Page 13 of Petty's Crime

I try to sound nonchalant as if it doesn’t bother me at all as I pry for more details. “How long’s Petty been with the Devils?”

“Three, four years?” Sarge states, then narrows his eyes. “Why are you asking?” He sits back, putting his thumbs through his belt loops and his lips quirk. “You worried Petty’s off the market?”

My eyes widen.Absolutely not.“Just making conversation.”

He grins as if I’m transparent. “Well, I’ve said all I’m going to say. Petty’s ol’ lady’s come back to him, and he’s having to take time to get things squared away.” He makes a show of zipping his lips.

I finish my wine, knowing there’s no point in asking more. The men of the Satan’s Devils MC are tight. If I want to dig for more dirt, I’ll have to wait to get it from the source. If Petty ever comes back to work for me, that is.

Maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll be languishing in marital bliss. But after at least three years, I can’t help but wonder where she’s been. Had she got fed up with his boorish ways and they’d split up? Had he strayed or had she, and they’d agreed to separate? Why is she back, is it to stay?

Telling myself I’m far too nosy about a man who does nothing more than annoy me, I wish Sarge a good night and then take myself upstairs to get some much-needed sleep.

CHAPTERFIVE

Petty

Will I even recognise her after seven years?AsI stare out at the travellers exiting the arrivals area, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch of the imagination to think she could have already walked past me.

Fuck knows, I’ve changed. The last time she’d seen me, I was a soldier in uniform. Now I have a preference for a t-shirt and jeans and, of course, my cut, which I’ve worn so proudly for the past three years.

While I don’t think that time has treated me too badly, I definitely look older, a few creases here, and a few lines there. When I stare at my reflection, I see a maturity that was lacking when I was in my twenties. More than years have transformed me. The things that I’ve seen, things that I’ve done, have added a hardness to my features. Yeah, there’s a good chance she won’t recognise me.

Maybe it would be for the best.If I don’t notice her and she doesn’t see me, maybe I could just leave, go back to the club, and forget, like I’ve done so successfully over the past seven years, that she even exists.

“Clark?”

Well fuck me. While I’ve been examining the travellers approaching, she’s come up from behind. I’d know that voice anywhere.

Sucking in air, I turn. “Britney.”

For a moment, as if by mutual agreement, we take a few seconds to examine what time has done to each of us.Is her face looking harder?If so, it’s probably not surprising, considering where she’s been. There are lines on her forehead that weren’t there before, and she’s put on weight, not much, just enough to emphasise her curves. The softness of her body being part of what had originally attracted me, perversely, does nothing for me now. Seems I might have gotten a little too used to a lithe, slim singer.Fuck it. Why the hell am I thinking of RoseLyn now?

Bringing my mind back to the woman in front of me, I notice her hair, once long, is now cut in a short bob, but it frames her pretty face nicely. Despite the wrinkles under her eyes and the tautness of her mouth, it seems the intervening years haven’t treated her too cruelly.

She’s first to speak. Tugging at my leather she scrunches her eyes. “What’s this?”

“I… er… I.” Fuck, this stumbling ass isn’t me. Or hasn’t been for a fuck of a long time. I clear my throat and start again. “Let’s find somewhere to talk. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

We’re standing in the middle of the concourse with travellers having to move around us. It’s not a good place to have a discussion about the twist and turns my life has taken, ending up with me becoming a member of the Satan’s Devils MC. Her story, I suspect, would be far shorter. She’s been stuck in the same place for seven years.

Glancing around, she spies a coffee shop, and inclines her head in that direction. When I raise and dip mine in acquiescence, she leads the way and takes a seat. I pause before heading for the counter.

“Cappuccino?” It was what she used to drink.

“Americano. Black,” she responds. I suppose in prison she had to give up some luxuries.

It emphasises how much we’ve both changed.I’ll have to learn about her all over again, I muse, as I join the line and make my own selection. She’s probably no longer the woman I knew during our whirlwind romance which had been followed by the short marriage before the law had stepped in and parted us.

I return to the table, setting down the two cups, then take the seat opposite her. Having managed to pull myself together, I state the thought foremost on my mind. “I’m shocked as fuck that you contacted me.” Raising my eyes, I see her nonchalant shrug.

“Why?” She picks up her drink, blows on it, then takes a sip. “You’re my husband. I love you. Where else would I go?”

I’d happily taken responsibility for her the day I’d made her mine, but how the hell does she think that still applies after we’ve had no contact over the intervening years? It’s been a long time since I’ve considered her my wife. Again, I have to wonder whether she’s only come back to me now as she’s nowhere else to go. As for her professions of love? Well, I don’t believe those for a moment.

Ours was never the love story of the century. It was more like infatuation. Looking back with hindsight, I can see lust played a bigger part than affection and I can’t believe what she felt for me was enduring. My blind emotions for her slowly died as the months and years during which we had no communication passed. I’d slowly come to my senses to the extent that now I doubt any prior feelings could ever be resurrected.

I’m no longer the soldier home on leave, desperate for some female attention. I’m a member of an MC, more likely to have to fight women off rather than work hard to attract them. I have female admiration wherever I go, even if it’s just something about the bad boy Harley I ride that gets their motors revving.

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