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“I know how to do my damn job,” she replies, and I instinctively know a woman like her just rolled her eyes.

“Raven...” his voice is low, a warning that somehow doesn’t sound violent but like a dirty promise.

“Yeah, yeah. I have the medic and the boys,” she says. “We’re being safe.”

“Good.” Savage is about to end the call when she speaks again.

“Walker, bring your girl around. We need another woman who knows how to raise hell. I’m fucking sick of being the only one with balls around here.”

Chapter Twelve

Hot Tar Roads

Walker

The leather of my cut has never weighed so heavy in my fingers. Poppy stares at the embroidered NOMAD dangling between scars and oil stains as though it’s the scariest damn thing she’s ever seen. Not my intention, and I never meant for the moment to drag out that long when I held my jacket out for her to wear on the ride back to the Sons of Sin compound. Shit, it’s not like we can stay here. She’s gotta know that. Not after the statement we just made to her father.

Pale fingers decorated with tattered nails lift, then fall, taking a beat of my heart with it. The motion is brief, and her eyes flick up to meet mine. Wide, and scared. Fucking terrified.

Other women would have taken the opportunity. Most wouldn’t have a clue what it means, being offered to wear a rider’s cut. It’s not one I’ve ever made before. Any of the club bunnies would have fucking slobbered at the chance for a jacket.

But Poppy knows exactly what wearing my patch on her back means. What it would be like in her old club. Shit. I should have thought this through. It’s not my name on her back she sees, it’s the theft of her independence, what her father took from her so long ago, and she’s just coming to terms with that. And now here I am tossing the same old bullshit at her too.

I nod slowly and pull the leather across my shoulders. The damn thing may have shrunk in the last minute, and more than one man around us exhales noisily when she doesn’t move. A complete rejection. My heart stings like shit but I’ve survived a whole lot worse over the years.

Nah, that’s fucked. Nothing’s hurt this goddam much. I rev my bike then look over my shoulder at where she still stands. “You gonna hop on, cosita? Or you want to ride with one of the other boys today.” I don’t make that last a question. This is her choice. It should always have been her choice, but some other fucker got in the road and screwed her right up long before I found her.

Poppy stares at me. Her hands tremble at her sides. All I want is to haul her into my arms but without her say so right now, I can’t.

“Ride with me, beautiful,” one of the Sinners—fuck knows who but he’s about to earn himself a fresh hole to breathe out of—calls from somewhere to my left. A little behind, in my blind spot. “We know how to look after a girl like you.”

There’s a thud, like someone cuffed the kids. I don’t need to look to know someone just had his ass demoted. Hopefully a prospect. That will be less embarrassing for Savage. I don’t take my eyes off Poppy. Thankfully that assholic comment decides for her.

She strides forward, chin lifted in defiance, and slides on the back of my bike like she belongs here. Because she fucking well does.

Sweet breath warms my neck as she presses her body close to mine. Her whisper is soft, for me alone as I rev my sled to hide her words that aren’t meant for anyone else. “Pull that shit with me again and we’ll have words, Nomad,” she murmurs, raking her nails lightly across my bare stomach beneath my shirt.

I pressed a palm over her hands, flattening them there. “Seeing you fuck me in my cut was the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.” I hand her helmet over where her mouth falls open. “Put this on. We’re not stopping for a while, sweet thing.”

Her hands slide out from beneath mine, but they’re back again soon enough.

Then my sled eats the miles between the farmhouse and the place I once called home, giving me enough time to work out just how I’m going to settle Poppy into a place she both understands better than me and will scare all hell out of her.

And how I’ll repay a debt that has no price on it yet. But one is coming, and Savage and Saint have a reputation of claiming the sorts of penance that only devils run from.

I’m not a Nomad for nothing.

****

The moment we pull in at the Sons of Sin clubhouse, I know today will not be a good day.

The yard is quiet as hell. We lost half the riders along the way by design—Savage and Steel each took half of our contingent and fucked right off into the sunset even though the damn glow orb hangs right over our heads.

The yard is almost empty and when I haul Poppy off the back of my bike and into my chest without a wince, she looks up at me with a question in her pretty eyes that I can’t answer. Yet. That will come soon enough.

The inside of the clubhouse is cool. Air-conditioning runs, though behind the bar is empty. Not a fucking soul in sight. Savage’s woman is absent, conspicuously so after that phone call, though the VP is in attendance. As is Crimson.

Saint saunters past us, reaching across the bar to draw himself a beer. He downs the thing in one pull and I pull Poppy in tighter. She makes a sound, the soft sort that on any regular day would go unheard. Today her little mewl fucking echoes. And the echo speaks back.