He looks at me like I’m crazy, which I probably am. This isn’t exactly the time to bring up the whole writer thing.
“What did you think,” he asks. “About what you heard? I don’t want you to think that you don’t know me, because you do. You just don’t know that side of me, and it’s my fault because I’ve been hiding it from you.”
“Tracker,” I say, swallowing hard. “I do know you. I know you’d never hurt me; I know that you take care of me. You’re good to those you care about. I can handle every side of you. That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m not going to run, I promise.”
He glances out the window, before returning his gaze to me. “I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
“Tracker—”
“What if I end up in prison, or something like that? How are you going to handle that? What if you were kidnapped like Anna was, or if men broke into the clubhouse with guns in the middle of the night? That happened to Faye. I’m not saying I don’t think you’re a strong woman, because you are, but the thought of something like that happening to you makes me crazy. I’m stuck between wanting to protect you, every inch of you, and the love for my club. I will never leave the Wind Dragons, they’re my family, but if you were hurt or something because of my lifestyle, I wouldn’t fuckin’ handle that well either.”
“Well you should have thought of all this before you made me fall head over fucking heels in love with you!” I snap. “I’m trying here, Tracker. I’m telling you that no matter what, I know your soul and I will never turn my back on you. Why can’t you do the same for me?”
His eyes widen, as if he never thought of it that way.
“Come here,” he demands.
“Come where?” I ask.
His mouth twitches. “My lap.”
I straddle him, my palms on his cheeks. “Now what?”
“Now kiss me, Lana,” he says. “Wanna be inside you but that will have to wait until we get back to the clubhouse.”
I kiss him like it’s the last kiss we’ll ever have.
TWENTY-ONE
LISTENING to “Live Without It” by Killing Heidi, I browse through my clothes looking for something to wear to Rake’s birthday. When there’s a knock at the door, I open it to see Faye standing there. I’m not sure how she knows where my house is, but I don’t bother asking.
“Hey,” I say in surprise.
“Get in the car, we’re going shopping.”
We share knowing smiles.
An hour later, I’m watching Faye try on outfits. When she walks out in an extremely low-cut black number, my eyes widen. “Holy shit.”
“Just the reaction I was going for,” she says in approval.
“I can almost see your nipples,” I decide to point out, blinking slowly.
She looks down. “So you can.”
Thinking that meant she wasn’t going to get it, I’m surprised when she says, “It’s perfect.”
“But . . .”
“There are going to be strippers there,” she says. “No matter what we wear we’re still going to be wearing more.”
“Ummm, Faye—”
“Ohhh, you should try this on!” she says excitedly, grabbing a cute royal-blue dress. “This color will look gorgeous on you.”
She then proceeds to grab a few other dresses for me to try.
“Unless . . .” she says to herself, glancing at me thoughtfully. “Can I give you a biker-chick makeover?”
She laughs at whatever expression she sees on my face. “You should have seen me when I first came here. I was so conservative because I was brought up that way. Now I just wear whatever I like, professional for work, but for parties like this you get to play up a little and go as daring as you want to.”
“How daring are we talking here?” I ask in a voice full of skepticism.
I get a slow spreading smile in response. “Let’s see what we can come up with.”
I gulp.
* * *
Tight leather pants.
A black crop top—which looks more like a bra than a shirt if you ask me—and heels higher than I’ve ever worn.
Yet . . .
I feel strangely sexy. Empowered. The epitome of an old lady.
I suddenly realize that the tables have turned, and now it’s me wanting him to be in deep. I could see that he was considering us breaking up, for my own good or whatever, but I wasn’t about to let that happen.
“You look amazing,” Faye gasps. “Tracker is going to die. His penis is going to explode.”
“Okay, I hope neither of those things happen,” I tell her, giving her a wide-eyed look.
She grins and goes back to applying her makeup. “So who organized this whole deal for Rake?”
“I helped,” she admits. “He told me what he wanted. I believe his exact words were ‘I want to turn the clubhouse into a sex club.’ ”
“Only he would say that,” I grumble, applying some bloodred lipstick and some mascara. Teasing my hair a little, I stare at my reflection, then glance at Faye from the corner of my eye.
“I’m ready to make tonight my bitch.”
She laughs, poking her eye with mascara. “Dammit!”
I laugh harder. “Shit.”
“Great, now I’m going to have one red eye,” she complains, pointing the mascara tube at me. “Your fault.”