Chapter Four
Riley
By daylight, the Rogue Maniacs clubhouse looked exactly like every biker compound Riley had ever avoided.Surrounded by the tall chain-link fence she’d seen last night, topped with razor wire glinting under sunshine that she hadn’t.A row of gleaming motorcycles was parked like soldiers at attention, and picnic tables scattered across the gravel yard where men in cuts stopped mid-sentence the second she walked out the door.
Dan stood beside her, face hidden from the view of everyone.
Conversation stuttered back to life, but the stares didn’t stop.Eyes tracked her like scopes, and she felt like a target.Some gazes were curious, some assessing, and a few openly appreciative.She bore the weight of every one of them.
A tall guy with a crooked smile and VP patch ambled over first, thumbs hooked in his belt.“This the tattooed damsel, Dan?”
“Riley Monroe,” Dan said, voice flat and final.“She’s under club protection.”
The VP’s brows shot up.“That was fast.”
Dan’s reply was a low growl that vibrated through her own spine.He said, “Watch it, Rocker.”
Rocker lifted both hands, palms out, grin widening.“Kidding.Jesus.Welcome, Riley.I’m Rocker.You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Kitchen’s always open.Dan’ll show you.”He jerked a thumb back towards the main building.“Don’t let him hog all the bacon.”
More brothers had drifted closer as they walked.Crude jokes flew low and fast, with tame ones surrounding her talents.“Bet she inks better than she rides,” and “Nah, bet she rides better than she inks,” and finally “Ten bucks says Dan’s blushing under that rag,” but no one crossed the invisible line Dan’s presence drew around her.She met every gaze straight on, chin up, the way she’d rehearsed in places far worse than this.
Back inside, the cozy atmosphere in the common room hit her like a wall of warmth.She smelled beer, motor oil, and once again the sharp scent of cinnamon from baking in the kitchen.She saw a familiar face, and Ella waved from the couch, folding tiny baby clothes with careful hands.
“Megs!Dawg said you had some trouble, but I didn’t expect to see you here.Also, you’ve been holding out on me.Mad Dawg said you ink really well.I’ve been dying to get something new, but this one—” She patted her rounded belly.“—has me on lockdown.”
Riley’s lips curved despite herself.“Hi, Ella.You know what?I’m pretty sure I can do free consultants for pregnant old ladies.We could do some henna if there’s an idea you’re enamored with.And then we can expedite an appointment postpartum.”
Ella beamed.“I always knew I liked you,” she announced to the room at large.
A chorus of chuckles rolled through the space.Dan exhaled through his nose, and it sounded like half amusement, half exasperation as he grabbed two mugs of coffee from a prospect and steered Riley towards the hallway with a hand hot against the low of her back.
She liked it, that little sign of possessiveness.
The kitchen was large, clean, and smelled strongly of fried bacon.Nearly every burner of the double stovetops was busy with a pot or a pan.
In the middle of it all was a biker in black leathers, frowning as he flipped a crepe with the twist of one wrist.Every move was smooth, professional, and Riley had never seen something like this in real life.
“Malibu, what’s cooking?”