Maestro shook his head as they entered the large common room on their way outside. “No. Alena provided cover, so it didn’t seem strange that he didn’t sleep with any of the club girls. Blythe is his wife.”
Breezy frowned. “Czar rode with the Swords for five years. Do you want me to believe he didn’t sleep with anyone else in all that time?”
“Why do women think they’re the only ones who can be faithful?”
She saw Steele sitting on his big Harley, surrounded by several of the Torpedo Ink members, all ready to ride. Her heart pounded instantly, and she stopped walking so abruptly Maestro nearly plowed into her. His hands caught her shoulders as he came to a halt behind her.
“Because most men are like him.” She indicated Steele with her chin. “You know, that man who needs three women all over him to satisfy him.” She murmured her reply, her gaze fixed on the man she’d fallen so hard for she hadn’t been able to get through a single day without thinking of him. Or dreaming about him. Nothing had changed after seeing him. Maybe that longing had gotten even stronger.
He was beautiful sitting there on his bike. He belonged, his rugged good looks and his colors worn so easily as if they were part of his skin. She knew they were. She’d seen the tattoo of the tree on his back often enough. Before, it had only been a cool tatt, and his body was covered in them. Now, she knew it was his life. The club would always be his life. His first loyalty was there. The lifestyle of parties, women, alcohol.
“Men can be faithful, Breezy,” Maestro said softly. “Steele—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted softly. “There’s no need to explain. He’s free to do whatever he wants to do. I’m not in his life anymore. Whatever he says now, knowing he has a son, he told me in no uncertain terms what I was to him for that year. It wasn’t his old lady. He’s free. I’m free. We just need to focus on getting Zane back.”
She would decide what to do after her boy was back in her arms. In the meantime, she knew how to act in a club. She knew she didn’t have a say. She just had to keep the conversations away from controversial subjects, and she had to guard her heart at all times.
She hadn’t been on the back of a motorcycle in three years. Not since Steele had sent her away. He’d long since destroyed her vest, the one she’d worn so proudly declaring she was his old lady—she’d watched him do it. It had been her protection, but more, she’d been honored to wear it. She’d felt as if, for the first time in her life, someone really cared about her and she was safe. She belonged. She was Steele’s. Now she was just Breezy, Zane’s mother, standing on her own two feet. No one was taking that away from her—not even the man she loved.
“Why aren’t we just having the meeting here?” she asked, nervous to get on the bike with Steele. It was too intimate. They had been one on his bike, man, woman and machine flying down the open road.
“Steele said you were uncomfortable in the clubhouse and he asked if we’d all go to Czar and Blythe’s home to make you feel more relaxed.”
That was so Steele. He had always paid attention to the little things. He didn’t think he gave her much back in the relationship, but he noticed if she didn’t like something. She didn’t have to tell him. If she did mention something—which was rare—he knew she really didn’t like it and from that moment, she’d never been put in a position to either have to do it or be around it. That was Steele.
She’d learned to be careful before pointing out something in a window she thought was pretty. The next thing she knew, it was hers. Steele was always strange in that he seemed offhand with her in front of others, although very protective. When they were alone, he’d been very different. Now she knew why. She had to continually remind herself of how he’d thrown her out, like a piece of garbage, treating her the way the Swords members treated the club girls—and their old ladies—like trash.
She took a deep breath, feeling the pressure of Maestro’s hand slipping from her shoulder to the small of her back, all but pushing her toward Steele and his bike. As they approached, Steele turned his head toward them and her breath caught in her throat.
He looked the epitome of a dark knight. The outlaw. The man who could ride straight through hell and probably had. Everything feminine in her rose up like a tidal wave. She turned her face away, not meeting those dark, midnight eyes. She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t dare, not after what he’d said to her the night before.
She’d thought far too long about his parting shot—she needed to save him. She couldn’t. If it hadn’t been for Zane, knowing she was pregnant with Steele’s child, she might not have made it. She might have humiliated herself and run back to the life she’d known and detested because she’d been so scared. Her victories were small, but they were hard won. She was a mother and she had to put her son before anyone else—Steele included. Certainly before her own ridiculous fantasies. Already, those fantasies had come back full force. She wanted Steele to find a way to make it all right. To find a way for her to take him back. She wanted to be in his arms and have him moving in her body. She wanted him to love her.
“I would much prefer to ride in a car or truck. I can drive, Maestro, if you would return my keys, please.” She’d managed calm when deep inside she was a mass of nerves. She couldn’t get on that bike behind Steele just as she’d done every day for over a year, her arms around him, her body pressed tightly against his while his bike roared under them.
“Babe, are you kidding me?” Maestro said, one dark eyebrow shooting up. “You can’t think that truck is safe.”
“I’ve been driving it for over a year.”
“It’s a mess. Mechanic has it in the shop torn apart.”
That was so like a club. The men didn’t consult, they just did whatever they wanted. She glared at him. “I bought that pickup myself. It belongs to me. No one has the right to touch it without my permission.”
“You have to talk to your old man about that,” Maestro said with a small shrug.
Steele frowned, was off his bike and stalking toward them. “What’s the holdup? Get a move on, woman. We’re going to be late.”
When Steele moved toward her, Keys shadowed him. He looked like a menacing jungle cat, muscles rippling beneath a tight tee, his cut declaring him Torpedo Ink. He didn’t have a sergeant at arms on his vest. He had nothing to declare he was an enforcer, but like Maestro, he clearly guarded the vice president of Torpedo Ink. That made her wonder about Steele and what he did for his club to have two men on him at all times the way Savage and Reaper were clearly on Czar, the president.
Breezy lifted her chin at Steele in pure defiance. “If someone is going in an actual vehicle, versus a motorcycle, I’ll ride with them. I don’t ride on bikes anymore. Ever.”
There was a stunned silence at her announcement. The other members, already on their Harleys, turned toward her, shock showing on their faces.
Steele burst out laughing. “Very funny, sweetheart. That’s good.” He held out his hand. “Come on. You love the bike.”
She did. She had. She’d loved riding with him. She saw the exact moment he realized she wasn’t joking, that she meant it. She also saw the brief flash of understanding in his eyes. He knew why she didn’t want to get on his bike with him. Steele had always been quick. Intelligent. He could figure things out faster than anyone she knew. He put pieces of a puzzle together with only fragments of information and he was always right.
Her heart clenched hard in her chest. She knew immediately there was no getting around this. She would have to get on his bike with him. If she made a stand, she would lose, and she’d lose in front of most of his club.
Steele moved in to her, taking up her personal space. His arm slid around her waist and he pulled her into him. She’d forgotten how strong he was. He was careful of her though, cognizant of her injuries in the way only Steele could be.
He bent his head to hers, his breath warm against her ear, moving tendrils of hair as he breathed against her skin. He smelled of leather and man. So Steele. “Bree, get on the bike. We’re going to figure out how to get our son back. I made certain you didn’t have to sit in the clubhouse to do it.”