Tracker laughs with Clover on his shoulders. “Wall of fame.”
I look at his. “You look really young here.”
He nods. “I was nineteen. It was just for fighting. I’m not a drug lord or anything.”
“Good to know,” I reply at the same time Clover asks, “What’s a drug lord?”
I glance at Tracker with wide eyes. He stops and says, “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes you did!”
He lifts her off his shoulders and starts to tickle her. She soon forgets her question. He nods in approval and continues walking with me outside, to the back of the large compound, with Clover holding his hand. There’s a grassy area there, and Tracker points to it. “We should sit there and have lunch.”
“A picnic!” Clover calls out. “I love picnics.”
I look to Tracker. “What are we eating on this picnic?”
He pulls out his phone. “Whatever you want.”
“Who are you calling?” I ask in suspicion. Was he getting some random woman to bring us food? I know that the club has groupies, because Anna told me about them. Apparently Rake is the one who gives them the most attention, but that doesn’t mean Tracker doesn’t. The thought makes me seriously angry.
“A prospect.”
Oh, well then.
“Prospects do lunch runs?” I ask curiously. I don’t really understand everyone’s role in an MC. I know there is a hierarchy but have no idea what it is.
“They do whatever we tell them to do,” Tracker says firmly. Yikes. That doesn’t sound like fun. Why would anyone voluntarily sign up to do that?
“How does someone become a prospect?” I ask.
He studies me. “Why are you asking? Do you want to join?”
I laugh at his teasing. “I’m curious.”
“Afraid I can’t tell you that,” he says quietly. “But I can tell you it isn’t pleasant.”
“Then why do they want to do it?” I ask.
He smiles then, and it reaches his eyes, almost blinding me with its force. “We’re a brotherhood. A family. We have each other’s backs no matter what. There’s no judgment here, only acceptance. Who wouldn’t want that?”
“I heard somewhere that the prospects have to fight to prove they’re worthy and that’s how they get accepted.”
He smiles, looking amused, but says nothing.
“How about some sandwiches?” I suggest, changing the subject. “Clover likes ham and cheese.”
“Okay, anything else?” he asks, pressing more buttons.
I ask Clover and she says she wants sushi. I think she’s been hanging around Anna too long, and Tracker says the exact same thing.
“Don’t you have work?” I ask, leaning back on my palms.
“Not today, I don’t,” he replies.
Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting on a blanket outside, enjoying the warmth and eating the sushi and sandwiches Blade dropped off. Blade is one of the newer prospects, and Anna told me Blade is his given name, not a club name, which I found interesting. Clover is playing with her dolls and drinking a juice box. Tracker makes conversation, asking me questions about myself and hanging on my every word.
“So why did you choose business?” he asks, popping a tuna roll into his mouth.
“I’d like to own my own business one day,” I say. “But it’s broad enough that I can keep my options open.”
He nods, looking at Clover. “Maybe you could open your own day care.”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “No, I don’t think so. I like kids, and they like me, but I don’t think I could run a day care or anything like that. I’d go crazy.”
“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised. “You’re great with her.”
“Thank you,” I say, ducking my head. “She makes it kind of easy. I don’t think all kids are as cool as her.”
Clover gets up to chase a butterfly, and Tracker takes advantage of her absence, lowering his tone. “I don’t think you’ll get another job as a nanny though,” he states, eyes raking over me.
“What? Why not?” I ask.
“Because you’re too beautiful,” he says with a laugh. “What woman would want you around her husband all day?”
“Faye,” I point out.
“Yeah, but Sin would never cheat, and besides, we know your character,” he says. “We all know you’re a good girl.”
“And how do you know that?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
Tracker just smiles, slowly, his eyes crinkling. “I know women, Lana. Plus Anna never shuts up about you. You’ve been around us for a while now, we’re not strangers. I know you’re a good woman.”
“Define good,” I reply to him. “There are plenty of good women who like being free and open . . . sexually.”
He nods. “I know that. Good to know that you do too. But not all women think of others in every equation. Just like not all men are good, not all women are either. I wasn’t talking about sexually, necessarily, you brought that up yourself.”
I had, hadn’t I?
“Right,” I mutter.
He glances at me curiously. “You’re fuckin’ cute, you know that, right?”
I look down at the grass between my fingers and pull out a few blades, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you.”