Page 26 of Crow's Haven
He leans back slightly, relaxing into the conversation. “The Savage Legion is a three-piece patch club, but we’re not part of the one percent. We’re what you’d call a family-first charter. We earn our money legally, pay our dues and are community focused. Once a year we do fun fair-type fundraisers for a local charity. We do honor rides. That kind of thing.”
“What’s the difference between one percent clubs and those with a family-first charter?”
“One percenters earn through illegal means, such as selling drugs, running illegal guns and even human trafficking. We don’t deal in illegal shit. We’ve got brothers with kids, wives, mortgages. Some of us own businesses. It’s about brotherhood, not crime.”
“And the patches?”
“You won’t find a one percent patch on any of our cuts,” he says. “Every patch we wear is earned by proving we are loyal and trustworthy.”
I glance around at the other men again. They’re joking around now, talking about bikes, work, and sports.
“Your club brothers are a little rough around the edges,” I admit.
Crow nods. “Yeah. Some of us came from harder places than others. We accept each other as we come with no judgments. We believe what’s on the inside is what matters most. Good character is everything to the Legion.”
“Why did you join the Savage Legion, Crow?”
He looks at me for a long moment, before answering. “I wanted to be part of something bigger than myself. And I wanted my boys to grow up around men who gave a shit, not just about bikes, but about each other. About doing some good in the world. I was a kid once, watching uncles and cousins run wild. I knew I wanted different. So, I built a different life for myself and my family.”
I nod slowly, watching him. “Your found family gave you what your bio family couldn’t.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Yeah. I don’t hate them or anything. I just needed more support than they could offer.”
By the time we finish our conversation, the clubhouse feels less intimidating. It’s not a den of criminals or a boys-only club filled with secret handshakes and beer cans. It’s a community, chosen family, patched together by loyalty and grit. I now understand things about Crow and his club that I didn’tbefore. We finish our conversation and our food and hit the road again.
He veers off the direct route and heads towards the coast. The helmet muffles most of the sound, but I can hear the ocean in the distance, taste the salt in the air. My arms are wrapped around Crow’s waist, resting just above the hem of his jacket. I hold on easily now. It’s not the death grip of my first ride—it’s softer, more trusting. Familiar. My chin rests lightly against his back, and I let myself breathe.
Since he’s been so forthcoming with information about himself, his boys, and the club, I want to come clean with him about having a warrant out for my arrest. The thing that has me worried is I don’t think he would look too kindly upon me if he knew my dark secret. He has a right to know, but I’m fairly certain that he wouldn’t want someone like me around his family.
That thought slams through my mind, leaving me feeling a deep guilt. At first, being at Crow’s was simply a place to lay low, to blend in, and survive. But somewhere between bedtime stories, getting a nickname, and riding on the back of Crow’s bike, the situation stopped feeling temporary.
I close my eyes for a moment and try to quiet the guilt running through my mind. I have a warrant out for my arrest. No matter how I cut it, I’m not safe anywhere except at Crow’s place. He doesn’t know he’s harboring a fugitive from justice. I need to bite the bullet and tell him the truth. He’s a good man who deserves to know all about me. The longer I keep it from him the worse it’s going to be. Especially now I’m falling for him and can’t imagine not having him and his boys in my life.
Chapter 8
Sharon
It’s the weekend and Crow has training scheduled with the prospects again today. And the best part is Scout is getting his cast off today. Dr. Patchett, or Patch as he’s known here, is meeting us at the clubhouse. And much to everyone’s delight, we’re taking the motorcycle with the sidecar. All in all, it’s shaping up to be a wonderful day.
By the time we hit the road today, I know what to expect. I’m growing accustomed to the way the engine vibrates under us, the pull of gravity as we round curves, the stretch of road that smells like pine trees. I’ve learned to lean in and let the ride take me. All these precious memories and lots more have been carefully committed to memory.
Beside us, the boys shout something I can’t quite make out over the wind. The sidecar rattles slightly as we ride. The sound of their laughter rising and falling like waves.
Crow glances over his shoulder as we merge onto the quiet secondary road. I smile at him and run one hand down his shoulder. His eyes find mine in the mirror, and I catch the sexy smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. My breath catches before I can stop it. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes me want to do naughty things with him. I like his quick glances as much as his long lingering looks.
I give him a tiny nod, squeeze my knees gently against the bike and wrap my arms more firmly around his waist. Days like this are my favorite.
He doesn’t take the coastal highway when the boys are with us. It’s too risky. Too much traffic at higher speeds and too many blind turns. Instead, he sticks to the inland secondary roads, ones with wider lanes, and less traffic. The boys don’t care. As long as they are in the sidecar, they’re happy as little clams. And he won’t ever hear a peep out of me. There are still enough long stretches and gentle curves to make the ride feel exciting.
Crow shouts over his shoulder as we crest a hill, his voice barely audible over the engine and wind. “You holding up okay back there, Ladybug?”
I grin. “I am. Just enjoying a Sunday ride.”
Crow doesn’t respond right away, but I feel his posture relax a bit. His head turns slightly. Something makes me think he’s smiling beneath the helmet.
The next stretch of road is smooth, with gentle dips and shallow curves. The sun cuts through the trees as it rises in the morning sky. We couldn’t have asked for better weather for a ride to the clubhouse. Riding with Crow and his boys is the closest thing to joy I’ve felt in a long time and I’m loath to give it up. I guess that’s why I chickened out about telling him about my past.
Without meaning to, I find myself gently caressing his stomach. And that is absolutely the wrong thing to do in this situation.
