Cutter
They pulled into the Vanguard clubhouse's parking lot on Cutter's bike. Liona's wedding gown had fluttered behind them the whole way, even though she'd wrapped up all its extraneous cloth beneath her when she'd straddled the seat and climbed aboard.
He hadn't been able to think of any better place to take her. And she hadn't been able to come up with any solutions either. So, by default, they'd settled on the clubhouse. It was far from perfect, that was for sure, but at least Wyland would never come looking here for her.
Besides, he didn't have any plans of letting her out of his sight. He wasn't exactly sure what kind of leverage it might give him over Wyland, but he could spot an opportunity coming from a mile away. And this woman right here was an opportunity if he'd ever seen one.
“This your place?” Liona asked, a note of disbelief in her voice as she looked around at the trees on the perimeter, and the old metal building in front of her. Clearly, it was the kind of place she wasn't used to.
“Yeah. Why?”
She shouldered her bag again, hitching it up a little higher. “No reason,” she replied. “Just, well, isn't it weird living in a place like this?”
“Nah,” he said, reaching for the bag on her shoulder. “It's home.”
She glanced down at his hand, and the help he offered, and just shook her head. “I've got it.”
“Suit yourself,” Cutter said, then headed off to the front door of the clubhouse, resisting the urge to look back and see if she followed.
“How many guys live here?” she asked as they pushed through the entry and went inside.
“We got rooms for seven or eight guys, me included,” Cutter replied as they headed back to the small room reserved for him. “We keep it pretty low-key most nights, though. Weekends, all bets are off. Still, it ain't like it used to be. We all gotta earn an honest living now.”
Her face was a case study in wonder as she looked around at the empty building, at the flags up on the wall, the posters and the hunting trophies. All the others were gone still. The ones who worked at Farm to Fable were probably still in the middle of their closing duties, and a lot of the other guys had errands, jobs, girlfriends, and all manner of other reasons to be out and about.
“Honest living, huh?” she asked as they turned down the hall that led to the rooms.
“Absolutely,” Cutter said with a grin. “You're looking at the head chef and manager for Farm to Fable.”
“Wow! Really?” Liona said, surprise in her voice. “I went in there once, but I didn't know you were the owner. I thought it was some guy named Slick, or Gash, or something.”
“Cutter,” he said, grinning. “That'd be me. I was probably in the back house, making your brunch.”
“Cutter? All of you guys got nicknames like that?”
“Most of us,” he said. He shrugged as they turned a corner and were presented with a whole new row of doors.
“So, which do you prefer? Desmond? Or Cutter?”
“Cutter,” he growled. “Might confuse the guys otherwise.”
“You run the whole thing? The restaurant, I mean.”
“Yep,” he said as they stopped in front of his bunk door. “What'd you think? About the food?”
“Had the eggs Benedict,” she replied, her words clearly less reserved on this topic than they had been on the subject of her wedding. “It was pretty good, I guess.”
“Pretty good,” Cutter said as he crossed his arms and leaned back against the door, “you guess?”
She rolled her eyes. “The hollandaise was a little lumpier than I prefer, okay?”
Cutter grunted. He'd never been able to take criticism well. Especially not when it came to his cooking. He turned back around and pushed the door open, leading her into his room.
“Welcome to my digs,” he said as he flipped the light on and showed her his place for the first time. It wasn't perfect, and he’d be the first to admit it, but it was still home.
“Oh,” she said, glancing around the room at all the license plates he'd gotten from the various states he'd visited, the shot glasses from all the national parks he'd ridden through and camped at, his various books and bike repair guides. “At least it's clean.”
He hadn't expected her to be impressed. It was a bachelor pad, after all. A one room bunk with an attached bathroom. It wasn't exactly a place to settle into, that was for sure. She turned to smile at him and slowly reached out to grab his hand. “Thank you, by the way.” She paused and licked her lips as she wrapped her slender, soft fingers around his big callused paw. “I mean it. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along when you did.”
Her touch sent tingles through his hand, through his body. He cursed himself. Part of him knew he shouldn't be acting like this. He'd pushed her out of his mind years ago, had thought he'd finally gotten over her. He was harboring the assistant DA's fiancée. He needed to be smart about this. One wrong move, and his ass would be on the line.
“Well,” he replied, carefully taking his hand away from hers, “we used to be best friends, right? And, clearly you don’t have anyone else, so here I am.”
Her smile drooped into a frown as he removed her hand from his, but in the next moment she appeared to shake the funk off. She took her bag off her shoulder and tossed it on the bed. She sat down next to her piece of luggage and looked down at herself, at her muddy wedding dress. Silence filled the room, suffocating him.
“So,” Cutter said after a long, uncomfortable moment. There was an elephant in the room, and they both knew it was there. “About this wedding escape?”
“What about it?” she mumbled, her eyes still downcast.
“What happened with the ceremony?” he asked, trying to pick his words carefully. “Why'd you leave Wyland at the altar?”
She pressed her lips together and toyed with the fabric of her dress, her hands pulling at the ruined material. She'd always fidgeted like this when she was nervous.
“Nothing, then?” he growled. He didn't have much patience for this kind of thing. Never had, probably never would, and it was one thing that had always created a distance between them. “No explanation?”
More silence.
“Suit yourself, I guess,” he finally said.
She just looked up at him after he spoke and kind of shrugged. “Not much to say, really,” she said after a while and gave him a weak smile. “Just didn't want to marry him, I guess.”
He slowly nodded his head. “Well, alright then,” he said. He could push and pry all day long if he wanted, but if this Liona Copeland was anything like the Liona Copeland he'd known all those years ago, she wasn't going to budge if she didn't want to. And, clearly, she didn't want to.
Outside, the noise of multiple bikes began to fill the lot and the surrounding area. It was about that time, Cutter figured, for the guys to be coming back after closing up at the diner.
He raised a calming hand as she looked around, almost a little frantically. “It's cool,” he said. “It's just the guys getting back. Nothing serious.”
“Oh,” she said, calming a little. “What are they going to say about me being here?”
It was his turn to shrug. “Dunno. I'm the president, though, so I've got more than a little say on whether or not you stick around.”
“The president?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as she gave a little laugh. “You're the head of these guys?”
Cutter grinned. “Yep. Been top dog for a couple years now.”
“So, you think they'll let me lay low here for a while?”
“Ain't gonna know until I put it to a vote.”
Truthfully, he wasn't sure of what their initial reaction would be. He still hadn't told her about Wyland coming after the MC, putting their guys in jail, or any of the Vanguard's other plans. And, for now, things were going to stay that way. He didn't want her to think she was just being used, even if that’s what it looked like. He realized now, as he stood in the same room with her, that he did have feelings for her. Latent, deep, almost below his consciousness, but there nonetheless. He hadn't gotten rid of them, he'd just buried them down deep enough to forget about them.
He frowned. Some of the guys might want to play it safe, and keep clear of her because of her relationship with Wyland. They wouldn't want to stir that pot. But, deep down he knew something wasn't right about this, about the way she'd just left him at the altar. Sure, the guy had been kind of a dick before, when they were back in high school. But, the two of them been together all this time. She wouldn't have left him without good reason.
Regardless of the outcome, he needed to convince the rest of the Vanguard of his plan, and Liona was at the heart of it. Otherwise, they'd think he was just asking them to stick their necks out to protect an old flame of his, and he couldn't ask something like that of them. Not even under better circumstances.
“No idea, then?”
Cutter shrugged and gave her his best poker face. “Better get to it. You stay here and get settled.”
“Yeah,” she replied. “I'll get changed and stuff.”
He nodded and excused himself from the room. He made sure the door was closed completely behind him and headed out to the living area. The guys were already hooting, hollering, and cracking beers. They were off work, after all.