Not Just His Old Lady

oe

e valley, a familiar symphony that signals the return of the

dress, a nervous energy thrumming through me. The other members milling in the yard, m

he compound. He's at the front, his leather Cut bearing the Pre

ng smile freez

man, her cheap blonde hair whipping in the wi

s my

as other members notice. Whispers start to ripple through the crowd like a foul

turns and helps the strange woman off his bike. He does it with a gentleness I h

. Behind them, a chase car pulls up, and two small chi

There's no warmth in his gaze, only a hard, unyielding resolve. "Ch

maybe this isn't a good idea..." she whispers, her voice tremblin

locked on me. He doesn't need to explain. The pub

s. She's the club's self-proclaimed princess, spoiled and venomous. "Well, we

an whose name is tattooed over my heart, as he st

randy and her two children towards the main

line, and his familiar leather scent mixes with her ch

one, though his eyes are only on me. "Her husb

murmur through the club members. Duty. Loyalty.

er the club's protection now," Jasper conti

s public spectacle, bringing her back on his bike, is anothe

. As the President's Old Lady, my reaction sets the tone for the en

en as my heart feels like it's being shredded by gravel. "The clu

something-maybe relief, maybe disapp

ing else, something calculating, in her gaze. "Th

, peeks out from behind her legs, st

kind to me, approaches with a worried expression, but

past me, into the heart of the clu

me. He doesn't

shut behind them, leaving me standing alo

tear threatening to fall. I quickly brush

head bartender, comes to my side, her express

place where he disappeared with her. He didn't just