“Uh…yes, sir.”
The fact that he’s getting the beers himself is noteworthy, just as much as the revelation that his gruff manner might be covering a teddy bear. I heard him shouting at her that first time, before she laughed, and thought I might be walking into an abusive household all over again. No way I’d stay if that were the case. Kicking ass out there in the world is one thing. Him doing it here at his home is something I want no part of.
Standing up to shake off my nerves I cross to an antique hutch, gilded with real gold maybe, who knows? Sliding my fingers across it I find no dust. Interesting. So the place is clean, just weathered by time and living. His approaching footsteps flip me around. Clearing my throat at being caught investigating the man’s home, I walk over to meet his extended hand. “Thanks.” He’s peering at me as I take the ice-cold can of beer, pop it open at the same time he does. Even with us being as big as we are, this great parlor dwarfs us.
Wonder how many invisible people await his decision? How do they live? Will I like them? Will they like me? Am I even going to get a chance to see their faces, or will I be sent out front as a car is called to pick my loser ass up.
Jett exhales his enjoyment of the taste with a loud groan, but doesn’t move to sit down again. “Let me ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Ever ride a motorcycle?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind?”
“Harley.” He pauses, eyes me with suspicion. I repeat it. “I drove a Fat Boy. My mom’s boyfriend had one and he taught me so I could take off and give them alone time.”
Snorting he accepts this and asks another question. “You nervous?”
I stare a beat. “Yeah.”
“Because you don’t look it.”
My eyebrows twitch. “No?”
“No, you look…” He pauses, changes direction. “I’ll be honest with you, Sean. We haven’t had new blood in this house in thirty years. Tonk Sr. was the last recruit and he’s over fifty now. I’m not counting our kids because they didn’t have a choice and we didn’t select them from a strange world to become our family. There’s history here. You’d be an outsider.”
“I’m okay with that.”
He reacts with a slight twitch of expression, because I did not hesitate. “It’s not easy being the new guy in a family with inside jokes and years of trust built.”
“Life isn’t easy. But is it fun?” I take a sip of beer to let my answer soak in.
A smile spreads on the man, lights those greys up from the inside. “You think that’d be fun?! Let’s see how much fun that’d be.”
I follow him out, sipping my beer to maintain the relaxed appearance. We head through the foyer as I’m eyeing the chandelier hanging overhead. I bet that came with the house, just like those paintings. Passing a couple closed doors, we come to stand in front of that beautiful staircase I spotted before. Just like the rest of the place, the paint is chipped and there are scratches and shoe marks everywhere. I’m in total awe.
Jett bends backward to shout, “Family! I want you to meet someone!”
One door after another opens. Those on the first floor around us, too. A crew of people you wouldn’t want to fuck with, finds a place to stand along the railing upstairs. The way the house was constructed you can see several bedroom doors from here, the ceiling as high as the roof in the center. The Ciphers downstairs near Jett and me stagger themselves where they can get a good look but not get too close. Everyone assumes a watchful stance. Cross-armed, hands hooked in their back or front pockets, a few holding the railing to lean over, long hair hanging down. I slide a cautious gaze across the new faces as nobody speaks. Jett’s interested in my reaction. Since he’s the President, nobody says a word—that’s my guess as to what’s going on. They’re just eyeing me, guarded and curious. Through them I see myself—sandy brown hair, blue eyes, six-two in blue jeans that aren’t torn, a flannel shirt, shiny new sneakers. White skin that needs more sun. They’re a melting pot of ethnicities and the Caucasian ones are tanned from riding motorcycles their whole lives. Bikers don’t wear sunscreen, I’d bet. To them I look like an All-American guy who could never understand them on a visceral level the way family does family.
“This here’s Sean. You know what he just said to me? He thinks it’d be fun to be an outsider in a house of outlaws.” A few laugh, amused. Most remain distant.
I nod to the group. “Why does it smell so good in here? Cajun spices, right?”
An older blonde woman with jutted hip demands, like she’s attacking me, “You know something about cooking?”
“My mom’s an excellent cook, but I burn boiled eggs.”
Some snickering and a muttered male voice asks, “How do you burn hardboiled eggs?”
A female snaps, “Like you’ve ever cooked, Atlas.”
I glance up to see a cute redhead with golden skin and freckles sneering at the stocky Latin guy who’s probably my age. Atlas’s skin is darker than hers, copper. He’s locked on me with a wall up as he mutters, “I’ve cooked.”
My gaze snaps right, to the beauty beside him. She seems unaffected by their bickering. Sinewy and muscular with long black hair and caramel skin, she steps closer to the railing, slides her fingers around it and stares at me with dark eyes that betray no innocence.
Jett claps me on the back, “The redhead is Sage, the giggler who can’t take an order.”
She sticks her tongue out at him.
I cock an eyebrow, but he laughs instead of getting angry, shifting his gaze to a beautiful older woman with grey-streaked black hair and a body ripped with muscles and generous with curves.
Jett motions to her as she gets closer,
