Page 27 of Friar
Another member leaned forward, his arms heavily tattooed from wrist to shoulder.“We all know what’s happening here.Girl’s trying to trap one of our brothers.Classic move.”He gestured at me without looking in my direction.“She doesn’t know which one of them is the father, so she picks Friar -- the one with the most to lose, the one with his own business, his own house.”He shook his head in disgust.“And he’s falling for it.”
Murmurs of agreement rumbled around the table.I felt sick, my stomach knotting with a mixture of fear and indignation.These men were discussing me as if I weren’t standing right there, as if I were nothing but a problem to be solved or dismissed.
Beast never raised his voice when he responded, yet somehow it cut through the noise with absolute authority.“Are you questioning Friar’s judgment, brother?Or my decision to approve his claim?”
The tattooed man fell silent, looking down at the table.
“Friar has the right to claim whoever he wants,” Beast continued, his tone even.“That’s club law.Has been since long before most of you earned your patches.It’s been a long time since we even bothered holding a vote.”He straightened to his full height, commanding the room by presence alone.“I’ve already given my approval.The girl is carrying a brother’s child.That means something in this club.”
He gestured toward my stomach.“Whether that child belongs to Friar, Nugget, or Nigel by blood doesn’t change the fact that it’s Reckless Kings by association.And Friar has made his choice to stand as father.”
I felt Friar’s hand at the small of my back again, a silent statement of support that steadied me when my knees threatened to buckle.He hadn’t spoken again after his warning to the first man who’d spoken up, letting Beast handle the situation as President.But I could feel the tension radiating from him, see the rigid set of his shoulders from the corner of my eye.His jaw was clenched so tight I could make out the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
“You’re asking us to welcome someone we don’t know, don’t trust, into our inner circle,” argued a third member, his voice calmer than the others but no less opposed.“Someone who could be carrying Nigel’s kid -- a Prospect who hasn’t even earned his full patch yet.”
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.I found myself holding my breath, feeling the weight of judgment pressing down on me from all sides.These men were a brotherhood, a family forged through loyalty and shared secrets.I was an outsider who had crashed into their world, disrupting the order they valued.
Beast’s eyes narrowed slightly, the only indication that his patience might have limits.“I’m not asking,” he said simply.“I’m informing.But if it makes you feel better about it --” He looked around the table.“Let’s put it to a vote.All in favor of recognizing Cheri Waite as Friar’s old lady, with all the protection and respect that entails, raise your hand.”
The first hand to go up was Hawk’s, followed almost immediately by Snake, who winked at me with a hint of that same amusement I’d seen earlier.Others followed more slowly -- reluctant nods accompanying raised hands.Some stared directly at me as they voted, eyes hard and evaluating, while others looked to Friar instead, showing respect for their brother if not for me.
My gaze found Nugget, sitting halfway down the table.His hand rose slowly, but his gaze remained fixed on the table surface, still refusing to meet mine.The guilt and discomfort in his posture were obvious.Whatever we had shared that night was something he clearly wished he could forget.
One by one, every hand in the room went up, though some looked like they’d rather be raising middle fingers instead.
“It’s unanimous,” Beast declared, though the word felt like a stretch given the obvious reluctance of some members.“Cheri is officially recognized as Friar’s old lady.She’s under his protection and, by extension, the club’s.Treat her accordingly.”His gaze hardened as he added, “Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me privately.”
Relief washed through me, so intense it made my knees weak.I hadn’t realized how much tension I’d been holding until it began to release, muscles unclenching one by one.But mixed with the relief was a lingering anxiety, an awareness that official acceptance didn’t equal genuine welcome.
I caught glimpses of glares from around the table, men who had raised their hands but whose eyes told a different story.They didn’t trust me.Some probably never would.One older member near the end of the table made no attempt to hide his displeasure, his weathered face set in hard lines of disapproval as he stared directly at me.
But I was here.Officially recognized.Under protection.It was more than I’d had when Uncle Pete and Aunt June had thrown me out, more than I’d dared hope for when I’d shown up at the clubhouse that first day, sick and terrified and desperate.
“Meeting adjourned,” Beast announced, dismissing the men with a nod.
As they filed out, some nodding respectfully to Friar as they passed, I felt his arms encircle me from behind, pulling me gently against his chest.His breath was warm against my ear when he whispered, “See?Told you it would be fine.”
It wasn’t fine, not really.Not yet.But for the first time since those two pink lines had appeared on the pregnancy test, I felt like I might have a chance at building something real.Something that could last.
Something like a family.
Chapter Ten
Cheri
The rumble woke me from a restless sleep, vibrating through the floorboards and up into the bed frame.I knew that sound -- Friar’s motorcycle, distinctive and throaty, idling outside in the driveway.I pushed myself up on my elbows, blinking in the darkness as I glanced at the clock.Two thirty-seven in the morning.Too late for club business, too early for anything good.
My heart stuttered, its rhythm picking up as the engine growled once, twice, then settled back into its steady rumble.Friar had left after dinner, muttering something about meeting Nugget at the clubhouse.I hadn’t asked questions -- had learned not to pry into club matters -- but he’d promised he wouldn’t be late.
I slipped from the bed, my bare feet hitting the cool wooden floor.The curtains glowed faintly with the blue-white light of the moon.I padded to the window and pulled back the edge of the curtain.
Friar sat astride his bike in the driveway, the machine a hulking shadow beneath him.The silver moonlight caught on his leather cut, turned his reddish-blond hair to quicksilver.He wasn’t moving, wasn’t dismounting.Just sitting there, engine idling, like he was waiting for something.For someone.
I stepped back from the window, confusion mingling with the last vestiges of sleep-fog.Had something happened?Was he hurt?Was this his way of letting me know he needed help without coming inside?
I grabbed his flannel shirt from where I’d draped it over the chair and pulled it on over my tank top and sleep shorts.The sleeves hung past my fingertips, the hem nearly to my knees, but the fabric smelled like him -- engine oil, leather, that spicy cologne he wore sometimes but would never admit to.
The house was quiet as I moved through it, the floorboards creaking slightly beneath my weight.I flipped on the porch light before opening the front door, its yellow glow spilling across the steps and into the yard beyond.
