Page 37 of Freak
Having lived in (well, near) a biker town her whole life, Abigail knew what ‘old lady’ meant to bikers, and she was stunned. She wasn’t the only one. Badger and Double A exchanged a look between them and briefly turned it on Mel before they reshaped it to bright grins for her.
The Montana men, Rhett and Nacto, had differing reactions. Nacto grinned at once and offered his hand to her.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said.
“Oh, no need to call me ma’am,” she answered with a smile of her own. “Just Abigail will do fine. And it’s nice to meet you, too, Nacto.”
Rhett scowled—and continued reminding her of end-of-career Jeff Bridges. Finally, he offered his hand. “Pleasure,” he said, without much conviction.
“Same,” she replied with a similar tone. She took everyone as they came, assumed everyone was doing their best, but she was not a dishrag. When she sensed a chill from someone, she measured her response accordingly.
The odd interaction completed, Mel led her back to the bar and collected her packages again.
“What was that?” she asked when they had some distance from other ears.
“I ... I guess that was me claiming you. I’m sorry, I know I took some liberties, but I don’t know all the Montana guys real well, and a couple I do know are ...” Shaking that sentence off, he instead said, “I wanted everybody to know you’re mine and keep their hands off you. Just in case anybody gets drunk and out of line. But—that’s all it has to mean. Sorry I went all cave—”
He stopped because she’d put her fingers on his mouth. “Don’t apologize for acting to keep me safe, Mel. I didn’t understand it, but I liked that kiss. I think I liked it better before I knew it was for show, but I’m glad you did it even so.”
“I made a show of that kiss, Abs, but it wasn’tforshow. I love kissing you. That was all real.”
Again her heart leapt and twirled inside its cage. “Then don’t apologize for kissing me like that.”
Chapter Eleven
Mel had himself a problem.
He’d ushered Abigail and her boxes back to the kitchen, where the women had taken over and shooed him away.
Now, after getting rolled at the pool table because he couldn’t focus, he stood alone at the end of the bar, nursing a bottle of beer, and watched the crowd in the Hall while he tried to figure out what was going on in his thick skull. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before—like he wanted to kill somebody and just about anybody would do.
Maybe it was the way the day started, with that fucked-up talk with Kellen, finding out for sure that the shitheads who’d fucked with Abigail were stupid kids who’d done it for no other reason than boredom and meanness. He wasn’t sure if he should tell her. What was better: the uncertainty of not knowing who or why, or the certainty that she could count people like that among her neighbors? What was the right course for him now? He didn’t like secrets, but he liked the thought of hurting Abigail even less.
And Kellen? Threatening the club? Mel didn’t know what to do with that, but it felt like amuchbigger deal than Len seemed to think.
Or maybe it was the Montana charter roaring onto the compound a full day earlier than expected. Nobody had cared to send out a warning flare, so Missouri had another couple dozen people to feed and house before they were ready, and the clubhouse was a madhouse. The way they’d arrived had a small red light flashing behind Mel’s eyes.
