“Good.” He removes his hands. “Get dressed and I’ll play with you all you want after dinner.”
“What?”
“Babe. If I keep Prez waiting I won’t have fingers let alone a dick to fuck you with. Let’s go.”
Ugh. I shouldn’t be getting further involved but it’s as if my brain turns to mush and my hormones take over whenever Sandman gets close. I glance at my phone at my missed text messages from Logan. Don’t get me wrong. He’s drop dead beautiful, but Sandman makes my heart flutter in a way I can’t explain. If I were smarter, I’d tell Sandman to fuck off and see if there could be something with Logan. He seems to have my Gram’s vote.
I finish getting changed opting for a crop top orange, brown, and cream striped sweater paired with my dark jeans with rips in the knees. I don’t know if we’re taking my car or if he wants me to follow him, or ride with him, but I choose my brown boots for practicality and the fact that they look cute as shit with my outfit.
I find him in my living room staring out the window with Boo.
“Am I following you or...”
“We’ll take my bike. You ever ridden before?”
I nod. “It’s been a while and it was on a street bike on spring break one year at Daytona Beach.”
“I brought a helmet for you.”
“You were so sure I’d be easy, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Cocky,” I mutter under my breath. “Be a good kitty.” I scratch Boo under her chin earning me a heavy purr.
I turn off my cell and tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans along with my door key. Sandman gets on his motorcycle first after giving me a helmet to wear, and I take in the detail of the cemetery painted on it. My thoughts return to Mariah and the terrible fate that befell her. Dread and remorse coat my stomach. All thoughts of getting my freak on with Sandman disappear until I climb on the back of his bike, and we roar away from my street and my problems temporarily. The bright lights of the city fade into the distance behind us and for this moment in space and time I belong here with him on the back of his bike as we leave the rest of the world behind.
For the first time I understand the appeal of his lifestyle. The freedom of the road. Living outside of society's norm. Setting your own terms. Creating a life full of all that any soul craves— happiness. To be who you are and make no apologies. To fucking live.
Wild.
Beautiful.
Free.
All too soon he rolls up to a gate, stopping long enough to punch in a security code. Okay, riding along the driveway I realize that maybe every stereotype I ever had about members of a motorcycle club has been wrong.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a redneck paradise or something. Old junk cars or motorcycle parts strewn about, but this guy has a hella nice property. But then I remember he is an outlaw, and they probably earn their money illegally. And despite what Sandman says I wonder just how deep his club is into this Cloud Nine drug that seems to have taken over our city.
We park and a bear of a man with a big ol’ beard is waiting on the porch. He gives off this vibe like he’d rather cut you than look at you, but I’m betting under that rough exterior is a man who cares deeply about those close to him. I’m confused and oddly calmed by his demeanor as we approach him.
“Was beginning to wonder if you were gonna be a no show.”
“Sorry, Prez. We got caught up.”
“Right,” he grumbles. He extends one of his hands my way. “Folks call me Murder, but if you’d prefer you can call me James.”
“Bianca. My friends call me Binx for short.”
His lips twitch under his whiskers like maybe he was thinking of cracking a short joke but thought better of it. “Come on in. Lex made something in her crock pot that looks like barf but smells damn good.”
I enter the house that is beautifully decorated in large black and white prints of two babies along with two older girls, one I recognize as Wylla Mae who was a few years behind me in school. There are some wedding photos that appear to be recent as well.
“You know my daughter, Wylla Mae?”
I nod. “We attended the same school.”
“She’s got two kids now herself, but her mom and I have the twins. They’re only a few months old but growing damn fast. Seems like they change by the day. Do you have any kids?”
“Me?” I nearly choke on my own spit. “No way. No offense. It’s just me and my cat and well my Gram.”
“Honey,” a melodic voice calls from the kitchen. “Stop interrogating our guests and offer them a drink.”
“Apologies. I’m a terrible host. What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll take a beer,” Sandman cuts in and James glares at him.
“You can get your own god damn beer. I was talking to Bianca.”
“Um. Water is cool.”
“You heard her. Get her a water. Bring me a beer while you’re at it.”
Sandman scowls but doesn’t talk back to his as he calls him Prez. He stomps toward the kitchen leaving me alone with this man. I get the impression he wants to come off nice while still intimidating me.
“So you’re the witch I’ve been hearing about.”
“And you’re the outlaw President I’ve been warned about.”