Sly (7 page)

I stood up and unzipped the back of my dress. I had to contort sideways to get it started. Sloppy, I thought. I should have asked Sly to help me just before he left. Let his hands linger on my back as he steadied me with a hand on my hip.
 

I let the dress fall at my feet and stepped out of it. Pulling Sly’s shirt over my head I hugged myself. Laughter rose from the bar downstairs and motors revved outside. It was past midnight now. With the fight over, most of the patrons were likely clearing out for home.  Not Sly though. He’d promised to stay just across the hall.
 

Two shadows passed at the bottom of the door. Someone stood in the hall just outside. On instinct, I went for my purse and grabbed my Glock. I held it close to my chest as I flattened myself to the wall just beside the door, staying out of range if someone planned to bust in.
 

The shadows remained. I held my breath and pressed the back of my head against the wall. Something made me place my hand flat on the door as my breath came heavy.
 

“You heading home tonight, boss?” The voice came from further down the hallway.
 

The shadows receded and I heard footsteps. Sly’s voice came in a hushed whisper. I pressed my ear against the door. “Nah. I’m gonna crash in Billy’s old room for the night. I’ve had a little too much to drink.”
 

Laughter. “You do that. You crash.” I recognized the voice as that of Colt, one of the other club members who’d been with Sly at Benny’s shop the other day. They were ribbing him, knowing full well I was here.
 

“Fuck off,” Sly answered. “Get your asses home and out of my business.”
 

A couple of whistles and catcalls and the rest of the men moved away. He was still out there though. Sly. I could sense him. My heart raced as I kept my hand pressed against the wood. I heard shuffling as he came closer to the door. He was standing just on the other side of it. A scraping noise.  I couldn’t be sure but somehow, I guessed he had his hand pressed against the other side of the door just like mine did.
 

Would he come back in? Did I want him to? What would I do if he did? It took everything in me not to open it and face him again. I held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut tight.  A moment later, the shadows receded again and I heard his soft footfalls moving down the hall, then another door opened and closed.
 

I turned back, tucked my gun back into my purse and set it on the side table next to the bed. Then I crawled to the head of the bed. It was just as comfortable as it looked. I was exhausted. Though my head had stopped spinning, it still felt heavy and drowsy. I only meant to lay my head down for a minute, plan my next move. But if Mo’s soup had magic powers, the bed she made held even more.
 

***
 

I slept more soundly that night than I had in more years than I could remember. I woke to the smell of bacon and something baking.
 

I freshened up and realized I had two choices. I could put my dress back on and walk-of-shame-it through the bar, or I could leave here wearing Sly’s shirt and shorts. I wrapped a towel around my wet body and considered my options. A sharp knock on the door cut short my decision time.
 

Mo poked her head in a crack in the door. “Good,” she said in a bright, lilting voice. “You’re up. Don’t just stand there dripping on my floor. Come on down to breakfast. We’re informal here.”
 

Then she shut the door behind her, leaving me staring in wonder at the creature she was. Mo was Ruth Westheimer-tiny with a poof of red frizzy hair piled high on her head. She had a girl’s voice but seemed to command these bikers like they were her children. Den mother. Just like Sly had described her.
 

I compromised. I put my dress on but threw Sly’s t-shirt over the top of it. I shoved my shoes in my purse, headed downstairs and followed the aroma. I wasn’t prepared for what greeted me. At the bottom of the stairs to the left, about eight Great Wolves sat around a kitchen bar gobbling mounds of butter-slathered pancakes. I took a step back, hoping to slip out unseen. I wasn’t ready for this.
 

My traitorous stomach picked then to growl loud enough to draw attention. They all turned to look at me. I recognized Colt and the bartender from last night. Sawyer, the other guy from the bike shop too. I smiled, waved and took another step back straight into a wall of muscle standing behind me. Strong hands rested gently on my shoulders and propelled me forward.
 

“Let’s get some food in you,” Sly said, his voice sounding rich and sultry. A flash of heat shot through me as he rested a hand at the small of my back. He led me to an open seat at the end of the bar and took the one next to me. Mo appeared with a heaping plate of pancakes and set them in front of me. She put another plate in front of Sly. Before I could say a word, Sly reached over me and grabbed a jar of syrup, pouring a liberal amount over his stack and mine.
 

“You really don’t have to go to all this trouble for me,” I said. “But thank you.”
 

Mo snorted and wiped her hands on her apron. “See that, you beasts? That’s what manners sound like.”
 

Colt and a few of the others actually snarled at her. It was comical, really. The Great Wolves members were all strapping and rugged. Any one of them could have thrown Mo over
their shoulders, or me for that matter. Though I’d wager I’d give them a hell of a bigger fight than she would. They
did
remind me of a pack of hungry wolves as they dug into their breakfasts.
 

“Don’t mind any of them,” Sly said just before he shoveled a forkful into his own mouth. A drop of syrup beaded at the corner of his mouth and he ran his tongue over his lips to catch it. He wagged his eyebrows at me when he did it and I had the urge to kiss him. What was
wrong
with me? I needed to get the hell out of here and fast.
 

“Eat,” he said, gesturing with his fork. “Between Mo’s broth last night and her pancakes, I’ll know you haven’t suffered any lasting effects from whatever that asshole slipped in your drink last night.”
 

“Thanks,” I said, cutting a triangle through the layered stack of pancakes in front of me. When I took a bite, I groaned. I couldn’t help it. They were light, buttery and delicious. I saw a look flash through Sly’s face that probably matched mine when he licked his lips a second ago. I grabbed the glass of milk Mo set in front of me and gulped that down rather than meeting his eyes again.
 

“Try some of this,” Sawyer said. He sat two seats down from me and reached over, forcing the guy next to him to lean back. Sawyer held a bowl with fresh peaches in heavy syrup over my plate and threw a dollop of it over my stack of pancakes. He smiled and nodded.
 

“Catch!” I had just enough time to get my hands up when the large, bald bear of a man they called Tiny sailed a napkin across the table to me. I caught it and shook it out.
 

“Fancy!” I smiled as I folded it over my lap.
 

While Mo busied herself making another batch of pancakes to feed this hungry mob, the Wolves passed syrup, whipped cream, bacon and the other courses of her feast from man to man. It was like an odd family dinner.
 

“You coming back for dinner?” This from Tiny. He was the biggest one of all with a great snaking ink over his massive forearms where it wasn’t hid by a sling. Sawyer stepped behind him and cut his stack for him. He made a great show of trying to feed him until Tiny slapped his hand away and the rest of them laughed.
 

“I, uh ... I don’t think ...”
 

“Mo’ll make you some Irish potato stew. Delicious and doubles for spackling the next day,” Sly said.
 

Without turning from her skillet, Mo lobbed a wooden spoon at Sly’s head. He caught it neatly and tossed it back toward the sink. He gave her a wink that melted her. She smiled and turned back to her work.
 

I didn’t know what to make of any of it. These men seemed to show genuine affection for each other and Mo. It gave me a sense of warmth and serenity I wasn’t used to. I enjoyed their company and Mo’s heavenly cooking. Sly kept his eyes on me, making sure I ate what was in
front of me. I could only manage about a third of what was on my plate before I felt full to bursting.
 

“I don’t want to be rude,” I leaned in and whispered to Sly, “but if I take another bite I’m going to pop. How much trouble will I be in?” He smiled. Sawyer reached across the table again, looked to make sure Mo wasn’t watching, then slid my leftovers on to his own plate, giving me a sharp wink.
 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he whispered.
 

“Thanks.” I smiled back.
 

“You heading over to the gym with us this morning?” Colt asked. He’d been watching Sly and me and he narrowed his eyes with suspicion. Sly had a little of an all-American boy look to him with his blond hair, blue eyes and notorious dimple. Though his looks were hardened and rugged from years on a bike and whatever rough life he’d eked out. Colt was like his darker brother. He had a thick head of jet black hair and dark, deep-set eyes to match. Sly was into me; Sawyer and the others seemed comfortable in my presence too. Colt was clearly not. I’d have to watch him.
 

Sly shook his head. “You guys can handle it. You know what to say to the promoters. We’ve got a beer shipment coming in and I’ll head into town to take care of it.”
 

There were nods and more discussion about their assignments for the day. I made note of each one. Colt seemed in charge of gym business; Tiny—the big guy in the sling—was handling bar receipts. A few others were tasked with new-waitress interviews. It was normal, mundane: almost. Another club member came up behind me to fill my coffee mug. He introduced himself as Big John. Like Tiny, the nickname didn’t fit. This guy was barely five foot five, I guessed. But he looked solid and strong, and was shaped a little like a fire hydrant.
 

Sly finally finished after a second helping from Mo. Then he threw his napkin on the table signaling the end of the breakfast meeting. The members each in turn grabbed their plates, rinsed them in the sink and loaded Mo’s dishwasher. Gruff they may be; ill-mannered they were not. I was impressed.
 

 “Let’s get you settled back in town if that’s what you want,” he said. There was an unspoken invitation in his tone and eyes, as if he wasn’t quite ready to be rid of me. “You staying at the Hansen?”
 

I nodded. “How did you guess?”
 

Sly shrugged. “There are two hotels in town. The Hansen’s the only one fit for respectable people.”
 

“I really can just call a cab. I don’t want to put you out any more than I already have.”
 

“I’ll take you,” Sly said.
 

I opened my mouth to protest but Sly gave me a stern look. He’d be polite, but he’d have his way. For now, I could let him. Still, it could be a problem if I was seen riding into town with
him. But it was perfect. Me. Sly. Alone and off his home turf. Cold dread filled me at the thought of it, but there was something else too. Still, it was time for me to focus and remember what brought me here.
 

I looked around, wondering who would take his place when Sly was out of the picture. I didn’t see a vice president patch on any of them. The way Colt postured, I guessed he was currently second in command. Like the head of a hydra: cut one off, another rises to replace it. But that wasn’t my problem. My job was Sly, not taking out the entire M.C.
 

“Well, then, I’m ready whenever you are.” I stood and each of the club members got to their feet. My jaw dropped. I don’t think I’d ever seen that level of respect. Certainly not from a group like this. I smiled but turned toward the door.
 

Sly nodded. “I’ll take you now.”
 

“Thank you, all of you.” I turned and faced the group of bikers. They all nodded, waved, or raised their mugs or forks to me by way of goodbye.
 

“Don’t forget,” Sawyer said. “Potato stew. You haven’t lived until you’ve bust your jeans from it.”
 

I laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
 

I followed Sly out the back door feeling strangely content and a little sad to go. Losing Sly would rip this club in two. I tried to keep the memory of my brother’s last horrific moments of life and what had made them that way.
But that wasn’t the Great Wolves.
I took a breath and shook my head, trying to will those thoughts away. The Red Brigands and the Great Wolves were two different clubs, but they were all the same.
 

Sly led me to a souped-up black-and-red custom Harley. It was flashy and a little garish with swirling designs in the paint job.
 

“Your replacement?” I asked and instantly wished I hadn’t. But Sly didn’t seem to catch the slip. He hadn’t told me about his bike accident.
 

Sly smiled as he tossed me a helmet. “On loan. Tiny’s gonna need some time before he’s ready to handle longer trips.”
 

“Ah. What happened to him?”
 

Sly’s face darkened and he looked off to the side. “Hunting accident,” he said. My ass. The Great Wolves may have better manners, but violence was still their calling card, it seemed.
 

Sly straddled the seat and motioned for me to hop on behind him. My heart raced at the thought of being that close to him. But it was a means to an end. The sooner I got him to let his guard down, the better.
 

Except it wasn’t easy. When I slid my hands around Sly’s waist, my breath hitched in my throat. My senses filled with his masculine scent. It was intoxicating. I ran my fingers over the hard muscles of his abdomen, my touch lingering for just a moment before the bike roared to life
between my legs. I worried that Sly could sense the war within me as I squeezed my arms around him and pressed my cheek against the smooth leather of his vest.