Once he leaves, I say a few more greetings to the rest of the returning men, making a point to say hello to everyone but Snake first. I get enormous hugs from Blaze and Mack, a bear-hug from Axel and come out of it with an itchy face because of his beard, and then I get to Snake. I squeeze him tighter than all the others.
“How are you?” I say, looking for any hint of his thoughts in his eyes.
He breathes in deep, lets it out in a heavy sigh. “It’s hard, Addie. Tonight was hard. This is only going to get worse before it gets better. War’s coming.”
“Did you guys at least get what you wanted out of whatever it is you were out doing?”
“We tracked down Silas. The highlight of that was Blaze and his, uh, unique method of breaking in to Silas’ motel room.”
Blaze raises his voice behind us. “You’re not to fucking speak of that to anyone, Snake. I did as you asked and I did that for the club. But what happened will stay a secret between the five of us until the day we are all dead and buried. You hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you, brother,” Snake says. Then he leans to whisper in my ear. “I convinced Blaze that the best way to get to Silas was for him to strip and pretend to be drunk and trying to get into the wrong room. It worked. He was wearing nothing but his underwear and sitting on Silas Cooper’s chest.”
“You’re kidding?” I whisper back.
“It was easy, too. I just suggested it and he took to it. Like he was just waiting for an excuse.”
I’m grinning, and I can’t stop taking looks at Blaze over my shoulder.
I hope he doesn’t see me. Or realize that Snake’s told me what he did.
Fortunately, Blaze doesn’t hear.
“Why don’t we go for a ride? Get away from all this?” I say.
He nods, and the ominous look on his face fades a little; the corners of his lips pull upward in the faintest trace of a smile. Just a little, but it gives me hope that I can get through to him. I hate to see him like this — suffering, struggling with the darkness inside himself.
I’ve known him for years, cared about him practically my whole life, and it hurts me to see anyone in the MC in pain. Snake, most of all.
If there’s anything I can do to help him, I’m going to do it. I care deeply for him, and years in the MC has taught me that — even if it’s a struggle and you have to butt heads with them until you’re both bruised and bloody — you do not let your loved ones suffer.
“Yeah, I’d like that. Check with Stone first, all right?”
Before he can second-guess, or come up with some reason about how his duty to the club means it’s not a good idea to go clear his head and spend time with me away from everyone else, I race out the back door and into the back lot.
My mom and dad are in each other’s arms, lips locked; my mom’s shirt is half undone, and they definitely do not see me. Or hear me. Not even when I slam the door.
I cough loud. But they don’t hear that, either; they’re so caught up in each other.
When my dad fully strips off my mom’s shirt and unhooks her bra, I decide coughing sure as heck will not cut it for getting their attention.
“Hey, mom, dad, I’m right here. Can you stop having sex for a second so I can talk to you?”
They stop. Well, stop trying to undress each other, at least. Their lips still stay locked, and my dad gives me a look like I should get the hell back inside. This isn’t the first time this has happened, and it doesn’t particularly shock me. In fact, right now, I’m grateful for their distraction.
“Adella Garcia Stone, what is it you want?” My mom says, using my full name — my middle name coming from birth parents — which is something she only does when she’s especially exasperated.
“Listen, I’m going to go for a ride. I might go grab my camera and do some photo work. I’ll stay close to my home and only go to public, busy places. I just need to get out; the mood in there is just dark and suffocating and all the guys seem like they want to chop someone’s head off. I’ll take Snake with me, OK?”
The only response I get is an abrupt wave from both of them. Even before I’m fully turned and back inside, they’re back at it, going after each other like ravenous teenagers. It’s been the same for as long as I can remember — they’ve always been crazy for each other and, often, I think about how lucky I am to have been adopted by two people who are so wildly in love. I hope I can find the same for myself someday.
Snake’s waiting for me right where I left him, an expectant look on his face.
I smile at him. “We’re good. Let’s go.”
Quickly, we head out to the parking lot and get on our bikes. No matter what’s on my mind, it always feels good to have my motorcycle between my legs, and it feels even better to have Snake riding beside me, both of us pushing our bikes down the road.
He lets me lead and, though I know where I want to go — back to my apartment, so I can talk to him, find out what’s on his mind, so I can ease his pain and, most important of all, spend more time in his arms — I take my time; riding on its own is
