Wow, Horse was suddenly a font of information. I decided to push my luck.

“So what do you do?”

He cocked his head at me.

“I’m in a motorcycle club, babe.”

I laughed.

“No, I mean what do you do for a job?”

“I work for the club, mostly. We have different businesses, pretty well established in our area. Got a pawn shop, a bar, a gun shop and a garage. I do the books.”

That surprised me. I couldn’t see Horse stooped over a ledger, counting money.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he replied, laughing. “Just ’cause I’m the picture of manly perfection doesn’t mean I don’t have a brain. I’m actually pretty good at math, took a few classes through the GI Bill and now you see me, a regular f**kin’ accountant. Our finances are more complex than you’d think.”

“So my brother’s doing website design for your businesses?”

The smile on his face died, and he shook his head.

“That’s club business, babe, and not the kind we talk about. Enough questions.”

With that he reached and caught me behind the neck, pulling me in for a kiss. I dropped my food, but I didn’t mind because he draped me across his lap, lips exploring mine slowly. When the kiss ended, I smiled up at him.

“I like how you change the subject.”

“Glad I could be of service. Let’s get this cleaned up, there’s something else I wanna use the blanket for.”

Worked for me.

I rolled off his lap to my knees, collecting everything up and putting it back into the bag.

“Hey, why aren’t you helping?” I demanded playfully.

“Enjoying the view. Love that sweet ass of yours.”

I shook it at him, smirking, and he crawled over to me, cupping my cheeks in his hands, rubbing the inside curves where they met my thighs with the pads of his thumbs.

“Fuckin’ hot, babe. Can’t wait to get inside.”

I shivered, pushing back at him.

“So goddamn sweet,” he muttered, dropping his head down to kiss the small of my back.

Sweet.

Sweet ass.

Sweet butt.

“Horse, what does sweet butt mean?” I asked suddenly. He stilled. “I know you said you call me that to piss me off, but it means more. I know it does. Tell me.”

“Doesn’t matter, babe, you’re not one of them.”

Uh-oh. I pulled away from him, cooling a little. Didn’t like the sound of that at all. I sat down, facing him, knees up to my chest, arms wrapped around them pointedly, and waited.

“Drop it, babe,” Horse muttered, sitting back on his heels. “We’re in a good place, let’s just let this flow like it should. You’re thinking too much.”

“When a man tells me I shouldn’t think, that’s a bad sign,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Explain. Now.”

Horse ran a hand through his hair and shrugged.

“You don’t know much about the Reapers, do you? Or motorcycle clubs in general?”

“I don’t know anything about them,” I said.

“Well, bikers—bikers like us, part of a club for life—are a different culture,” he said after a short pause. “We’re not regular citizens, we’re more like a tribe that shares territory with citizens but only answers to our own kind. Everyone who’s part of the tribe has their place.”

“Okay,” I replied, wondering where this was going.

“Fuck, this is gonna piss you off and then you aren’t gonna let me stick my dick in you,” he muttered.

“Do you have to be so crude?” I snapped.

“Have you met me?”

“Who says I’d let you do it anyway?”

“Babe,” he replied in a low, rough voice, raising his eyebrow at me. I blushed. Okay, yes, I’d planned on it.

But that could change.

“So tell me.”

“Well, there’s two kinds of people, those who are in the club and those who aren’t,” he said. “If you’re in the club, you’re family, and we’ve got each other’s backs. You got a cut and three patches, you’re a member and you vote. We got prospects too, who aren’t full members yet, but if they don’t punk out, they will be eventually.”

“What about women?”

“No women in the club,” he said, shaking his head. “Women hang around the club, but they aren’t part of it.”

“Sounds pretty sexist.”

“It is what it is,” he replied with a shrug. “Don’t have to like it, but that’s the reality in the MC world. Remember, we don’t live in your world, we live in ours and the rules are different. Some clubs let women ride, ours doesn’t. We’re old school. Seriously old school. But that doesn’t mean women aren’t important to us.”

I didn’t like the direction this was headed.

“A man takes a woman, means to keep her, she becomes his property,” Horse continued. “We covered that before—it’s a sign of commitment, of respect. It means he’ll protect her and everyone else better keep their f**king hands off her or be ready to fight him and all his brothers. You do not want to f**k with a man’s old lady.”

“Sounds messed up, Horse.”

He shook his head, clearly frustrated.

“You’re judging it by citizen standards, but we’re not like you,” he said. “Remember, we’re a tribe. We live together, we die together and what’s ours is ours. When times are good, we’re all good. Bad times, we may eat shit but we eat it together. Most people can’t handle that level of commitment. It’s like when you’re in combat and taking fire—you have to trust that your brothers would rather die than let you down. You feel that kind of brotherhood during war but when you come back home people expect you to sit down and work in an office like it never happened. Men—at least men like me—don’t work like that. I turned into something else in Afghanistan and I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. In the club, they don’t ask me to.”

“That’s intense,” I murmured.

“No shit,” he said. “I know this is hard for you, but I want you to understand. This is a different life, and we have our own rules and our own justice, but it’s not bad. In fact, it’s pretty f**kin’ good. I got a nice house, make good money, have a great time almost every f**kin’ day of my life. I’m alive, babe. Ninety-nine percent of men are okay with following the rules and doing what they’re told. We’re the other one percent, so we built our own world with our own rules. You don’t f**k with us, we won’t f**k with you. But once you f**k us, you will pay.”

I shivered, even though the air was warm. I reached over and grabbed my shirt, pulling it over my head. Horse’s eyes followed me, holding an expression I couldn’t begin to fathom.

“So finish it,” I said, breaking the silence. “You’re telling me this for a reason, I guess. What does sweet butt mean?”

“Well, not all women attached to the club are old ladies,” he said bluntly. “Being an old lady is a big deal, like I said. You don’t want to take some skank as your property if you aren’t ready to throw down for her. But a man’s still gotta get laid. That’s what sweet butts are for.”

Oh, I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Continue,” I said, my voice cooling.

“We got women who want to be old ladies,” he said. “Or just like hanging around bikers. Maybe they want a place to crash for a while. They come around the club house and if they make themselves friendly enough we let them hang around. They clean up, take care of shit, and we sort of—”

He paused, looking away.

“You’re really not gonna like this,” he muttered.

“Tell me. Now.”

“Well, they’re pretty much public pu**y,” he said. “Man needs a woman, that’s what they’re for. Entertaining the brothers. Those are the sweet butts.”

I saw red.

“You jerk!”

I got up and went for my pants. He reached for me, but I slapped his hand away, yanking up my jeans.

“You think I’m a whore!”

“No. I do not think you’re a whore. I told you, I like pissing you off sometimes, it’s hot. You aren’t a sweet butt either. You see any other guys around here? Not exactly lookin’ to turn you into Chinese handcuffs, Marie!”

“WHAT?” I didn’t even know what that meant, but I knew it wasn’t good. I finished getting dressed and grabbed my purse, pulling out my phone. Great. No service.

“Fuck,” Horse muttered, pulling on his pants and tee, then grabbing his cut and jerking it on. “You won’t even listen to me. You aren’t like them, babe. I know that. The guys know that. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why did you all call me sweet butt the first time we met?” I demanded. “It’s not like we had anything between us then, so you didn’t do it just to piss me off. Explain that, Mr. Badass Reaper!”

He looked away, rubbing a hand along the stubble on his chin, then turned back to me.

“Because that’s what you looked like,” he said finally. “You were waiting outside that trailer decked out like a f**kin’ wet dream. We knew Jeff didn’t have a woman, at least not one in particular. Just assumed, babe.”

“Take me home.”

“Babe, please.”

“Take. Me. Home.”

He turned away and kicked a rock, sending it into the hot springs with a splash, running his hands through his hair again. I wished he’d stop doing that, because it just made him look sexier and I didn’t need to think about him being sexy right now.

I needed to remember the man was a pig.

“Okay, I’ll take you home,” he grunted, turning back toward me. “But I want to show you something first.”

“By all means!” I declared grandly, throwing my arms wide. “Please, do whatever it takes to get me out of here and away from you.”

Horse stalked over to the leather saddlebag he’d brought and opened it. He stood there, staring down inside it for what seemed an eternity, then glanced back at me.

“You need to know that I didn’t just bring you here to f**k you, Marie.”

I snorted, rolling my eyes.

“Don’t give me that shit,” he growled. “I can get laid whenever I want, I don’t have to drive four hundred miles round trip to get off. Women see the bike, they see the tats and the cut, they’re all over that shit. Pussy is just pu**y, but you’re different. That’s why I had this made for you—I wanted to ask you to come back with me, give club life a shot.”

He pulled out a black leather vest, much smaller than his, and held it up. On the back were two embroidered patches, reading “Property of Horse, Reapers MC.”

Holy shit.

“Are you kidding me?” I demanded.

His face tightened, eyes growing cold.

“Never offered this to anyone else, babe. Not a joke.”

“Well, don’t offer it to me,” I hissed. “I hardly know you, but what I do know is that you’re a sexist pig and you can go f**k yourself and your stupid club.”

“Don’t insult the club, Marie.”

Something in his tone stopped me mid-rant. All traces of my sweet Horse were gone and the scary biker stood in front of me in full standoff. My anger disappeared, replaced with terrible unease. I’d forgotten how terrifying he could be.

“Let’s stop this,” I said after a pause. “What we’re doing, there’s nothing good here. Let’s just stop talking and leave before things get worse.”

“Works for me. Get your shit.”

Funny, but hiking to the spring had taken about thirty minutes. Hiking back felt like ten hours. The ride home was even worse. I worried about falling off the bike the whole time, but I’d be damned if I was going to wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his back like before. I held the sides of his hips, trying to keep my lower body from touching his, which was all but impossible.

When we reached the trailer he didn’t even bother getting off his Harley, let alone watch to see if I got in the door all right.

Horse just roared away without looking back.

Chapter Eight

Sept. 7

Me: Are you there?

Sept. 9

Me: Horse, we should talk. I don’t want us to hate each other. I think we made a mistake, please call me. I miss you. Let’s fix this

Sept 10

Me: Are you even getting these? Please, even if you hate me, call me. I need to tell you something

Sept. 13

Me: Okay, you win. Bye

Sept. 15

Things got a little dark after our trip to the hot springs.

Work was okay, but it wasn’t like I loved what I was doing. Don’t get me wrong, the kids were awesome, but it’s tiring to be surrounded by little people constantly when they can’t even wipe their own rear ends. And sometimes diapers blow out, which means exactly what you’d think.

Good times.

Life with Jeff wasn’t going very well either. It’s not like we didn’t get along, because we did. We didn’t fight or anything. But he’d stopped talking to me, didn’t seem to work much and smoked more pot every day. I had my first hint of real trouble coming when he asked me how big my paycheck was. By this time I was buying all the food, which I didn’t mind. After all, he’d floated me when I first got here, and when I’d gotten hurt too. But it wasn’t like him to mooch, believe it or not. He’d always paid his way and I’m pretty sure he’d carried Mom a time or two.