It was morning and Brady had already popped by with coffee and breakfast plates loaded up with bacon and eggs for us, waking us up far too early. I had a mild hangover, so he went and got me a couple of ibuprofens.

Jojo and I took turns showering and I was trying to put my crap aside and just be there for her. I’d decided it was my mission that day. To be supportive to my new friend. I’d also decided that even if I hated Rider’s guts, I was going to be Jojo’s friend. If Ella stayed with Deacon, that’d make it even easier to be friends with Jojo.

She’d lent me a very nice black wraparound dress and black heels. I wore a black shelf bra tank top underneath. She wore a black pencil skirt and black blouse with sheer sleeves.

The heels she lent me were a little snug, probably a size too small. I’d survive. They did look pretty fantastic with the dress I had on.

I left my long dark wavy hair loose and put on waterproof mascara and eyeliner as well as my blue-red lip stain that I had with me, in my bag. I put my sunglasses on, just as there was a knock at the door. I answered, because Jojo was in the washroom.

Rider. Wearing dark black jeans, black biker boots, a black dress shirt, and his Dominion Brotherhood black leather vest. He had a black band on his arm and his hair was pulled into a ponytail at his nape. He was clean shaven. Completely. Not a whisker on his face. His eyes pierced into me. He looked absolutely beautiful. So beautiful it hurt. His eyes traveled the length of my body and then back up to my face. I guess my eyes had done the same to him, but at least I had the sunglasses on, so he couldn’t see it.

“Sleep okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, trying to be emotionless. “You?”

“Like shit. Missed you.”

I had to hold firm and not react.

“We’re gonna talk, me ‘n’ you, Jenna. After the funeral. Get to the bottom of all this shit. Okay?”

“We don’t need to,” I said.

His brows rose.

“There’s no me and you, Rider. There won’t be.”

A lump in my throat sat, aching. I stepped aside so he could come fully in. People were walking by, eyeing us. I was thankful I had the dark glasses on.

“There is and you fuckin’ know it,” he snapped, then loudly called “Joelle!”  

He’d cleared the door, so I closed it.

She came out of the bathroom, putting silver hoop earrings in.

“Hey,” she said.

“You’re in Jesse’s pickup. So’s Dad. Jenna’s on the back of my bike.”

I opened my mouth, about to protest, but he shot me a look that I read as threatening. It was a “don’t argue” look. I wasn’t about to argue with that expression on his face. That look on his face was almost blood-chilling.

Jojo reached for her purse and passed me mine and we left, leaving Marshmallow to her self-grooming on the bed.

When we got into the hallway, Rider grabbed my hand. I went to pull away and his hand tightened.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, through gritted teeth.

“Bunch of brothers saw you in your panties last night. Lucky for you my name was on your back, but you better believe they’re also gonna see you holding my hand.”

Okay then. I had no reply.

Shit, but my feet were already hurting from these tight shoes. I was in for a rough day ahead. For many reasons.

***

The convoy to the funeral home from the clubhouse was a long one. Dozens of motorcycles. Local Doms, Aberdeen ones, and ones with other city names on them, too. And some of the biker jackets had other club names on them. I saw at least five different emblems beyond Dominion Brotherhood and I wondered if that meant that all these clubs would be against the Wyld Jackals.

I’d gotten a quick hug from Deacon and then from Spencer outside when Rider grabbed a helmet from him and pulled me away from Spencer, shooting him a dirty look. I almost tripped at the jolt backwards. I collided with Deacon, who steadied me.

I saw Spencer shoot Rider a weird look and step back.

“Where’s Ella?” I’d asked Deacon, to break the loaded silence.

“She’s outta town safe with her Ma and Beau. ‘Til shit calms.”

I was thankful she was okay. And far away from the nonsense. That said something about Deacon, at least.

Rider had grabbed my hand and pulled me to the vintage bike we’d ridden on the day before.

That was when Deke came over to us. “Hey, Rider’s Pink Lady.” He winked.

“Hi.” Oh God. Talk about mortified.

“We haven’t officially met yet.” He kissed me on the forehead and gave me a hug. “Though I thank you for your patronage at The Roadhouse. You gave the place a boost just showin’ up that few times. Lookin’ forward to gettin’ to know you better, Jenna.”

“Hi,” I repeated again, stupidly, feeling embarrassed that he was one of the ones who’d seen me dragging a suitcase down the hall the night before, drunk, angry, and in underwear. Of course he did. Just my luck that Rider’s dad would witness that. I shouldn’t care what Rider’s dad thinks of me. Yet, I couldn’t help it.

“Hi.” He returned, his mouth twitching with humor, and he moved to Jojo and put his arm around her and led her to Jesse’s pickup truck as Rider secured the helmet on my head.

He was President of the Aberdeen chapter, so I wasn’t sure why he wasn’t riding a motorcycle himself.

***

The almost two hours at the visitation before sitting down for the service weren’t easy.

First of all, when we walked into the funeral home, there was a wall of photos and I saw the many images of a long-haired, tall, dark, and incredibly handsome Luke ‘Lick’ Hanson. And I had video flashbacks of him. Of Scooter.  Of Rider. I tried to push it away. There were loads of pictures of him with the brothers of the Dominion Brotherhood. There was one picture of Jojo with him in a headlock and my heart seized at that. She was staring at it, too. I grabbed her hand. She leaned into me.  She started to move toward the front of the room, toward Deacon and Spencer, so I let go of her hand. They flanked her and followed her up. There was a large poster-sized photo of him on an easel, beside a closed coffin.

I heard a female voice stage-whispering behind me.

“Couldn’t do open casket because he got himself decapitated in that wreck.”

I felt my body seize.  Rider’s body moved closer to mine and I couldn’t help but lean into him. My knees had buckled at that comment.

“Ma, fuck,” Rider snapped. “Get her outta here,” he clipped, and two bikers I didn’t recognize moved in. Shelly glared at Rider while they ushered her out, away from a bunch of other older ladies. She was dressed in a black leather strapless dress, way too much black eye makeup on. Fishnet stockings. So not classy it wasn’t funny.

Jojo was up front and she was in Deacon’s arms, bawling.

My heart hurt seeing her shoulders shake, hearing that painful sound coming from her.

I looked at Rider. He was staring up at the front and his jaw was ticking.

“I can sit if you wanna go up,” I whispered. There were a few empty chairs against the wall.

“Come?” he asked softly, and with the look on his face, I couldn’t help but nod. He took my hand and we slowly made our way to the front. He was walking so slow that my guess was that he was delaying the inevitable. Rider was not looking forward to being at that coffin. And he wouldn’t. Who would?

When we got there, amid flowers and many other bikers, I saw another mural of photos. I saw Rider and Luke both in a field, on ATVs both covered in muck with big smiles on muddy faces. He was in several of the group shots. I guess he and Luke “Lick” Hanson had been close. I looked at his face as his eyes moved around the photos and I saw pain there.

A lady and man were standing there, by the coffin, faces pale, eyes haunted and on Rider.

“Mrs. Hanson. Mr. Hanson.” Rider reached out and shook his hand and then moved to the lady and gave her a hug.

“My girlfriend, Jenna,” he introduced, and I shook hands with them both.

“About time,” Mr. Hanson said to Rider, softly, a little bit of a smile tugging at his lips while he motioned to me, and Rider gave him a tight smile.

”Thank you for coming,” Mr. Hanson said to me. And he had kind eyes. Sad, but kind.

Mrs. Hanson just stood there, looking almost zombie-like.

“My condolences,” I said, or more croaked, trying and failing to ignore the emotions Rider’s introduction had churned up.

Rider’s free hand landed on the casket and he stood there and closed his eyes.  I just stood there, holding his other hand. Why was I here? Why did he want me by his side for this? I didn’t agree to be his girlfriend. Why did he want me to be after all that’d happened so far?

He took a breath and his eyes tightened. And I, for some reason, squeezed his hand.

His eyes moved to me. And I saw the bleak stark pain at the loss of his friend.

Something snapped inside me at seeing that pain on his face and so, before calculating the move, I moved in and put my arms around him. He buried his face into my neck and squeezed. I felt weak in the knees.  He was a little shaky. And holding me a little too tight.

I just stood there, holding him, feeling for him. For all of them.

I was chewing the inside of my cheek raw in an effort to keep the tears away. I had no right to cry. I didn’t know Luke Hanson. I only barely knew the Valentines.

Rider grabbed my hand again and we moved out of the room, thankfully. He grabbed a pair of dark glasses from his pocket and put them on and we went back outside. We stood in a circle with a bunch of bikers, most of which were smoking cigarettes or standing there vaping. Some Doms, some from other motorcycle clubs. Some men just in suits and not biker gear. The parking lot was crawling with motorcycles.

I saw Scooter, who was still looking a bit beat up, but much better than the last time I’d seen him. He saw me and quickly looked the other way, looking embarrassed, maybe. He lit a cigarette and I knew he was hoping I’d look away.

“Cherry,” the large bartender from Deke’s Roadhouse approached and gave me a jolly hug, pulling my attention away from Scooter.

“Hi,” I greeted.

“Cherry?” Rider growled at him, looking ready to throw down and fight him.

“Yeah, she likes cherries in her drinks,” the guy said, innocently.  “Like…14 of them.”

“Name’s Jenna,” Rider said, almost snarled.

“All right,” he waved his hands defensively. “Guess I picked the way wrong fruit for a nickname.”

“I’d fuckin’ say you did,” Rider snapped.

I gave the bartender, I think his name was Little John, an apologetic smile.  “I’ll ask for extra limes or olives next time.”

He laughed. A few others in the group laughed. Rider’s face was still hard.

Deacon approached us and then Rider’s body tightened, and he seemed like he was even angrier.

What now?

“Can you take care of her for me for a sec?” Rider asked Deacon. Deacon gave him a chin jerk and put his arm around me. I watched Rider stride purposefully across the parking lot and stop at an absolutely gorgeous blonde girl, around my age.

She was dressed in a black dress, she had loads of beautiful blonde hair that fell to her waist. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her around to the other side of a big passenger van, out of sight.

My scalp prickled in response.

“You okay?” Deacon asked, jiggling me with the arm that was around me.

I nodded and looked up at him. He was even taller than Rider. And then I shrugged. “No. But how’s everything for you?” I asked.

“It’s amped.” He gave me a squeeze and kept his arm around me.

“Is Ella all right?”

“She’s good,” he replied, and he got a twinkle in his brown and amber eyes.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone this long with not talking to her, seeing her.”

“She misses you. She’d been worryin’ about you. My brother taking good care of ya?”

“No,” I said softly.

He looked angry. “Why? What’s up?”

I shook my head. “I don’t… I can’t…”

“Listen,” he said, the anger melting away. “Whatever you two are dealing with, it’s gonna be harder with all this shit goin’ on. Hanson’s death is gonna fuck with him, but he’s gonna have trouble showin’ it. Just take things a breath at a time and let him keep you safe.” He gave me another squeeze.

“There’s no us two, Deacon. He’s not… this is just a game.”

He shook his head. “Nope. He’s playin’ for keeps, Jenna. Never seen him like this.” He gave me a pointed look.

I blinked.

He gave me another squeeze, as if to drive the message home.
“Ride and I are close. I’m not just his brother, I’m his brother. Trust me. He says he wants to be with you, he fuckin’ well does. Introducing you as his woman? He’s a joker, but he wouldn’t joke about that. Believe it.”

I blew out a breath. We were talking low, but I noticed Deke had his eyes and ears on us. My eyes met his and he, Spencer, and Deacon all had the same eyes.

Deke gave me a nod. He was wordlessly agreeing with Deacon.

I chewed my cheek.

And I decided right there that regardless, I liked Deacon. And Deke. I also didn’t know how to feel about those words from Deacon, the confirmation from Deke.

Spencer moved closer to me, “Hey,” he said. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall and leveled a gaze on me. “You been takin’ care of Joelle. Thank you.”

I shrugged. “We’ve been keeping each other company while being under lock down or whatever you guys call it.”

“Naw, you’ve been doin’ more. Thank you,” Spencer said, with feeling. His eyes told me he knew how rough all this was on his sister.

Maybe Spencer wasn’t a complete jerk.

Rider was beside me again, the blonde mysteriously gone.  Deacon let go of me and Rider put his arm around me and kissed my temple.

I stood still.

“She’s been taking great care of Jojo,” he said, pulling me tighter against his side, obviously having heard Spencer.

Jojo was off to the side with Brady and they were making their way toward us. She was pale and puffy-eyed.

“The service is starting in five minutes. Let’s go get seats?” she suggested. “Luke’s parents had space reserved for our family.”

I linked arms with her, giving me an opportunity to move away from Rider. I moved inside with the rest of the Valentines. But, then I saw, across the parking lot, the other Valentine. Formerly.

Shelly was standing there, smoking a cigarette and talking on her phone, an absolutely venomous look on her face as her eyes followed the family she’d thrown away.

I saw Rider throw her a look and then we were inside. We moved into a chapel and sat in the row behind Luke’s parent’s. Jojo was on my right, Rider on my left, at the end of the aisle and I’d held Jojo’s hand during the service.

We sat through the twenty-minute service, the minister speaking, saying prayers, and I hadn’t had much experience with death or funerals, but it felt like he was giving a fairly generic service.

After saying a series of prayers, he said, “Lucas’s friend Rider would like to say a few words.”

Jojo’s hand started to shake. I squeezed it and watched him walk up to the podium.

And I was transfixed by it. By his face. His body language. His gestures. His voice. He spoke well. Clear. Composed. But with feeling. So much feeling that I felt more guilt at Deacon’s words sinking in, thinking about all the photos of Rider and Luke, realizing he’d been carrying the pain of this loss quietly the past few days.

“Lucas Arthur Hanson was a recently patched member of the Dominion Brotherhood Motorcycle Club. No one called him Lucas. Some, his parents, coupla girls… called him Luke. To the rest of us, he was Lick. Or Hanson. But, despite only recently getting his patch, he was one of us for over a decade. He was a brother to many men in this room. Looked up to many of you half his life. He was there for me through many rough times the past twelve years. Some of which, he was there without being there, because he couldn’t be. But he was where he was because he was such a good friend. He was around for a whole lot of good times, too. Lick was the reason for a lot of good times.” He stopped and moistened his lips, then continued.

“Lick liked to have a good time. Lick loved his brothers and Lick was an only child, and he was tight with his folks, but he always wanted the big, loud, obnoxious family you get when you’re in an MC. He wanted that his whole life. He had to prove he was ready, so he waited a long time to be brought in as a prospect, but he proved he was committed, and once he got his shot, he took to the brotherhood like a fish who’d finally got put in water where he belonged. He woulda got his patch much earlier, but he had to do a stint with the state until a few years ago when he started prospecting for us.

He was the kind of guy willing to give you the shirt off his back. The kinda guy willin’ to do time for a brother, even. That time he did was a prime example of the kind of brother he was. Many of you in this room get my drift. But…”

He took a breath and smiled a beautiful smile that stole my breath for a second.

“He was also the kinda brother who’d shave your head and draw a unibrow with a Sharpie if you passed out before he decided the party was over. He was always the last to pass out, always. And many in this room have faced the fallout of fallin’ asleep too early.”

Chuckles broke out in the room.

“And you were lucky if it was a Sharpie, because the alternative was his tattoo gun. Brady knows.”

There were louder chuckles through the room and a lot of people looking over their shoulders to Brady, who was laughing, standing against the wall at the back of the jam-packed chapel.  My eyes moved from the sea of biker vests, tattoos, and beards back there to the turquoise eyes at the podium.

Rider’s expression went sober again. “He told me, years ago, he’d always known he’d die young. Lick knew it. He just felt it. He wanted to live his life full throttle. And that was what he did. He found his way. And he was taking steps to put down roots, too, though he hadn’t shared that directly with me yet. And knowin’ the man he was, I gotta believe he had his reasons. Anyway… Lick wanted something, he went for it, fuck the consequences. He loved his family, he loved his club, and he loved to ride his motorcycle. We’ll miss you man. You were an amazing artist and I am thrilled to have so much of that art on my skin. I carry it with pride.” Rider looked to the large photo of Luke off to the side. It was a photo of him leaning against the side of the clubhouse, dressed in full biker gear, a big smile on his face.

“And now, I’ve finally got the best hair in the club. Thanks, man.” More chuckles. “Thanks, man. For everything. You know what you’ve been to me. At least I hope you do. Love ya. See you on the flipside.” He stepped down, rapped twice on the coffin with his knuckles, and moved down to our spot the second row back. I thought he’d sit, but instead, he reached for my hand and jerked his chin. He lifted his sunglasses out of his pocket and gave a flick to open them up and put them on his face. I rose and took his hand and he walked, with me, through a room packed to the brim, and out the door.

I followed my aching feet in silence until we got to his motorcycle. I couldn’t read his face with his sunglasses on. His mouth was in a tight line as he buckled my helmet on.

“You good for a long ride? I need it,” he asked. But, it wasn’t a question, because there was no way I could say no.

I gave my head a jerk, a little confused.

“Tap my left elbow if you need me to pull off.”

I blinked and then I nodded.

He put the helmet on for me.

He climbed onto the bike and waited. I stood a second, and then shook myself free of my daze and climbed on behind him and put my one arm around his middle, using my other hand to hold the dress closed (wrap dresses were not recommended for motorcycle riding, FYI). We were off before anyone else came outside.