Page 40 of Under the Influence

“Going a little crazy over the right man isn’t such a bad thing, Edith. Just as long as you know he’s going crazy over you, too.”

Ma-Journey and I share a smile as we think of the men with the power to set us on fire inside. As she wraps me into a hug, I breathe easier after sharing my secret. One day, I hope to know Duke in the way my ma knows my pa. By then, my current fears will be forgotten.

DUKE, AKA NOT THE MAN HE USED TO BE

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All morning, I ride around Basin Rock, looking for trouble and wondering if I was wrong about the Charleston club sniffing around my territory. Court Bayer and his men have never once given me the impression they’re concerned. Of course, they have a deep bullpen. If Court dies, their club keeps going. Mine can’t.

Even if I weren’t stupid to want an alliance, I’ve clearly jumped the gun and handed everything over when I could have negotiated. The Rawkfist Motorcycle Club now owns my club, our town, and everything I’ve built. Though Court hasn’t called in the debt yet, I’ve sold out all my accomplishments based on a possibly irrational fear.

I’m feeling like a damn fool until Edith sends me pictures and videos of my girls at the bridal shop. Clover is wearing one of those jumpsuit bridal getups. She’s paling around with that hitman’s daughter, Roxie. I rarely see Clover behave so carefree around women. She never had friends in school. To see her so happy erases my bad mood.

But the pictures of Lola steal my concerns over jumping the gun with Rawkfist. If I was smarter, took my time, and played the angles, she wouldn’t be decked out in a gorgeous gown and wearing the smile of a woman in love.

My girls aren’t the only winners in this sped-up alliance. Edith sends me a picture of her in her dress. My chest hurts at the worry in her eyes. Edith isn’t suited for all this cloak-and-dagger shit. Neither am I. Lying to Erin and my girls makes me feel like an asshole.

Arriving in Dunphey before Edith, I head upstairs to the room to make sure nothing is wrong with it. The view isn’t spectacular, but the woods are nicer than the parking lot.

Ideally, I’d bring Edith to my house and cook something like mussels in Irish cider. A light dinner and relaxing music on the back porch would be far more romantic than a mid-tier restaurant in a small town.

Once again, I find myself wondering if we’re rushing. Edith seems in a hurry. Maybe it’s just her family’s way or it could be a lack of trust that we’ll last. Either way, if I sense she’s having second thoughts, I’m ready to give her an exit.

After the pink roses are delivered and set up in the room, I head back downstairs. I’m in the front courtyard when Edith’s SUV pulls up and parks next to my motorcycle. She checks her appearance in the rearview mirror despite looking perfect.

Sliding out of her SUV, she doesn’t see me immediately. Her gaze fixates on my motorcycle. I watch her fingers slide across the shiny black seat. There’s pain in her expression as if I’ve already broken her heart.

Edith’s face flips a switch when she sees me. Her sudden electric smile burns right through her fear and uncertainty. I walk to Edith and wrap her up against me before either one of us can say something to derail this magic.

Her hands grip my shirt and keep me pinned to her body. Cars arrive. Others leave. Nothing distracts us until a loud family pulls up. Edith looks at them as if they’re the enemy.

Smiling at her territorial nature, I suggest, “Let’s get your stuff upstairs. Did you want to go out to eat or have something delivered?”

“I’d rather get something at the hotel,” she says as the SUV’s back door eases open to reveal a small suitcase.

“They don’t have many options for dinner,” I say, swiping her bag.

I spot two things about her hand as she reaches for the back door button. One is she’s trembling. The other is her knuckles are bruised.

“What happened here?” I ask and cradle her hand in mine.

Edith tries to slip her hand away, but I keep it trapped against my chest. She looks nervous. I can’t guess what’s upset her. A fight with Lola and Clover, maybe? No, I’d have heard about that, and Edith was sending me pictures earlier.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whisper, holding her gaze like I do her hand.

“Elishia Hill showed up at the bridal shop to hassle Lola,” she says, and I instantly picture that nasty bitch who’s banned from my bar. “Or maybe Elishia was there to harass Tuesday. Many women hate my cousin. Anyway, the swamp whore came in with her cousins, and a brawl broke out. Didn’t your daughters tell you how they kicked ass?”

“Lola and Clover don’t mind throwing down, so it isn’t a big deal when it happens,” I mutter and brush my thumb over her knuckles. “How did this happen?”

“I punched Elishia in the face.”

Grinning, I cup her jaw and admire the hint of arrogance in her gaze. “I would have loved to watch you beat her down. Did she hurt you?”

“Only my fists,” Edith says and sizes up her knuckles. “Her face was harder than a punching bag.”

I kiss her knuckles before covering her lips with mine. Edith grabs for me again like she thinks I might run away. That’s why I keep an arm around her while we walk inside the hotel and head upstairs.

“My brother took Oana’s virginity in a hotel room,” Edith mumbles once the door is closed. “It’s a family tradition.”

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