Page 8 of Savage Lust

My gaze shifted between the two of them as Jace snickered a little and ducked his head, hiding it with a cough. It’s like they had a silent conversation and had done so countless times before. I was intrigued.

Preacher rubbed a small circle on my back and I stepped away as tendrils of cool apprehension skittered across me. I stood closer to Jace, right between he and Cam now and immediately felt safe.

“Hi, Riley.” The young woman shouldered in between us with a dramatic elbow to Jace’s side. She brought us all back to the moment.

Dylan Merrick put the capital Vs inVa Va Voom. She wore a pretty, maroon dress with white flowers that hugged more curves than a back road. The dark red lipstick seemed brighter against the chocolate hair that framed her face and bright blue eyes.

For the first time, the expression staring back at me was understanding. She put me at ease immediately. I relaxed even more when Preacher ambled off with AP. The air suddenly easier to breathe.

“It’s customary for the family to wait near the coffin, let the guys come through and pay their respects.” Dylan’s husky voice was soft and coaxing. “A lot of them came from other states. Archer was the founding father of the club.”

My eyes snapped toward the coffin, one end open, dozens of flower displays surrounding it. More than a few draped with Desert King banners. But none of that mattered, only the casket itself and the body memorialized inside it.

“I…” panicked, unable to form a real word I stuttered. I hadn’t seen him in life. Walking up to the casket itself would make me a fraud.

A warm hand took mine, squeezing a little. The rough pad of a thumb brushed a soothing rhythm over my knuckles. “You don’t have to look, but we would appreciate it if you would greet people for a little while before we start.” Cam’s voice was so buttery smooth that I wanted to brush against him and purr.

The back and forth of my emotions made me dizzy.

Then he brushed his lips across my ear so only I could hear. “Remember, they don’t know you or anything about you. They have nothing to judge.”

Gooseflesh rippled in the wake of his warm breath and I managed to nod once. Cam led me hand in hand to an area just past the coffin. I was a fraud, an imposter. The letter from the lawyer had said I was supposed to show up, not be paraded around like some sort of freak.

I could leave, go back sleeping in my car, pretend none of this happened, and nobody would stop me. But when I peered at Cam, he had glanced into the coffin. His chest hitched and pain seeped into his features. I might be a fraud, but he wasn’t.

I stayed.

One person’s face faded into the other until I was adrift in a sea of pitying glances and half-hearted hugs. Cam stayed close, though, and held court. He knew this was a ruse, a show, and he was the one directing it. Every person that approached was eating out of his hand before they walked away.

The easy confidence was sexy.

As Cam led me to the reserved row, the entire chapel stared at me with pity as they took their seats. Men in leather vests stood along every wall and in every corner. Panic bloomed in my chest and my skin grew hot. These were the boogeymen of my childhood. Every time she’d seen a man on a Harley, Mom had stopped to tell me how dangerous they were.

Cam squeezed my hand and pulled me toward the padded bench. As I sat, he draped his arm over my shoulder and the panic faded. How could he be that dangerous?

The service itself didn’t take long. I sat between Cam and Dylan on a wooden pew in the first row, as if they were afraid to leave me alone. Maybe they were. The preacher talked, then AP gave the eulogy. Emotion threaded each story he told, paintinga picture of a fun loving, larger-than-life character that cared for his biker family very much.

But abandoned his only child.

After a final prayer, six leather clad bikers picked up the casket and carried it outside. Dylan did her best to usher me past the remainder of offered condolences, but it still took us so long that when we made it through the crowd, the hearse and limo were ready. I stopped, watching as they closed the door on the flower draped casket. It seemed so formal for the jovial, partying man AP had spoken of.

Cam had mounted the large, gleaming Harley in the front. The throbbing of the engine reverberated through the awning.

“He’s riding Archer’s bike?” My question held no accusation.

Dylan gave a solemn nod of her head. “All the patch members give their burial wishes. Archer’s was that if anyone rode his bike after he died…it be Cam.”

I didn’t know my dad, but I understood the pain I’d seen on Cam’s face. I’d lost the only family I’d ever known, too. That was a kinship forged in a sort of pain that couldn’t be described.

If I wanted to say a proper goodbye to the man he’d loved, the man who’d given me life, I couldn’t do it tucked away behind tinted glass, alone.

Without a word to Dylan, I moved toward the group of bikers that had surrounded Cam. I didn’t need to ask them to move; they parted for me without question. He killed the engine, his brow knitted with curiosity.

“Can I ride with you?” I looked outward, down the highway, unable to look at Cam or face the gazes that had all turned to me. “I figured it’s a good way to say goodbye.”

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath and stood, swinging his long leg over the bike. He popped the helmet off his head and shrugged out of his vest, handing both to AP, whose eyes were bloodshot from unshed tears.

“Glad you wore boots.” The older man mumbled through his grief.

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