Chapter 12
2597words
As we exit the car, the clubhouse door swings open, revealing a scene straight from a biker archetype. A burly man, his head shaved clean, save for a long, braided beard, strides out clad in a leather vest—a president's patch prominently displayed. By his side is the tattooed chap from Sapphire's office, the same one who showed up at her house.
Fucking great.
More figures emerge, forming a motley entourage. Among them, two appear as seasoned as the president: one, a tall man with a gray ponytail and haunted eyes, positions himself by the president's side. His companion is a stockier version, marked by a thin, jagged scar over his right eye and a Celtic knot tattoo curling at his neck, his red hair unkempt.
Trailing them are two younger men, patch-holders too, by the looks of it, who seem only capable of ogling Sapphire.
All, except for the tattooed chap, are wearing leather cuts adorned with club insignia, their appearances characterized by long rugged hair or beards. And all, except the tattooed chap, register varying degrees of surprise at Sapphire's arrival.
'Sparrow?" The president, his face etched with lines of experience, lights up at the sight of Sapphire, but the warmth quickly fades as his attention shifts to me.
I keep my face devoid of expression but my eyes are trained on him. The president's stance shifts slightly, hands edging toward his waist with the practiced ease of someone who is no stranger to conflict.
'Who's this?" he demands tersely, his words directed at Sapphire but clearly meant for me. His glare is cold and assessing—like a guard dog sizing up a potential threat.
A familiar heat surges through me, an instinctive response not just to the challenge in his posture, but the blatant dismissal in his tone.
They're either very unfriendly up here, or somehow they sense who I am.
'This is Zade—he's a friend," Sapphire links her fingers through my left hand as though she senses my rising anger. She curls her other hand around my biceps, pushing her breasts into my side in a clear show of intimacy between us.
My irritation disappears, and without even thinking, I put my arm around her waist, then I incline my head to the bikers in a gesture of respect that costs me more than they'll ever know.
'Really, Sparrow? A friend?" The one with the gray ponytail challenges, a deep scowl of displeasure on his face.
Sapphire's tattooed chap remains silent but from the glare directed at me, he echoes gray ponytail's sentiment. There's something else in his gaze—a glint of recognition. And disbelief. I peer at the tattoos on his arms and don't see anything familiar.
Gray ponytail continues testily, 'Considering how Rafe felt, Saph, you really think it's appropriate to bring your ‘friend' around here today?"
The need to assert control is nearly overwhelming. But before I can respond, Sapphire jumps in, hands curled into fists, fire in her eyes.
'I don't think it's appropriate that we're burying your son at all, Grease, so I'm not about to split hairs over the details of the guest list," she snaps back, her fury so palpable it cuts through the tension.
'Leave it alone, Grease," the president intervenes, his voice commanding yet weary as he strides across the lot to us. The moment he reaches us, he grabs Sapphire up in a bear hug, lifting her clear off the ground. 'It's good to see you and to have you back home, Sparrow," he murmurs, affectionately kissing her forehead.
'You too, Daddy. I've missed you so much," she hugs him back. When she rests her cheek against the man's chest, I see a flash of a different side of her, a side that's soft and sweet—innocent, even.
Christ, the woman has more sides to her than a prism. It makes me wonder which one is the real her, and once again, I'm surprised by how much I want to find out.
'We didn't know if you'd show today," Sapphire's father continues, still hugging her as if he doesn't ever want to let go.
'I, ah, of course, Daddy, I had to come say goodbye to Rafe."
Her father looks about to argue but thinks better of it, finally releasing her. Sapphire straightens, then returns to my arms before introducing me.
'Daddy, this is Zade Vitalo," she gestures to me. 'Zade, meet Phoenix, my father and the president of the Reaper Druids MC."
Our handshake is firm, but I can't resist holding his gaze just a beat longer than customary, letting my eyes do the talking. Phoenix's eyes narrow for a fraction of a second in silent recognition. He instantly understands that I'm not just any visitor.
Phoenix's attention shifts back to Sapphire before he signals to one of the younger patch holders. 'Fang here cleared out his room when Mags mentioned you might be swinging by today. The brothers, of course, were skeptical, but it seems Mags was right on the money."
'It was supposed to be a surprise, Daddy. Mags shouldn't have spilled the beans," Sapphire interjects, her tone a mixture of affection and mild irritation.
'If I were any more surprised by your arrival, I'd be on the floor with a heart attack. Anyway, why don't you and Zade settle in with your things before Rafe gets here?"
Sapphire acknowledges that with a somber nod, then shares warm embraces with Grease, the one with the gray ponytail, and Razor, the stocky biker with shaggy red hair. As I gather her luggage from the trunk of the Impala, I notice the other guys are wise enough to keep their distance, satisfied with good-natured teasing and back thumps. All the while, the tattooed chap watches me warily, his posture rigid.
That son of a bitch isn't happy.
What should have been a short walk through an open common room and down a narrow hallway turns into a fifteen-minute-long reunion. The older men and women in the clubhouse feel the need to wrap their arms around Sapphire, and it doesn't escape my notice that a good number of the younger men, even with scantily clad women hanging onto them, can barely keep their tongues from lolling out of their mouths at the sight of Sapphire.
When we finally make it through the crowd and disappear into a sparsely furnished bedroom halfway down the hallway, she pauses right inside the door, looking around with a slight grimace.
'Stay here," she instructs, 'We're going to need pillows— Fang doesn't believe in them." She turns to leave but pauses in the doorway. 'Just don't… sit on anything yet," she wrinkles her nose more.
The room might be bare but it doesn't exactly smell bad.
She disappears before I can ask why she's grossed out, but she's no sooner taken a few steps into the hallway when I hear a male voice hiss at her.
'What the fuck is that piece of shit doing here, Saph?"
Her reply is hushed and firm. 'Keep your voice down, Cade. He's my guest."
'You know who he is, right?"
They're both whispering but to me, their voices are clear as day.
Being trained to listen for drops of shell casings—which, many a time, makes the difference between life and death—hones your hearing. The man's gritty voice is unlike any of the voices from outside or in the common room. Must be the tattooed chap. That fucker is really starting to irritate me now.
Sapphire scoffs, 'You're seriously going to stand here, in the middle of fucking Reaper Druids' clubhouse—the very one that was built on guns and dirty money and all the other illegal shit you can think of—and give me flak about an organized crime family?"
So, Sapphire knows exactly who I am. No shock there, given Mariana's tendency to overshare when she's anxious.
The Cade chap retorts, 'You didn't choose this life, Saph. You were born into it."
'So was Zade," Sapphire replies.
'Oh, so you think that gives you two something in common? That it somehow makes you allies? Wake up and smell the coffee, Saph. That man in there is a different breed. He's a cold-blooded killer. His loyalties lie solely with his family. And last I checked, you don't wear that badge."
'Really! Enlighten me with something I don't already know."
'Sapphire—"
'He's human, Cade, and he's hurting. Unlike you and me, he doesn't have the luxury of walking away. We managed to escape this life. Rafe didn't, and look where it got him—and your father, too."
It's both jarring and humbling to hear Sapphire say that. The irony of that isn't lost on me, considering I was going to kill her. I probably still am.
Cade's sudden derisive laughter fills the silence, 'I thought you said you knew who that bastard is."
'What do you mean?"
'You think he's like one of those stray cats you used to drag home because you felt sorry for them? Sapphire, this one is a different beast altogether. You've brought a tiger within mauling distance of your family."
'Let's not overdramatize, Cade. So he's from the Chicago Outfit—"
'He's not from the Outfit, Saph. He is the Outfit. Zade Vitalo is Don Vitalo. He's entrenched in that life in ways you can't imagine. He's the one calling the shots, ready to pull the trigger on anyone who betrays him. And if you think he's here simply as your ‘date,' you're grossly mistaken. Someone like him wouldn't step one foot outside without an army and a hidden agenda. For all we know, there could be a few hundred snipers trained on this clubhouse as we speak."
A few hundred snipers? What a fucking drama queen. There's just about half a dozen.
Sapphire remains quiet for a long time, apparently absorbing that bit of information, until Cade sighs. 'He's the last man you should be within fifty feet of, Saph, considering the choices you've made in the last ten years. You're determined to leave this life behind you."
'I know that, Cade. It's just a casual fling." She pauses, then adds, 'But even if I wanted to be with him, it'd still be my choice to make."
'Dammit. You've always been too fucking stubborn for your own good."
'And you can't help being a nosy jerk, can you?"
'Don't look now, Saph, but you're sounding an awful lot like Rafe. Rafey."
'Fuck you, Cade," she snaps in response to his taunts, then apparently storms away in resounding clacks of stiletto heels down the hallway.
Sapphire returns to the room a few minutes later with an armful of pillows and tension snapping in the air around her. I lean against the far wall, watching her as she gets fresh sheets and a mattress protector out of her suitcase.
'Hold these," she says, still a little terse from her confrontation, as she drops the bedding into my arms. Then she strips the sheets off the bed and covers the mattress with the protector, bending her body in ways that give me killer views of her heart-shaped ass.
Fuck. My dick is already throbbing, and she's not even halfway done.
When she's finished with the mattress protector, she takes the sheet from me and makes the bed.
I'm not quite sure why she's remaking the bed, but at the moment, it feels like it has something to do with payback for the last two days. Surely, this is some sort of torture tactic. I don't think she realizes what she looks like. Or how close I am to laying her across that bed and fucking her senseless for the way she jumped to my defence out there.
It's an alien feeling. To have someone—a woman that's unrelated to me—have my back.
Calm down. I tell my raging hard-on. She fancies herself your therapist. Of course, she'll be sympathetic to you.
When she's done, she picks up the discarded sheet between two fingers, opens the bedroom door, and drops it in the hallway.
She closes the door and turns to me, and then her brow furrows. 'You'd be doing the same thing if you ever went through one of these rooms with a blacklight.
Ah. And I suddenly get the reason behind her actions.
Sapphire continues, 'Not that it matters for you. You get the floor."
I glance at the scuffed hardwood floor, knowing there's no chance in hell of that happening, but I don't argue about that. Instead, I ask, 'Why do you want your family to think we're together?"
She responds with a nonchalant shrug. 'The Reaper Druids are wary of outsiders. How else am I supposed to justify your cross-country trek to attend the funeral of a man you've never met?"
I can't help but drawl sarcastically. 'Surely, this isn't the first time you've brought home a stray tiger."
'Shit! You heard that!" She flushes, and her composure appears to slip a little.
I don't bother with words; I just let my gaze roam over her. She really is beautiful.
'Zade, Cade is…, shall we say, well known to the police and the authorities. He's used to crawling in the underbelly of Chicago, so he knows who's who in the criminal underworld. That's the only reason he knows who you are."
'Interesting." I expected her to be afraid when she discovered that I'm not just a member but the head of the Outfit. But no, instead, she's worried about this guy.
'Zade, I assure you, Cade means no harm," she pleads.
'Are you asking me for something in particular here?" I push off the wall and slowly stalk toward her, satisfied by the widening of her eyes and the way she takes a few steps back until her back hits the wall.
'What do you think?" she tries to snap but her voice comes out breathy.
'Oh, I don't know," I smirk, inching closer, 'It's all in your voice, your rapid speech, the pulse thrumming in your neck. Are you asking me not to kill him?"
'You weren't meant to hear that conversation," she admits, cornered.
I put my palms on the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. 'I know."
She continues, hastily, 'And—and, Cade isn't stupid. And he's not a rat. I think if he had to choose he'd never side with the rebelling factions."
Her words spark a blend of irritation and an unexpected respect for her insight into the machinations of the Outfit. 'What exactly did Mariana tell you about me, Sapphire?"
'Very little. She only spoke about Leo. I didn't know who you were until after you left my office. And I certainly didn't realize you were—" she pauses, swallowing hard, 'Don Vitalo."
Gently, I trace the rapidly beating pulse at her throat before my hand cups her jaw, my thumb lightly caressing her plump lower lip. 'Are you afraid?"
The silence stretches between us as our gazes lock in wordless dialogue. She wants me against her better judgment. I, on the other hand, shouldn't even be here. And neither should she, for that matter, had I gone with the initial plan. But none of that holds water against the desire beating down on us.
Eventually, her lids flutter closed, and she whispers, 'Should I be afraid, Zade?"
'Hell, yes." My words are barely out before I weave my fingers through her hair and crush my lips to hers.
