Page 48 of StoryTeller's Tale

I suspect there’ll be times I’ll regret not going with him, and I could really do with his comforting hugs right now.

But I made the only choice I could. I’m a good citizen girl, while he’s an outlaw.

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

STORYTELLER

“What the fuck’s wrong with you, ST? You’ve been like a bear with his paw caught in a trap since we got back.” Iron observes me carefully, then his features soften. “That bitch really got to you, huh?”

I reward the sergeant-at-arms with a scowl. He just chuckles and slaps my back as we make our way into church.

I know I’ve not been the easiest brother to live with, but who could fucking blame me? The whole business with Sheri was fucked from beginning to end. It hadn’t been the first time I’d applied the finders/keeper’s law before, but definitely the only time I’ve ever felt any remorse. Normally, it was the bad luck of the loser, knowing if I hadn’t picked the item up, someone else would have done. Or, in the case of the book, it could have ended up swept into the trash.

That a provenance could be associated with it, again, was something I’d normally ignore. If something was that precious, the owner should have taken better care of it.

The attack of conscience, the desire that had driven me to reunite book with owner, were out of character. And look at the result? I’d fallen for Sheri, but she’d left me without even giving us a chance. I should have learned my lesson years before—bitches can’t be trusted. But once again, I let myself be swept away by a pretty face and some rounded curves.

The things I said, the promises I made, might have been in the heat of the moment, but I’d meant them. And she’d thrown it all back in my face.

I’d hated Fi when she betrayed me. That had been easy. But Sheri? I can’t feel anything but admiration and respect for her, even though she’d walked away. I miss her. Miss that I lost my chance with her. And what I detest is that I can’t get her out of my mind.

I wish I’d never found that fucking book.

Though even if I could wind back the clock, I wouldn’t change anything I’d done. Sheri deserved to be rescued. It’s not her fault that it’s her face I see when I close my eyes at night, and her body I think of when I’m in the shower.

Compared to the woman I’d once wanted to be my wife, Sheri had been a breath of fresh air. Timid for sure, but with a backbone of steel, brave, and looking out for others rather than herself. She’d put herself in danger to protect me, and no woman has ever done that for me before.

She’d been a virgin.Maybe that’s another reason I can’t get her out of my head. The sex was good, and could have been better, had we had time and a bed.

I’d claimed her as my old lady to get the Dominators to give her back. I’d claimed her for real, when I saw the woman she was, and hadn’t wanted her to slip through my fingers.

In walking away, she’d cemented her strength, and I admire her for putting others first.

The Wretched Soulz aren’t in the business of rescuing women, nor mopping up after the mess that someone else had spilled. If the cops had caught us at the scene, they’d have tried to pin the whole fuckup on my club. That’s how they work. Wretched Soulz, Dominators, and tens of other most wanted outlaw clubs, are all lumped in together. The pigs wouldn’t have cared which patch was on our backs. All that would have mattered was that we’d been found with dead bodies and abused females. We’d have been in the penitentiary with the key thrown away because what does the truth matter? Any outlaw biker is fair game as far as they’re concerned.

I fucking hated her in that moment when she turned her back on all that we could have been. I’d even offered to have her ride on my bike, when I’ve only ever before had one other woman up behind me. She threw it all back in my face.

Well, fuck her.Or that’s what I’d like to say. It’s been a few days and I still can’t stop thinking about the vivacious redhead I left behind.

And now it’s church.

Being a nomad, I’m not usually regularly drawn into the formalities of running the club and attending regular meetings. I know I’d be better able to move on if I could get back on the road. What I need is some wind therapy to wipe all the might-have-beens from my mind. But I’m still stuck here while Chaz has the ongoing problem to solve. All in all, I’m not currently a happy man.

Iron walks around the table and takes his seat to the right of Chaz, while I skulk to my lowly place at the opposite end, congregating with the non-officer members. Clasping my hands on the table, I avert my eyes to avoid being drawn into conversation. Even so, I remain conscious of Bull seating himself on the other side of the prez, then Beard, as treasurer, sitting down next to him. Claw’s already in position, leaning back in his chair, speaking to Skunk a few seats down. Weasel and Legend join the rest of the officers, while Fire, Pothead and Legit take their places at my end of the table.

The door opens again and in walks Slugger. Chaz shoots him a look, then shuffles his chair over to make space. Iron stands, pulls up a spare seat and places it beside Chaz. Then we wait again while Slugger makes himself comfortable.

Chaz bangs the gavel.

It’s our first proper sit-down since we came back from rescuing the girls, so I’m not surprised that that’s what Chaz kicks off with.

“What’s the fallout from the raid?”

It’s Legend who responds. “From the police reports and identification of the bodies, it was the prospect, Handle, who was with Knuckles. They both got away clean.” He jerks his chin toward Skunk.

Skunk, looking sheepish, takes over. “They took a shortcut and lost us as they knew the ground.”

“Yeah, sorry, Prez.” Pothead looks equally disappointed.

---