“You sticking around for the party tonight?” Rags asked.
“For a bit. What about you?”
“I gotta bartend for Hubcap,” he replied.
“What’s going on with him?” Hawk asked, snapping down the monitor.
“Something ’bout his sister. I don’t know.”
“His sister’s a fuckin’ mess,” Hawk said. “Makes me glad I wasn’t cursed with siblings. My fuckin’ old man was bad enough.”
Rags laughed. “Siblings can be cool, but they can also be nosey pains in the ass.” Megan’s recent interference with Julie pricked at his thoughts.
Rags opened the door, paused, then glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks, dude. I owe you.”
“No worries. Just glad to see that fuckin’ long face gone.”
“Later,” Rags said, stepping into the hallway.
The main room brimmed with brothers from several Insurgents charters. He ambled over to members from Wyoming and Nebraska, brothers he hadn’t seen in a long time. and they exchanged bear hugs. The camaraderie was easy, familiar, and solid.
For the next hour, he caught up on gossip from each charter, and talked bikes and the poker run. Hangarounds and party girls filtered in, and some of the members drifted toward them. The air thickened with weed smoke, spilled beer, sweat, perfume, and sex. Laughter crackled loud and sharp, boots thudded against the floor, hard rock music pounded through the walls.
This was his life: chaos and comfort woven together. His family. This was where he belonged, the life he loved.
So why the hell wasn’t he enjoying it? Why did he feel so out of sorts?
Rags grabbed the bottle of Coors Hog set down on the bar and threaded his way through the press of bodies, past brothers slapping backs, and club girls already tugging men toward shadowed corners.
He pushed through the front door, stepped into the crisp air, and inhaled deeply. He should’ve stayed inside making the rounds, hooking up with one of the hot party girls, welcoming the out-of-staters. Instead, all he wanted was to be with Casey, and it pissed him off.
He’d told himself he only wanted one taste. That lie had blown to hell after the hot springs… and later that night. With a day’s distance from the rush of it all, he still wasn’t willing or able to loosen the tight coil he’d wrapped around his heart.
Rags headed toward the river, boots crackling over the dry grass and fallen leaves. He stopped at the bank. The current fractured against the jagged stones, throwing up plumes of white water that caught the fading sunlight. A piece of driftwood snagged in a tangle of roots, holding fast against the flow, until the rush proved to be too much and dislodged the wood, the water consuming it.
Vanilla drifted through his senses, not real, just the memory. Dark hair fanned across a blanket, sunlight sliding over bare skin, the way her mouth had gone soft against his, her body pressing close to him until there was no space between them.
He stayed pinned to the bank, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his fingers curling into tight, white-knuckled fists. He breathed in the crisp air, trying to let it steady the unwanted heat stealing through his veins.
Ever since he’d first seen Casey at Owen’s nursery, she’d been under his skin with her wild dark hair, warm eyes, confident smile, soft tits, and sweet pussy wreaking havoc on him. He’d thought screwing her hard would get her out of his system, but that wasn’t the case. He just wanted her more.
Stirrings of feelings he’d buried years ago gnawed at him.
What the hell’s the matter with me?
The sun dipped lower over the jagged peaks, dragging coral and amethyst streaks across the sky before fading into cold dusk. Slowly, his fingers unfurled in his pockets as the memory of her hit hard and settled low.
The rush of the river echoed behind him as Rags turned away and walked back toward the lights. He had to figure out how to get Casey out of his head before it drove him mad.
Chapter Twenty
Cold air wrappedaround Rags as he rolled on the throttle and kicked into a higher gear. Evergreens, pines, and sagebrush streaked past in dark, whipping blurs. Valley lights flickered like fireflies as he tore through sparsely populated neighborhoods.
Rags eased off the throttle as Burgers & Beer Joint came into view, its windows glowing warm against the cold. He killed the engine and walked toward the door.
Heat and noise slammed into Rags the minute he stepped inside. The crackle of the fireplace, the clang of dishes, the thick scent of smoke and meat wrapped around him. Glossed oak floors and red brick walls lent the place an urban edge as he moved toward the bar, softened by large planters filled with greenery, dried branches, and berries. The faint strains of classic rock blended with the din of chatter, clanging pots and pans, and raucous laughter, the whole place alive and grinding.
Throttle didn’t even look up as Rags slipped behind the bar.