into the uneven gravel. Following the clamor of voices and music around back, she found herself walking into a mammoth party. Hell, there had to be a few dozen people, at least, and that didn’t include all the children running around. Coming from a small, three-person family, she wasn’t at all prepared for something so…social.

While she gathered another bout of courage, Gabby observed those in attendance. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t exactly what was laid out before her. There were men in leather vests, sure. Women in too-tight clothing, of course. They were hardly the exception, but they were hardly the rule either. There was a heathy mix of people of all types, but regardless of how they were or weren’t dressed, they all screamed one thing: family.

Men stood around laughing and drinking beers. Women with kids on their laps chatted with smiles on their faces. Children played tag and shot each other with water pistols. There was a swing set across the way and a trampoline, both in full use by kids and adults alike.

Gabby’s jaw dropped a bit when she spotted some familiar faces: A nice middle-aged cashier she’d made acquaintance with whose son was in the military, and an older gentleman she ran into each Sunday at the carryout when on her weekly drive out of town. He’d told her once about his wife, who’d come down with dementia a little over two years ago. He was always nice.

It was then she started to feel some of her nerves dissipate. Knowing some of the people here put it all into perspective for her. They were just normal, everyday people living everyday lives just like her. It wasn’t as if they were going to whip out their guns and shoot her on the spot for not being a part of their gang.

If they even were a gang.

Gabby was quickly readjusting her view of them, ashamed for having lumped them into a narrow scope of assumptions. Blake told her this was an opportunity to change her mindset, and so she planned to find out which one of them was wrong.

Speak of the devil.

A shadow eclipsed the sun, and Gabby looked up, mouth running dry as Blake headed her way. Apart from his bike, he towered over her. The skin around his neck was already burnished by the sun, and his ebony hair shone richly from product. Once again he’d opted for a pair of worn jeans that fit his body to perfection, with a black leather vest, otherwise known as a cut, sporting a president patch, his name, and the name of their township.

He strode up to her with absolute confidence, his expression set in what she decided to dub constipated. When he reached her, only stopping when they were nearly touching from shoulder to thigh, he folded his arms across his broad chest and stared her down.

“Didn’t think you’d show.”

Seeing right through his macho posturing and attempt to intimidate, Gabby canted her head to the side and smiled sweetly. “Well, you did invite me.”

“Ash invited you. I was simply being nice.”

Gabby snorted.
Nice
wasn’t a word she would use to describe him. “I didn’t realize that word was part of your vocabulary.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” 

“If you want me to go, just say so.”

“You’d like that, I’m sure.” His lips pressed together and his jaw clenched. “Ash wants you here, and here you are. What more is there to say.”

“How about welcome to the party for starters.”

“My manners don’t extend that far. Look, lady, we’re not friends. You’re my kid’s teacher, and for some reason he likes you, so I’m going to play nice. Grab yourself a plate, mingle, whatever. It’s no sweat off my back what you decide to do. Just don’t piss anyone off.”

Any more than she clearly already had him? Mirroring his stance, Gabby narrowed her eyes on him, her irritation piqued. “Look, Mr. Mahone, I’m not here to pick a fight with you, so how about you dial down the snarky attitude a few notches.” One of his dark brows winged up, making him appear far more intense than usual. Undaunted, she pressed on. “Furthermore, you claim that I gave you an unfair shake, and maybe I did. So this is me extending an olive branch. I came here, curious to see if you would prove me wrong, but so far you’re only succeeding in proving me right.”

She watched as his gray eyes grew hard and a muscle in his jaw pulsed. Whatever he wanted to say, he didn’t. “Suit yourself, teach. I’d stick around and introduce ya, but I’ve got other shit to do.”

With that, he turned and marched away, his shoulders stiff and his long strides eating up the patchy lawn faster than a herd of cattle.

So he’d thrown her into the deep end without so much as a paddle. Gabby’s mood deflated a bit, marginally offended and the very slightest bit stung from Blake’s cold shoulder treatment, but she wasn’t a woman to be deterred.

She’d come to the party for a reason, and she was determined to see it through to the bitter end.

And she’d brought cookies. That she’d left in the car. Whipping around, Gabby jogged back to retrieve them.

***

A couple of beers and belly full of burgers later, and Gabby was a loose noodle who was having the best time of…well, not her life, but certainly the best time she’d had in a long while. It helped that little Ash had come to greet her the second he noticed she was there. Now, he was lying on an exposed portion of the driveway that met up with a stretch of sidewalk coloring pictures with chalk and occasionally looking up to make sure she was still there.

Gabby hated to admit it, but she was growing attached to him.

“And then the guy just jumped. Bike goes one way, he goes the other. Gravel spraying everywhere,” Cricket said, gesticulating wildly. Gabby turned back to him, giving her undivided attention. “Man, Sable must have picked out a pound of gravel from Quick’s arms alone. He was a fucking mess, but I tell ya somethin’, he didn’t even flinch when she stitched him up.” His brows lifted as he tipped back his beer.

The man clearly had a case of hero worship.

Nose wrinkling, Gabby found herself wishing she didn’t have such a vivid imagination. “Why do you call him Quick? Is it because he rides fast?”

The other men and a couple women who sat at the table with them burst into laughter, and Cricket—which she’d learned was a nickname he’d earned for being honest and fair—choked so hard on his drink that his whole face turned a deep shade of red.

The guy seated next to him—a giant of a man that went by the name of Moose—pounded on Cricket’s back with a meaty hand, each
thwack
making Gabby flinch sympathetically.

Raising his hand, Cricket said in a strained voice, “I’m good, I’m good. Stop before you send me into cardiac arrest.”

“Next time you decide to die at my table, I’m going to sit back and enjoy the show, asshole.” Although his words were harsh, Moose wore a warm smile.

His eyes bloodshot and watery, Cricket cleared his throat a few times before meeting her gaze.

“Something I said?” she asked, only kind of kidding.

“That’s a fucking understatement,” came from a grizzled fellow with striking features set off by stark white hair and full beard seated at the end of the table. A quick check of the nameplate on his chest told her his name was Repo and he was the club’s VP. “Why don’t you tell the lady the story behind that one.”

Something in his tone grabbed Gabby’s attention.

“And get my balls shot off? No thanks,” Cricket said, shaking his head adamantly.

“Oh, come on,” Gabby jeered. “All this drama over a nickname? Now I
have
to know.”

Standing from the table, Moose clapped Cricket on the shoulder. “Never should have opened that can of worms, brother. Might as well tell her now. I get a feeling this one doesn’t give up easy.” Turning his copper eyes her way, Moose winked before taking off toward the house with a “Catch y’all tomorrow” thrown over his shoulder.

A grin split Gabby’s face. Folding her hands in her lap, she leaned forward, pressing her chest to the table’s edge. “You heard the man. Spill.”

Nervous energy descended around the two of them, and Cricket’s gaze shifted warily around the yard. In search of Blake she assumed. Last she’d seen him, Blake had been overseeing the grill with a cute redhead lingering at his side, no doubt hanging on his every word in hopes of hanging onto something else later.

“Fuck,” Cricket hissed to himself, raking one tattooed hand through his shaggy hair. “I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this. If I get shot, my blood is on your hands.”

Seeing the genuine fear sparking in his eyes, Gabby’s smile faltered. She knew Blake wasn’t exactly the nicest, warmest man on earth, but to be surrounded by all these people, all these friends…he couldn’t be so bad as to warrant such a strong reaction, could he?

Leaning in, Cricket’s gaze held hers with such intensity it made her stomach clench. “What I tell you, it stays here. And you didn’t hear it from me. Got it?”

“Uh, yeah, okay.”

“Swear.” He cast his gaze around the whole table, making sure the remaining few understood and agreed. They did.

When he came back to her, she nodded sagely. “I swear.”

He held her eyes for several heartbeats before blowing out a tremendous breath. “Fuck, okay. Keep in mind this is just hearsay, and the guys in the club are some serious dickwads, so it probably isn’t even true. But legend has it—”

A burst of laughter escaped Gabby’s lips, cutting Cricket off. “I’m sorry. Legend? What the hell is this, a fairy tale?”

Cricket’s eyes narrowed. “Legend has it,” he repeated firmly, “that Blake used to like this chick, Ginger, back in the day. He was barely fourteen and had been her fucking shadow for two years before she finally decided to give him a shot. Then one day, when the brothers were on a run and they had the clubhouse to themselves, shit got hot. They were just getting started before it…well, ended.” His face screwed up into a sympathetic grimace.

“So the other brothers came back and they didn’t get to finish?”

“Ha, not exactly.”

When it didn’t look like he was going to elaborate, Gabby asked, “So what then? What happened?”

Cricket’s gaze went up to the sky and he shook his head, as if unable to believe he was going to answer her. Or that she was too dense to get it. She wasn’t sure which.

“Let’s just put it this way.
Quick
has absolutely nothing to do with riding a bike, you feel me?”

Gabby’s brows pinched together and her mouth opened to ask another question, and then his meaning hit her. “Oh my God,” she stage whispered. “Shut up! You’re lying.”

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

“But that’s…horrible. And the brothers gave him that nickname after…That’s so mean. Why doesn’t he change it?”

“You don’t get to choose your nickname, babe.”

Jesus, what a rotten thing to do to a person you called “brother.” No wonder they were all so hush-hush about retelling the story. If she were them, she’d be afraid of the consequences too.