Damaged & Dangerous: The Sacred Hearts MC Book VI by A. J. Downey Page A

look on my face and had
started howling with laughter and told me I didn’t have shit to worry about
from the Sacred Hearts, then called them pussy-whipped and a myriad of other
names implying that it was their women who really ran the show over there. I
didn’t know what to make of that then, and I didn’t know what to make of it
now. I’d pretty much kept to myself at the lake run, didn’t stray far from Pig
for fear of what he’d do to me if I did.
    I finished cleaning the clubhouse, all the
while trapped in memory. I didn’t realize that I’d had company as I’d worked. As
usual, he was there, parked on the end of the couch, boots propped on the old,
scarred, garage sale coffee table, only this early in the day he’d forgone the
beer in favor of a bottle of water. Another thing that set him apart as
‘other’, to the rest of the guys beer was bottled water.
    I secreted a small smile in his direction and
he secreted one back but we didn’t speak, we didn’t need to. Soon, Skid came
around and our little private moment was in the wind, but that was okay. I knew
that I could or would never be with Thirteen, but having him around had become
a little ray of light in an otherwise darkened room. Maybe it was foolish to
hope or to dream at this stage, but I couldn’t help but believe that with a guy
like Thirteen around the club, maybe, just maybe, things could get
better.
    “What you smiling about?” Skid asked me as he
bellied up to the bar. I startled, had I been smiling? I glanced at the older
biker and he raised an eyebrow under his faded black do-rag.
    “I don’t know…” I frowned and flailed
helplessly inside my head for a convincing lie, “I was just thinking about a
piece I was going to try and create. I think I have all the pieces now.”
    Skid chuckled, “It’s good to see you smile,
Rac. How ‘bout you get me a beer? One of them ones with the orange dude on the
label.” He turned on his stool and started talking to Thirteen, who had been
grinning like an idiot behind his back but who quickly schooled his features
into neutrality before Skid turned.
    I rolled my eyes at Thirteen behind Skid’s
back and got Skid the bottle he asked for, popping the top. I set it on the bar
by his hand and he picked it up and drank, never breaking his stride as the two
of them spoke bike. I was simply nothing more than furniture again, which I
didn’t like, but at the same time it was definitely the lesser of two evils.
    Pretty soon Gordy, Pipes, and Cooter came in
from the front of the club and I was serving them up drinks when Pig-Pen and
Griz made their arrival. The rest of the guys started to trickle in from the
front or the back lot and girls started coming intermixed with the guy’s
arrival. The party was in full swing, the sky dark outside when Gordy swore and
pounded his fist on the bar.
    “God damn, fucking son of a bitch!” he
bellowed, looking at the lighted screen on his phone. Griz shoved down on the
head of the strung out broad sucking him off and she choked, struggling.
    “What is it now?” he demanded and let her up.
She stood up, disgusted, and stumbled towards the bathrooms.
    “Trouble!” Gordy declared, “But if we all go
now we might make it. Ace and Deuce are holed up at the North West safe house,
says Sacred Hearts have ‘em pinned down, four of ‘em.” Griz stood up and tucked
himself back in his pants, doing up his jeans.
    “Boys! We’re goin’ huntin’!” he yelled. A
cheer went up and I swallowed hard. Thirteen stood.
    “Not you!” Gordy stabbed a finger at him. “Take
Coon to your place and keep her locked down. She’s our last bet on making any
goddamned money.”
    Thirteen raised an eyebrow. “I live in a cabin
with no electricity!” he declared.
    “So fucking what!?” Pig-Pen called, “Don’t
care if she’s comfortable so long as she can produce, you goddamned pussy!”
    Thirteen gave a shrug and I gathered my purse.
The guys were all going out the back