Page 2 of The Price of Love

“Frost is being a dick,” Rouge says. “I swear to god, if she gets that pissy look every time you talk tonight, I’m gonna wipe it off her fucking face.” She stands up straight and puffs out her chest.

I smile. Tough words coming from her bright red lips would be laughable if I didn’t know what a hardass she is.

“Calm down, killer.” I put my hand out and lower it toward the ground. “I’ve got this.”

“Just watch yourself. She’s up to something. Gathering allies.”

I know it’s true. When Aces got sick, everyone thought Frost, who’d been the VP for the past eight years, would fill Aces’ shoes. It shocked everyone, especially me, when Aces put my name up. With Aces backing me, I won in a landslide.

“I get her being butt-hurt, but she seemed cool at first,” I say. Birds squawk and fly from the trees as the rumble of bikes fills the air.

Rouge puts her hand on her chest and smiles. “I love that sound.” A serious expression replaces her smile as she returns to Frost. “Of course she was cool when Aces was still alive. We all thought Aces would beat cancer like she did everything else.”

I curl my lip in disgust. “The fuck. Aces’ body wasn’t even cold before Frost started shit. That’s disrespect.” She started in on me while we were planning Aces’ funeral, and four months later, her shit’s only gotten deeper.

“It’s your club now—your club to lead. It’s what Aces wanted.”

The words weigh heavy on me. I can’t let Aces down when she put so much faith in me. Before I can respond, four bikes shoot down the driveway. The girls are laughing and joking as they climb off their bikes.

Knowing they’re about to interrupt our private conversation, I change the subject. “You ready for racing season?”

“You know it!”

“I’m not sure, you’re getting older.”

She playfully pushes my shoulder. “Jackass.”

Before I can respond, one of the girls walking up says, “Uh-oh, why’s Rouge getting feisty?”

“Storm’s questioning my race readiness,” Rouge says.

Another of the girls laughs. “Ew, those are fightin’ words. Rouge was born ready.”

I raise my hands and back toward the door. “Seems I’m outnumbered, so I better head inside.”

I slip inside and go straight upstairs to my room, the largest suite. There are ten rooms total, one for each officer with a few extra. Dimples, Nails, and I are the only ones who live here full time, which keeps the clubhouse secure and saves us the trouble of keeping separate homes. The rest are for anyone wanting to slip away for some privacy. Let’s just say, those rooms don’t stay empty.

Some days, like today, when this patch weighs heavier than it should, I wonder if Aces made a mistake choosing me. Church night ain’t time for doubts, so I pull off my cut, what outsiders call a vest, and hang it on the door.

A biker’s cut is sacred. It shows we belong, but tonight, I’m wondering if I do.

I flop onto my bed without taking off any of my gear. If I leave my jacket on, I’m gonna overheat, but still I lie here. I close my eyes, hoping to chase my thoughts away.

CHAPTER 2

MICHELLE “DIMPLES” TAYLOR

Over half an hour ago, I heard Storm pull into the yard, but she still hasn’t made an appearance. She likely slipped in the back and is lounging in her room. I know her well. She’s my best friend and has saved my life more than once, so I’ll cut her some slack.

Church is weighing heavy on her, although she won’t admit it. After the long winter, the girls are getting restless and reckless. I’m feeling restless myself, but I know better than to get reckless. Being reckless can get you hurt—or worse.

The club fills up early on church nights. Once church is over, the girls are allowed to bring in outsiders—girlfriends, boyfriends, and friends—and the place will be rocking. Still, the room is already loud. A Melissa Etheridge song on the old jukebox competes with laughter and good-natured teasing.

It’s usually my favorite night—the last Saturday when we all come together. Once a month, it feels like a chaotic family reunion, but underneath it all is a sisterhood. Here, everyone shows up. That’s the difference.

On my way to the bar, I weave around tables that are haphazardly scattered around the room. The prospects try to keep them in some semblance of order, but it’s a losing battle. The girls are always pushing tables together to play a game of Left Right Center or poker.

I smile at Halo, the Iron Thorns’ treasurer, who’s behind the bar serving drinks. If there ever was anyone with a resting bitch face, it’s Halo. She looks like she’d rather cut a bitch, or at least spit on her, but underneath, she’s got a heart of gold. Not only does she take care of her own, but she works long hours as a nurse at the hospital in Saranac Lake.