Chapter Fifteen
She’s Paris
Kevin had learned from Sid that a portion of Aurelie’s admission dues to the fetish club was service. She was contractually bound to present herself twice each month for restricted tasks or jobs at the club. Since the club was only open eight nights a month, this meant she had six left for playtime. The night of Mica’s party happened to fall on one of Aurelie’s service nights, or he might never have found her.
According to Sid, she only agreed to private sessions without observers, but he’d mentioned that Aurelie had been seen at private dungeons around town through the years. A beautiful French-speaking submissive, of course she’d been noted and talked about. Just never around me, dammit. The scars on her back were still vivid enough to mean they had been acquired fairly recently. Long ago enough to heal and not be disabling, but not enough time had passed for the wounds to silver and turn white. Kevin would give his eyeteeth to know where she’d fallen foul of her own desire to serve.
From the limited bits of conversation he’d pried out of her so far, one of the few things she’d been willing to admit was that she had attempted to call a halt. Had tried to bring an end to it, but with her stoic attitude, she may never have exposed to the Dom how he’d misjudged. Still, she had safeworded and been ignored, resulting in the scarring of her skin and soul. It made him sick to think of that kind of violation done to a sub. Kevin was painfully aware that not every person playing at being a dominant held themselves to the same rigid standards. He had mentored more than one of that type through the years, finding their blindness infuriating.
Tonight was Aurelie’s return to the club, and he wanted her to go. Wanted to be able to observe her and see if the periodic timidity would resurface. He’d intended to be there to watch her. To watch over her. Had even planned for Goose to be a second set of eyes, hoping to mark who her previous partners were.
Until four hours ago.
That was when Mason had texted information about a meeting at the Chicago clubhouse and noted it was mandatory for three people, with Road Runner one of the names on that list. Goose would have to be her sole shadow at the club, his role now expanded to guard.
Grabbing his cut from the back of a dining room chair, Road Runner shrugged it into place and stalked out to his bike. Twenty minutes later he was idling at the curb in front of the clubhouse, waiting on the prospect manning the gate to get it open. Five minutes passed, and Road Runner was still waiting.
When a roar of bikes sounded from up the street, he’d had enough of the delay. As much as he loved his brothers, protecting Aurelie was also important to him. She was important. Instead of tending to her, he knew he’d have to spend hours listening to the bullshit politics of someone’s request to sell weed or cocaine out of their clubhouse, or why they wanted to run flesh out of their clubhouse, or bitching about something a brother’s old lady had done at a clubhouse party. The complainer conveniently forgetting that every clubhouse was Rebel, which meant they were all Mason’s, and that every clubhouse belonged to every member. Anger barely under control, because he wasn’t where he wanted to be, Road Runner thought, Their clubhouse is mine, and I don’t want trash in my house.
The prospect was still bent over the gate’s motor when Road Runner got to the guardhouse. He reached down, past the kid’s scared face, flicked the override lever with one finger and then turned toward the driveway. When he looked up, he saw two dozen men idling at the gate. Curling his lip, he recognized them as members of the St. Louis chapter. These were the bastards standing between him and what he wanted. Leaning forward, Road Runner put his shoulder to the gate and with a grunt, began pushing the heavy metal out of the way.
No shouts of encouragement came from the men on the road; not a single man left his bike or offered to help. Road Runner lowered his head, seeing the prospect was shoving at the gate, too. Their progress had been slow but steady when with a lurch, the gate moved faster. Road Runner twisted his neck to see Mason leaning into the gate from the inside, fingers wound into and through the wire, using his strength to help push. The three of them made short work of shifting the barrier, and it was only a minute later before the opening was clear to the parking lot. Road Runner and Mason stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the prospect, watching as the men from St. Louis rolled past Road Runner’s bike, past the observers with a bare flick of fingers in salute, and onto Rebel territory.
Mindful of the unprivileged ears beside them, Road Runner asked, “Gonna be a night?”
“Yeah.” Mason’s response was flat and angry, and Road Runner twisted to look at him. Mason’s gaze had followed one of the men, and Road Runner glanced over to recognize Pike, the president of the St. Louis chapter. They watched as he parked his bike and then sat on it like a throne, accepting greetings from Chicago members as they exited the clubhouse to see who had backed pipes to the building.
“Contentious?” His question might be overstepping because he wasn’t an officer, but there seemed to be some bad blood here. Since Mason had demanded his attendance, he might have somewhat of a voice, and it was better to know any details before the doors closed on church.
“Fuck yeah.” Mason shook himself like a dog, putting one hand on the prospect’s shoulder with a squeeze. “Pros, do me a favor, yeah? Call Woody, tell him I said get his ass here and look at the gate. Leave it open for now, but keep your eyes peeled for trouble.” To Road Runner, he said, “Walk with me.” Road Runner retrieved his bike and then fell into step beside him, and they were a half a dozen strides away from the gate when Mason floored him with an unexpected demand, “Tell me about your gal.”
Road Runner’s footsteps slowed, and he halted for a moment, balancing the bike as he stared at Mason. “How do you know about Aurelie?”
“You think I’m an idiot?” Mason shook his head and grinned as Road Runner stepped up beside him again. “Brother, in the past week you bailed on two rides where our brothers were looking forward to eatin’ all the shit nobody can pronounce on your bullshit menus. It might be fancy shit, but it’s the good shit. Instead of showing and feedin’ the bellies of your brothers, you—and this was the shocker—left the food to the prospects.” Mason snorted. “Prospects who fucked everything up, which isn’t something you’d allow. Heard from Goose you needed a brother to bring your scoot home from y’alls playhouse a few nights ago, that need neatly coinciding with the first absence from a planned run. So,” tilting his head to one side, Mason asked again, “you think I’m an idiot? I didn’t know her name was Aurelie, but of course there’s a gal.”
He had no reason to keep anything from Mason, a man he felt closer to than a brother. She wasn’t a secret, and nothing about what he wanted to do with her was shameful. Aurelie mattered, and it was right that Mason know it. The men from St. Louis might be patch brothers, but Mason was a true one, closer than blood. Road Runner breathed out steadily, his footsteps slowing as he shared, “She’s Paris.”
As they had with Goose, these words said everything, and he knew it when Mason whistled low. “No shit?”
Road Runner shook his head. “She’s Paris, brother.” He sucked a breath, watching as Pike, finally off his ass, strutted toward the clubhouse door. Road Runner knew Mason needed him, wouldn’t have made the request if shit wasn’t about to hit the fan. Still, he was torn, because as much as he wanted to be here for his brothers, he needed to be with Aurelie. “Someone’s gotten their hooks into her. I need to see if I can get her clear.”
“Fuck, brother.” Mason sighed and was about to say something, but Road Runner cut him off.
“Don’t. Just don’t. We’ll deal with whatever it is you need me for now. Let’s focus on this and get it out of the way, put it in our rearview. Once we’re confident things are where we need them to be for the club, then I’ll head to the ‘playhouse,’ as you put it.” It went against the grain, but he had to entrust Aurelie’s wellbeing to someone else for now. “Goose has my back on this, Mason. No brother I’d trust more, except you. So, I’m here, and I’ve got my head in the game. Swear. You tell me what you need. I’m all over it.”
“I know you are, man. Loyalty and respect run deep in your bones.” Mason reached out, grabbed the door handle and tugged, releasing music and deep laughter into the night air of the parking lot. “Let’s get this shit show started.”