“Hey,” Dare said, grimacing as he shifted on the stool. “Did you ever get around to informing Mike Renner that you were sponsoring his prospective membership?”
“Fuck,” Maverick said. “No, but I’ll call him in the morning.” Mike Renner was a Hang-Around, or friend of the club, that the Ravens had approved for prospect status at one of their last meetings. “I know he’s eager.”
“Eager’s good,” Dare said with a smirk.
Chuckling, Maverick nodded. “Yeah.” Prospects had to put up with a lot of bullshit from fully patched members and did a lot of the club’s grunt work. It could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but the process helped determine if the guy was a good fit for the club. And they’d all been there.
Jeb had been a damn good prospect. Everything had rolled right off that guy’s back. He worked hard, showed up, pitched in, and did it all with a good attitude and a fucking smile. He would’ve made a great addition to the club. Maverick looked at Dare as an idea came to mind.
“What?” Dare asked.
“D, we should make Jeb a fully patched member,” Maverick said. “Like, as an honor. In protecting Bunny’s life he more than earned it.”
Dare’s expression was thoughtful, and he nodded. “A posthumous award. That’s a damn good idea, Maverick.”
“Yeah. I have them every once in a while,” he said, though the humor didn’t quite reach his voice. Granting Jeb full membership didn’t make up for much, but it was something, and it would be one more way to make sure Jeb—and what he’d sacrificed—was never forgotten.
“I’ll put it to a vote at the meeting,” Dare said.
“Hey,” Haven said, coming to stand alongside Dare. Though she’d come out of her shell a lot since first arriving at the Ravens’ compound over a month before, she was still soft-spoken and a little shy. But quiet didn’t mean spineless, not by a long shot. Maverick could easily picture her from the night of the attack on the club—crouched over Dare’s unconscious body, gun drawn against anyone else who might try to hurt him. She’d killed her own father to keep him from killing Dare and kidnapping her. She’d already been well liked by the club because she was a fucking amazing cook, but now she was damn near revered.
Dare’s whole demeanor changed as he turned to her. Smiling, he sat up straighter, and then he slid his hand into Haven’s light brown hair and pulled her in for a kiss.
As her arms slid around his cousin’s neck, Maverick found himself needing to look away. Not because he was embarrassed by the display of public affection—that was kinda par for the course around here, especially on party nights. Instead, his discomfort came from the goddamned jealousy slinking through his blood.
Maverick wanted someone who looked at him with the kind of unconditional love he read in Haven’s blue eyes when she looked at Dare. And he wanted the soul-deep solace he could see on Dare’s face when the guy was in Haven’s presence. Maverick wanted to fucking belong to someone. Well, to someone who wanted to belong to him, too. Fact was, someone had owned him for years.
Alexa fucking Harmon.
“Can I ask you a question, Haven?” Maverick said, swirling the last of his whiskey in the bottom of his glass.
“Sure,” she said.
Mav debated exactly what he wanted to ask and finally found the words. “If you thought someone was in trouble, in a relationship that was maybe abusive, but that person told you to keep your nose out of it, would you?” No doubt Haven would realize he was asking about Alexa since Haven had helped clean her up after Alexa had come to the clubhouse last week. Remembering the blood and bruises on Al’s face still made Maverick’s chest hot with rage.
“I can’t speak for everyone,” she finally said. “But sometimes people tell you to stay out of it because they’re afraid of how hard it will be to get out of the situation. Or they’re afraid that having asked for help will get back to the abuser. Or they believe that they’re not worth the risk that helping them might pose to someone else. I know I felt all of those.”
Dare’s jaw ticked as he listened. He slid his arm around Haven’s shoulders, the gesture full of reassurance.
After a moment, Dare’s dark eyes cut his way. “Question is, are you okay backing off if there’s a chance she’s feeling even a little of that?” Dare didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about. Despite how hard Maverick had worked to keep that shit buttoned up, his cousin knew what Maverick felt for Alexa.
And the answer was a total gut check. Absofuckinglutely not.
What the fuck was he doing sitting there? Wallowing. Instead of doing what his instincts had been telling him for over a week to do—protect Alexa. Or, at least, be ready to do so if something else happened. That’s why he’d started surveilling her after she’d left the clubhouse that day, insisting what’d happened had been a misunderstanding but refusing to actually explain what kind of misunderstanding led to a banged-up face.