Page 26 of Psycho

Pretty Boy stepped in and took over.

“Tarzan and Trooper, check the perimeter of the house and make sure we don’t have any surprise visitors lurking around. Bruiser, you’re done for the night. Grab a beer and put some ice on your face before you swell up like a balloon. Viper, you’re on watch.”

Brass and Recoil began sweeping up the broken glass. Ironside retrieved a blanket from the back of the couch, and draped it around Bobbie’s shoulders. Hades examined the front door and removed it from the broken hinges.

When everyone was busy with their respective tasks, Pretty Boy propped a hand on the table and gestured to us.

“You two are staying at the clubhouse until Huxley is back in prison,” he said.

I cast an apologetic glance at Bobbie. There would be no privacy, no peace and quiet at the clubhouse. And my brothers were about to pester her with all kinds of questions about our relationship.

Especially now that I had publicly staked my claim on her in front of them.

My girl.

I smiled to myself, smoothing my thumb over Bobbie’s knee.

I liked the sound of that.

Chapter eight

Bobbie

The first blush of dawn began to color the sky when Arrow and I got settled at the clubhouse in one of the back rooms. It was furnished with the basic necessities—a bed, a nightstand, a closet, and a table in the corner, with an adjoining bathroom.

I crawled into bed immediately, fully clothed, and carefully rested my bandaged hands on my stomach. The cuts weren’t deep, but they did sting like hell. Seven gave me a few painkillers to take the edge off.

Arrow removed my boots, lining them up next to the bed.

“I could get used to this royalty treatment if you're not careful,” I murmured with fatigue.

He chuckled and kicked off his own boots before easing into bed beside me.

“You’re sleeping in a spare room at a biker bar. I’d hardly consider that royalty treatment.”

I rolled over and wiggled closer to him, resting my head on Arrow’s shoulder.

“You know what I mean. Taking off my shoes, making sure I get enough to eat, giving me orgasms. You're treating me like a princess.”

I yawned and snuggled against him, draping my arm across his middle.

“It’s nice,” I added, slurring as I began to drift off.

Despite my exhaustion, I could feel the tension in Arrow’s body. He wouldn’t be going to sleep any time soon. Not after The Filthy Rebels and Huxley had shot up his home.

“Close your eyes, Arrow,” I said.

“I’m not tired,” he protested.

I scoffed.

“Liar.”

He laughed softly and gingerly kissed my hand.

The muted sounds of activity in the clubhouse created a comforting drone of background noise, signaling we weren’t alone here—the clatter of dishes, the clink of glass, the dull hum of voices.

“Why did you call Hillbilly?” Arrow asked after a while.