I shoved the unwanted spaghetti around my plate, sulking. I wanted to listen in—after all, I was his only child and I needed to know how the Club was run, so I could take over when he was gone. But he never stopped reminding me that girls didn’t run the Club. That girls remained on the outskirts—being protected by the men like my dad, who did naughty things to keep up our way of existence.
“But I want to listen.”
He ducked to my eye level. “Go find your friend. He can help you with your homework.”
“Don’t wanna,” I pouted. I was ten years old and it sucked that the boy I’d always looked up to suddenly wanted nothing to do with me. He said he was too cool for kids.
Bully.
My dad laughed, ruffling my unruly hair. “Ah, Buttercup, don’t hate the boy. Mark my words, the minute you turn thirteen that kid will notice you again.”
A small smile spread my lips. “Really?”
My father grinned, his light blue-green eyes crinkling at the corners. His auburn hair was slightly darker than mine and I’d inherited the small freckles on my nose from my mother, who was a pure redhead.
“Truly. No boy or man will be able to resist you. And that’s why I’ll be ready to shoot him if he tries anything.”
The flashback ended, slipping me back into lunch conversation as gently as melting into a warm bath. My heart glowed with love. To remember my father—his face, his voice—it was more than I’d ever hoped for.
Unbelievably cherished.
Relief was swift and full of content. I’d finally earned a concrete puzzle piece in my hunt for answers.
“So, Sarah… what did Kill do to keep you entertained at his place?”
I took a bite of my pizza, letting the wash of conversation lap around me.
A finger poked me in the side. I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
Grasshopper frowned, pointing at a young biker with brown hair pulled back in a wet gel look. “He asked you a question.”
“He did?”
The guy nodded. “Yep, used your name and everything.”
The pizza slipped from my fingers. I should’ve jumped to his question—so in tune with the name I’d only just remembered. Shouldn’t I?
Ignoring the chill trickling down my back, I asked, “What was the question? Sorry.”
Mo spoke around a mouthful of pizza. “He was being an asshole.”
“Oh?”
He chuckled. “He wanted to know what Kill did to keep you ‘entertained.’ ” He waggled his eyebrows.
Two reactions rushed through me. One, to blush and look away. Two, to grin and play them at their own game. Two people lived inside me. The girl who lived abroad and studied hard, and the teenager who’d been brought up with men just like these and a confidence that only came from being around safety and family.
Keeping my eyes resolutely from Lighter Boy’s I said, “If you must know, he took me shopping, brought me lunch, and respected my boundaries.” I kept my face deadpan. The answer was, for all intents and purposes, true—the reply came from the mind of Sarah.
Sarah is quiet and serious.
My eyes went wide, my brain pointing out yet another twist in my journey to remember.
Then who was the vivacious girl who loved a biker’s son? Who was I when I kissed Kill so wildly in the changing room?
Grasshopper groaned. “Boring. Tell us the juice. I already know he fucked you.”
“Stop that.” I turned to stare at him. A strange bond had formed between us—not friendship or understanding—just mutual… respect? Or just a truce because we both knew I’d be leaving in a few hours. “You might know but I don’t want others to—”
“Ah, pumpkin.” A man with a large belly laughed. “He kept you at his place. We know he fucked ya. So… dish it up.”
Annoyance wrangled with mischief. The men, excluding Lighter Boy, watched me with eager amusement and intrigue. It was so nice to be around people again. I’d forgotten the ease of being in a group, of laughing with strangers who slowly became friends.
Friends were all I could gain with my mind like a giant sieve. I had no family.
But I do.
My heart swelled like a hot air balloon. For the first time in years, I wasn’t alone. I came from someone. I belonged to someone.
And it isn’t the boy from your dreams. He didn’t want me.
My spine straightened as tiredness fell over me. Kill still hadn’t showed up. What did that mean? That he still despised me? Still completely in denial that the woman he’d mourned for years actually was never dead?
Was that even possible?
“Come on, Sarah. Tell us—is our Prez a good fuck?” The guy with the belly elbowed another, winking at me.
I reclined in my chair, wishing I had a napkin for my greasy fingers. I embraced the side of the girl still hidden to me. The girl called Buttercup. The girl who would’ve laughed and joked with men similar to these all those years ago. “Well… what do you want to know?”
The men slapped their hands on the table. Their low timbre laughs reverberating around the table. “Oh, shouldn’t have said that, girl.”
“Tell us the kinky dirt.”
“Tell us something that’ll make you blush.”
My back tensed but I smiled at the rough gruff men, not afraid of them as I’d been raised by a brethren similar in some other time and place. I was as much a part of this world as any other—more so in fact: the smell of gasoline and thunder of a motorcycle was the lullaby of my past.