Page 54 of Dash

I kiss her again, because I can’t help myself when I’m this close to her mouth. I need to claim her every time.

The sweet floral scent of her shampoo and her warmth soaking into me is becoming so familiar I crave both.

“I like this T-shirt,” she says, her fingers ghosting along the side of my shirt.

“No,” I say immediately, and she pouts. “You already have half my wardrobe. At this rate, I’m gonna be turning up to the clubhouse in just my kutte.”

Her eyes heat before she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Now, that is a look I can get behind. Maybe we can have sex like that later. You naked, just in that leather vest.”

My body clenches, and my breath catches. “Babe, we can have sex anyway you want, but right now, I have to go.”

I give her a lingering kiss, bruising her lips enough that she’ll remember my mouth after I’m gone, and then I head out.

I hate to admit it, but the thought of going to the clubhouse leaves a heaviness in my stomach. It never used to feel like this. Then again, I wasn’t involved in a plot to overthrow my president and VP.

It feels like I’m living two lives—the one with Dayna and the one with my club. Switching from blissed-out boyfriend to watching for knives in my back is exhausting.

But I understand now why Mace and Riot are so determined to fix this. I want desperately for Dayna to be a part of this side of my life. I want her to be with me in the clubhouse, drinking, laughing, and to have the support of my club family.

Cleaning house isn’t about the present. It’s about fighting for a future that should be ours.

I always assumed I’d die young because of the club. But Dayna changes that. She changes everything.

I want to be better, do better, live.

By the time I guide my bike into a space in front of the clubhouse, my muscles are bunched under the skin.

I’m already in fight mode when I step into the bar, but the room is quiet. There are a few patched members at the tables, and Riley is cleaning glasses behind the bar, but there’s no sign of Grub or Crank.

Their absence only feeds the paranoia and concern that beats in my chest every time I walk through these doors.

It’s always the same fucking question.

What the fuck are they doing and where the fuck are they?

More importantly, what kind of damage control will we need to do?

I stride over to the bar, burying my unease behind the easy smile I give Riley. Never show weakness. Not here.

I study Riley for the brief moment it takes him to put down the towel and glass and walk over.

I don’t know what to make of the prospect. The kid is quiet, solid, dependable, but I don’t know where his alliances lie.

“You want a drink?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Sun’s barely up.”

He shrugs. “That doesn’t usually matter around here.”

He’s not wrong. Drinking, partying, it’s a way of life most brothers embrace.

I glance over my shoulder at the almost empty room. “Where is everyone?” I keep my voice casual, light.

“Sun’s barely up,” he repeats my words back to me.

It’s a fair point, but time is a fluid concept in the club. Sunrise could be early morning or just going to bed after a heavy night.

But Crank is an early bird.

---