Page 19 of Banshee
I wanted them to know she was under my protection.
“I’m not riding with you.”
“Aspen, get on the bike,” I repeated.
“I’m not stupid, Banshee. I’m not your old lady. You didn’t want me.”
I leaned in and whispered, “Believe me, baby girl, I fucking wanted you. I’ve wanted you since the first fucking day I saw you.”
Her eyes widened, but she still didn’t move. With a heavy sigh, I swung my leg over the bike. If she didn’t get on herself, I’d put her ass there myself.
She took a step back, and Tank stepped between us.
“Brother,” he warned.
“Back the fuck off, Tank.”
“Can’t do that.” He took a step toward me, as if he thought he could intimidate me. He was a big motherfucker, but I wasn’t afraid of him like some of the others.
I might be one of the older members, but you didn’t stay alive in this life by being a pussy. I still worked out regularly and could bench press more than he fucking weighed.
“Tank,” Aspen said, touching his arm. She shook her head and glared at me. “Are you really going to do this?”
I ran a hand through my hair. When I shook my head, she removed my helmet, handing it back to me. We couldn’t have this conversation here. Not with my brothers around.
Gunner led her back to his truck. She glanced my way, and the pain I saw on her face broke me. I fired up my bike and tore out of the lot in the opposite direction. I needed a ride to clear my head.
I rode out of town headed in a direction I knew I shouldn’t. King had instructed us not to engage. And I would follow that order. But I could look. I could watch and learn.
Just before the state line, I pulled to the side of the road and removed my cut, tucking it into my saddlebag. Then, I climbed back on and drove to Hillsdale, Wyoming.
I followed I-80 out to Hillsdale, which, as it turned out, didn’t have enough people to even make up a town. Hillsdale’s population on record was thirty-nine.
Thirty. Nine.
I guessed with the Death Dogs in residence they were up over a hundred now. Riding through the town, I could see why they had chosen here.
I didn’t stop as I rode by the clubhouse, but I wanted to get an idea of what we were dealing with. It wasn’t much.
There was an old barn, and multiple trailers set up around it. I assumed the trailers were where the brothers slept. At least the barn looked solid.
At the edge of town, I turned south and stopped at a little place in Burns called The Tumbleweed. It was the epitome of abiker bar. I left my cut in my saddlebag and walked in. It didn’t take long to find a spot at the bar.
“What can I get ya?” The bartender was a big, burly guy, not much older than me. You could tell a lot about a guy from his appearance. His long gray beard and bald head told me he had perseverance. It took a long time to grow a beard that long. And dedication to shave your head every fucking day.
“Whiskey,” I answered as I looked around.
“Name’s Cecil. You passin’ through?” he asked as he set the glass in front of me and poured a healthy amount.
“You could say that.” I raised the glass and took a sip. I wouldn’t get shitfaced, no matter how much I wanted to. Thoughts of Aspen, and the fire in her eyes when she said I didn’t want her, had my dick hard.
I’d hurt her. I knew that. She could say what happened to her wasn’t my fault until the fucking cows came home; but the truth was, it was all my fault.
If I’d stepped up and claimed her when her father asked, she never would have been married to the motherfucker that hurt her. She’d still be living in Diamond Creek—with me. But she wouldn’t have been in that bar. Not alone.
Either I would have been there with her, and I would have been the one to fuck her in the bathroom, but she would have been a willing participant. Or, we would have been at home. Probably even had a couple of kids by now.
You could have a lot of babies in seven years.
