It doesn’t escape my attention that all of the other Old Ladies pile in one SUV while I drive all the way back to Shasta by myself. I was a bitch to them for years, so it shouldn’t surprise or hurt my feelings. For whatever reason, it does just that.
My cell phone rings in the seat next to me. Without thinking, I accept the call. I regret my decision as soon as Graham’s voice comes through the car’s speakers.
“Where are you headed, Imogen?” he asks coolly.
“Home,” I admit as my fingers grip the steering wheel.
“Back to the mountains, then?”
I don’t bother responding. He knows where I’m going, and he knows it’s not anywhere with him.
“I just had a long conversation with your father. You know he’s very upset by your choices. He feels as though you’re not quite sane,” he chuckles. “Going back with a habitual cheater, a drug user, and a felon in a motorcycle gang,” he states before he makes a tsk, tsk sound.
My jaw clenches at his words, at his veiled threat, “What do you want, Graham?”
“Oh, you’ll know when I’m ready to tell you,” he ominously says before he ends the call.
My brow furrows, and I try turning up the radio to take my mind off of the strange conversation. I don’t know what kind of game Graham is playing, or what he and my father have planned. I should probably be worried, but I’m so far removed from them up here in the mountains that I doubt I’ll even hear from either of them again, until my parents’ summer get together.
Looking in my rearview mirror, I notice that I’ve been separated from the rest of the group somewhere on the freeway. When I take my exit, I assume that we’ll catch up, but then something flashes in my rearview mirror.
The blue and red lights have me pulling as far over to the side of the road as I can. I watch as a police officer approaches my window, and I roll it down, feeling nervous as my hands grip my steering wheel.
“Hey there, ma’am. License and registration please,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. Except, when I glance up at him, I’m startled by the intensity in his gaze.
With shaky fingers, I reach for my glove box and pull out my registration then grab my wallet from my purse to find my license.
“Imogen Huntington,” he murmurs. I watch as his eyes travel from my license, to my face, to my breasts. “You were going five miles over the speed limit, and in inclement weather.”
My eyebrows snap together, and I look up at the sky. It’s a gorgeous sunny day, a warm seventy degrees, and not a cloud in the sky.
“Inclement weather?” I ask.
He grins as his teeth sink into his bottom lip. “Yeah, sweetheart. Now, I can give you this ticket, but it’ll make your rates go up, and probably not look too great to have the wife of a man on probation getting a reckless driving ticket—or I can make it all go away.”
“Make it go away?” I whisper, pretty damn sure what he’s implying, but unbelieving that this is actually happening to me.
He leans over, his wrists pressing against my window, his hands dangling in my car, and his face mere inches from mine. “You suck my cock, sweetheart, and I can make it all go away. You don’t, and I’ll have to pull you out of this car and do a search. Now, I would hate to see you go down because that husband of yours thought he’d be slick and put his dope in your car.”
I press my lips together, unsure of what to say or do. There’s no way in hell I’m giving this douchebag a blowjob; but since he’s obviously dirty, I have no idea what lengths he’ll go with his filth. He pauses and I watch him reach into his pocket, pulling out his phone.
“Yeah, I got her right here. No, he’s not with her,” he sighs before he continues. “Yeah, okay.” He looks at me and presses his lips together as a muscle jumps in his cheek. “You get a pass today, sweetheart. But eventually, those sweet lips will be wrapped around my cock. You can guarantee that shit.
He stands, throwing my license and registration at me before he walks away. When he’s in his car, he turns around and heads in the opposite direction of where I’m driving.
Only when he’s gone do I start to shake. My entire body starts to tremble and my eyes water. I try to take calm breaths, but I’m on edge. Had he not gotten that phone call, there’s no telling what he would have forced me to do. Out here, on this deserted road, I wouldn’t have been able to stop him, no matter how hard I fought.
Sucking in a deep breath, I look around before I pull back onto the road. I should turn around and go back to San Francisco, get the fuck away from Sloane and whatever is following him. That cop knew who I was. He pulled me over to fuck with me for a purpose. I try to force the entire situation out of my head. Ignorance is bliss, and I just want to forget it even happened.
By the time I’ve arrived at the home I’ve shared with Sloane for the past fourteen years, I’ve completely forgotten the conversation with Graham and ignored the fear from the police officer. My house is looming in front of me, and I don’t want to get out of my car.
My heart starts to race, and I find it hard to breathe as I look at the house I’ve practically lived in alone. I can’t count how many tears I’ve cried, how many nights I laid awake imagining every disgusting scenario I could think of.
I don’t want things to ever to go back to the way they were, not even a little bit. I feel like walking into this house will catapult me back in time, and I want no part of it.
“Imogen?” Sloane’s voice calls out as he knocks on my car window.
I don’t know where he came from, but seeing his green eyes makes my tense body relax.
I jump slightly and turn to face him. He must see something on my face, because his eyebrows pull together and he yanks my car door open before he crouches down beside me.
“What’s wrong, sunshine?” he asks.
Ignoring everything but my feelings about this house, I answer, “I thought I could do it. I thought I could go back inside that house and pretend that the memories were just that—memories. I thought that we could make new ones and everything would be fine.”
“Genny,” he murmurs as he lifts his hand and wraps it around the back of my neck. I search his light green eyes and wait for him to say something else. “I have to work, baby. I don’t want you to be here if it’s going to upset you like this. I’m workin’ with Camo tonight. You can go and hangout with Ivy until we’re off?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, not wanting to be a burden on Ivy, but also not wanting to go inside of that house. My eyes move from the house back to Sloane, and I nod.
“As long as it’s okay, I’ll stay with her,” I mutter.
“I’ll build you a new house, sunshine, one where we can make new memories,” he states. I can’t help the smile that plays on my lips. “But unless you want to live at the clubhouse while it’s being built, you’re going to have to go inside this place eventually.”
“Yeah,” I exhale.
“For now, you got some shit in your bag, and you can just go to Camo and Ivy’s,” he shrugs. I nod in agreement.
Sloane stands up, but before he straightens, he squeezes the back of my neck and brushes his lips against mine. When he walks away, I watch him in my rearview mirror. He walks over to the SUV.
The men are all standing around, and he points at my car, at the house, then shakes his head. Camo slaps him on the back, and then he turns and walks back toward me.
“Follow the SUV. They’ll go straight to Ivy’s, and I’ll be right behind you,” he gently states before he turns and walks back to his bike.
I start my car again. Once the SUV pulls out into the street, I back up and then follow behind. I feel like a big damn baby about the whole thing. I should just march my ass into that house, redecorate it or something, and suck it up. Just because it’s filled with sadness and bad memories doesn’t mean that it has to stay that way.
Life is what you make of it, and so is that fucking house.
Pulling up to the little green home trimmed in white, with a black door and a white picket fence, I sigh. This place is so cute, and it looks exactly the way I pictured my home would look like with Sloane when I was a teenager. It seems absolutely perfect. The only thing it’s missing is a dog and maybe some kids’ toys in the yard; but judging by Ivy’s pregnant belly, that will be happening soon.
I open my car door and step out before popping my trunk and taking out my overnight bag. Sloane comes up behind me and slips the bag from my grasp while his other hand wraps around my waist.
I’m surprised when all of the women and kids climb out of the suburban, SUV and the men disengage from the bikes and follow us inside. I’d assumed they would have all just taken off toward their clubhouse.
The small living room is completely full to capacity by the time the last man walks inside, and they’re all looking at me. It’s completely and totally unnerving.
“Glad to have you back, Genny,” Texas’ voice booms. Everybody around us smiles encouragingly.
“I—I—thank you,” I stutter.
The men break away and go out back to talk about whatever Sloane is doing tonight, I presume. That leaves me alone with all of the women. I inhale deeply before I let all of my oxygen out, then I speak.
“I’m sorry I was a bitch for so long,” I start.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Colleen starts, “for anything. Every woman here understands exactly where you were coming from, and why you were as unhappy as you were.”
“I was very unhappy, but that never made it okay to take anything out on any of you. And I did, often,” I murmur.
“Honestly, if my man acted like Soar did for years, I would be a complete bitch. We understand,” Mary-Anne says with a sad smile.
“Imogen, huh? How did we never know your real name?” Bobbie asks, arching a brow.
“When I came here, I was eighteen. I didn’t want to be Imogen Stewart anymore. I rebelled against my family and I eloped with Sloane. I wanted to be unknown. Nobody knows Genny Huntington, and that’s who I wanted to be—just Genny. But Genny ended up being a pathetic bitch,” I laugh.
“No. See, you can’t reinvent yourself. You’re you, and you’ll always be you. I’ve tried, trust me, and I wasn’t happy. You weren’t either,” Mary-Anne says.
“Neither Sloane nor I were happy. It wasn’t just him cheating, it was a million other things. But what it all comes down to is exactly what you said. I tried to reinvent myself; Sloane happened to find himself here, and this is who he is.
“I didn’t accept that, and I was playing pretend, waiting for him to change. When reality hit that he wasn’t going to change, it made me angry. Nothing excuses him cheating on me, nothing at all, but we were both living lies. Lying to each other and to ourselves,” I admit.
The men walk in and we’re all quiet. The tension is thick, and I find it a little difficult to breathe. Sloane’s brow rises as he looks between the women and me, but he doesn’t say anything. He walks straight over to me and wraps his hand around my back tugging me into his chest as his face dips down.
“You’ll be okay?” he asks as his green eyes search mine.
I nod, “I will.”
“Be back as soon as I can, okay, sunshine?”
“Okay, Sloane,” I whisper.
He dips his head slightly as his lips brush mine, and I shiver when his tongue slides along my lips. He doesn’t deepen the kiss, but just the taste from his tongue is enough to make my body heat with desire for him. He grunts before he steps back and then the rest of the men say goodbye to their women.
“You’ll drop everyone off in a bit?” MadDog asks Mary-Anne.
“Yeah, we’re going to order some dinner, eat, then I’ll take the girls home,” she smiles.
“Okay, sweetness. See you at home,” he rumbles. Then they all leave us standing in Ivy’s living room.
“Well, I was going to ask you how you knew he’d changed, and how you decided to give him another chance. But that tender moment right there, I can see a difference in him,” Colleen states.
I probably shouldn’t tell them this. They’ll most likely run and tell their men; but I don’t really have any girlfriends, none other than this group. “I still don’t trust it,” I admit, shaking my head.
“What do you mean?” Ivy asks curiously.
We all sit down on the furniture and I let out a deep sigh.
“He’s sober right now, which is different and new. I love it because he’s the boy I fell for all over again. He’s sweet and charming, but now he’s honest. Sometimes brutally so. I hate that part, the brutal honesty. He’s admitted things, and it hurts like hell. I’m just afraid that he’ll go back to the man he was,” I state.
“The drugs and women,” Mary-Anne states. “It was hard for me to believe that Max could be faithful. He cheated on his wife, and he hadn’t been in a relationship for years; not since her. I completely trust him now. He’s proven to me time and time again that he is not that man anymore. I think with Soar it will just take time for him to prove himself.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I’m just afraid I’ll give him so much time that…”
“That you’ll miss out?” Teeny murmurs quietly.
“I want a family. If I spend five more years with Sloane and it ends badly, what then?”
“We can’t predict the future. Wouldn’t it be great if we could?” Mary-Anne says with a smile as she places her hand on her rounded belly. “If I had followed through with leaving Max out of fear, out of what-if’s, then I wouldn’t have this life that I cherish so damn much. On the other hand, you have to do what’s right for you,” she says.
I nod, unable to really respond. I don’t know what’s right for me. I know that Graham Bayard isn’t right. I know that since he’s been back, that Sloane has felt right. He’s also said some things that have hurt me.
I always stayed with him because of how he made me feel, never using my head, which has screamed at me to run for years. I’m doing it all over again; putting myself in the same positon as I always have. Allowing myself to be vulnerable to him, to be hurt by him. I understand that the past is the past, but when it’s the person who hurt you that brings things to light, it’s a hard pill to swallow.
The fact is that I love Sloane, but I absolutely don’t trust a damn thing about him. I want to. I really want to, but I don’t. I’m not sure if I can stay with him without that trust. I hate feeling in limbo, and yet, that’s exactly how I feel. I want it to work between us. I want the family and I just want him. Just because I want it doesn’t mean that it’s what will happen, or that it’s what’s best for me.
I hope that I’m not throwing all my chances at having my own children away, but I don’t know who else I would rather have them with other than Sloane.
“It’ll all work out,” Colleen says with a smile. She doesn’t look convinced.
I give her a slight head jerk and Ivy changes the subject to food.
I force my mind to clear as I ride toward the docks. The only place I want to be right now is inside of Imogen, but I have work to do. Since I was rotting away in prison for three years, I’m fucking behind.
Camo and I don’t stop as we ride to our destination. There’s a truck and trailer waiting for us there, and a prospect should already be behind the driver’s seat, waiting for further instruction.
Once we pull into the dark area where we park our bikes, Camo and I discard our helmets. He stretches his neck from side to side before he lets out a long groan. We’ve been on these bikes far too fucking long today, and I can’t say that I’m not stiff and sore myself.
“You remember the drill?” he asks as we walk toward the docks.
“Yeah. Load the shit up, make sure nobody is around, pay the dock worker when the work is complete,” I mumble.
“Pretty much sums it up.”
We walk over to the familiar dock, and the smell of the fish and salty air is disgusting, but it brings me back to fond memories. Out here, I didn’t worry about Genny, about my family, about anything. This was busy work, and it kept my mind off of dope, pussy, and Imogen.
“This is way more shit than we moved three years ago,” I announce as I see the stack of guns and dope we’re supposed to load.
“Denver has expanded, rapidly,” Camo shrugs as he walks over to the dock worker to talk to him.
I start looking at the crates of guns and am surprised to see some seriously high grade weaponry. Nothing like what we moved the last time I was here. Fuck, they are not messing around anymore.
“We still doin’ this shit once every two months?” I ask Camo when he returns to my side.
“Every two weeks now,” he announces. My eyes widen and he grins. “So much fuckin’ money coming in, brother. You’ve got a fat stack of cash in the safe.”
“Christ, this is crazy,” I mutter.
We spend the next three hours straight loading up the truck, with the help of the dock worker and the prospect. Once it’s completely loaded, we lock the back of it and send the prospect off toward the clubhouse. Camo hands the dock worker his money, and we walk back toward our bikes.
“All this time and nobody has gotten wise to anything?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Not that we can tell. We have some of the local cops on our payroll now, so we schedule these loading times when they’re on shift. Other than that, we just keep our heads down, noses to the grindstone; load up the truck, and get the fuck out,” he shrugs.
“Seems too good to be true,” I mutter.
“I have no doubt that we’ll have to change shit up here soon. It’s been over three years. We can’t get too comfortable.”
I nod in agreement and pull my helmet on before I straddle my bike and we take off. It’ll be a couple more hours before we’re back to Shasta, but I know that unlike any other time I made this run, Imogen is waiting for me.
We don’t make it very far down the freeway before we come up on our truck and trailer pulled over by the California Highway Patrol. I don’t stop, because I can’t afford to go back to jail, so I signal to Camo to pull over to the nearest gas station.
“What the fuck?” Camo grinds out.
“Don’t know, man,” I say, looking behind us.
We have a clear view of the prospect, the truck, and the cop. Camo tells me that he’s going to put a call into MadDog, and I nod without looking away from the scene before me. The last thing we need is more trouble. We’ve been flying without it for a while; and from what I hear, it’s been pretty fuckin’ sweet.
Sure, the men have been looking for and recovering some ex-old ladies, current old ladies, and widowed old ladies from the Aryan’s, but that’s been ongoing for years and completely under the radar. A national search, nothing only our club is involved in, and nothing that has been life threatening or war-threatening.
“MadDog says to keep him updated. The CHP is not on our payroll. We just have to wait for this to play out,” Camo murmurs. He sounds as worried as I feel.
I watch as the prospect nods to the officer, jumps in the truck and then takes off. Camo and I look at each other in surprise before we hurry to our bikes and do the same.
We can’t stop anytime soon to talk to the prospect about what went down, so we drive straight to the clubhouse. I promised Imogen that I would be back as soon as I could, but it looks like I have other shit to handle first. I know she’ll understand. She’ll have to. She has no fucking choice.