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They headed out and toward the Shadows’ Warehouse.

On the way, they rode side by side like they had plenty of times before. But this time he reached out his hand and she took it.

While it was a dangerous move, for the few seconds they did it, it meant the world to her.

With the way he glanced over at her, it appeared it meant the same to him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jesus. His heart was about to burst from his chest and go hide under one of the pool tables.

Reaper sat at the club’s private bar sucking down a double shot of whiskey. The common area was pretty damn quiet tonight. Only a couple of his brothers along with some prospects were hanging out by playing pool, throwing darts, smoking, and pickling their livers.

He knocked back the Jack in one swallow, then grabbed the bottle he left in reach for a refill. He needed some liquid armor because he was damn sure that the club officers would give him a bunch of shit about claiming Vi. Simply because they could.

His plan was to ask, shut his mouth, and take whatever hits they threw his way like the Marine he was.

Oorah.

He lifted his gaze to the customized Harley gas tank on the shelf above the bar. The one holding Vi’s grandfather’s ashes. He held up his shot glass in respect. He never met Ace but had heard he was a good one.

He threw back the booze and held his breath until the burn subsided.

Reaper was tempted to have another but he was already buzzing and needed to keep his fucking wits about him when he stood at the end of the table.

They might not care that he was claiming Vi, but that didn’t mean they’d make it easy on him.

Talking shit was considered a sport in the MC.

But then, it was like that in the military, too.

When the back door opened and the rowdiness paused so all that could be heard was the rock music playing low in the background, he glanced over his shoulder to see who walked in.

For fuck’s sake.

Of course she couldn’t let him do this on his own. He swore she had some burning desire to stir shit.

As soon as Vi saw him, a smile crossed her face, and he couldn’t resist watching her hips sway with confidence as she made her way from the door to where he sat.

Yeah, lucky fucking him. He got to tap that every night.

Sometimes in the morning, too.

And occasionally in the shower.

They still needed to have a conversation on whether she was going to continue to crash in his cabin or he was moving into the main house. The cabin would be his preference since he wasn’t sure if he wanted to share the house with Indie and eventually Scarlet when she came home.

His soon-to-be ol’ lady slid onto the stool next to him, filled his shot glass to the rim with Jack, and with a twist of her wrist, downed it in one swallow.

That was both frightening and impressive.

“What are you doing here, Vi?”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “I came for support.”

He tipped his head toward the Jack Daniels bottle sitting on the bar. “That’s what the whiskey was for.”

“While Jack’s all well and good, Violet Dougherty is a helluva lot better.”