Page 23 of The Price of Love

“I’m not worth it.” I hug my arms to my chest.

She doesn’t know how true it is, but by the fire burning in her eyes, she doesn’t believe it.

“Why dontcha let me decide that?”

I shake my head. “No. Please leave.”

She studies me without speaking. Sadness replaces the desire in her eyes. “I don’t agree, but I’m gonna respect your wishes.”

“Thank you.” I don’t smile at her. Somehow it’d seem cruel, or maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll do if she pushes.

Her eyes meet mine before she hangs her head and leaves the garage.

As soon as the door closes, my hands begin to tremble.

CHAPTER 11

SHADOW

Last night was a late one, but here I am again, turning into the Steel Graces’ clubhouse. Since it’s daylight, I’m riding my motorcycle, which should make Wiz happy.

Though I’m dragging, last night did me good. Spending time with my sisters at the club helped me forget Margot and her bullshit for a while.

I pull my bike to a stop next to the others and kill my engine. This is the last meeting before next weekend’s poker run. Until I joined the Graces, I’d heard of poker runs, but I never knew what they were.

When I enter the clubhouse, all the action is in the café area. The girls are seated at bistro tables, sipping coffee and eating pastries. It’s much different from last night. Kinda. It’s not like the Steel Graces are huge partiers. Sure, we have a drink or two, but nobody gets stupid drunk like what happens in some clubs. Wiz wouldn’t allow it. And nobody rides impaired. It wouldn’t play well in Saratoga. The community has accepted us because we keep it clean, and Wiz isn’t about to let anything tarnish our reputation.

I’ve only just sat down with my coffee when Wiz raises her voice. “Hey, since we’re all here, let’s get the meeting started early. My granddaughter wants me to take her to the new Disney movie this afternoon.”

People believe bikers are hardass rebels when the majority are regular people who love to ride. Most Steel Graces are college grads and professionals; I’m neither. Before I met Margot, I had plans, but now I scrape by working as many shifts as possible at the nursing home. But since they brought in part-timers to cut overtime, money’s been tight.

The group files up the narrow iron staircase while those not on the poker run committee remain in the café. The loft is a wide platform at the top of the stairs, offering my favorite view of the old building. Light from the wrought-iron lamps bounce off the brick walls, which are sprinkled with club memorabilia. The polished floors glisten, courtesy of the prospects who are continuously mopping them.

I’m surprised when Wiz walks past the large solid oak table where we conduct most of our meetings and unlocks the thick wooden door.

I frown as I enter. Why are we meeting in the private room? I shiver. Is it just the chill in the air or something else?

“Jesus,” Edge says, “I thought you said the prospects were getting the room ready. Why didn’t you tell them to crank up the heat?”

Wiz snorts. “I thought it was a given.” She twists the thermostat and then takes her seat at the head of the table.

Edge sits to her right. The other officers at the meeting—Teeter, the road captain, and Sloth, the sergeant-at-arms—take their seats before the rest. Eleven patch sisters in total are at the table.

“All right,” Wiz says. “Our eighth annual poker run for the Hearth Haven Women’s Shelter is next weekend. I need a report from everyone.”

For the next half hour, each gives an update. I’m more confused. Why discuss this behind closed doors?

“Thank you all for your hard work,” Wiz says after the last report. “This might be our best yet. I’d love to deliver a huge check to Sharon at Hearth Haven on Monday morning.”

I begin gathering my papers, expecting Wiz to end the meeting on this note. Instead, Wiz folds her hands, and her gaze slowly circles the table.

“I want to ensure that everything comes off without a hitch,” Wiz says. “But the Iron Thorns are planning on crashing our party.”

While I’m not a fan of the Iron Thorns, I’d hardly call it party crashing since Dimples, their road captain, reached out over a month ago.

Hearing no outcry, Wiz holds up her hand. “Okay, maybe they’re not crashing. Still, they’re coming whether we want them there or not. The last thing we need is them tearing through town and creating a ruckus. We’ve built a wonderful reputation in Saratoga, and I won’t let them screw it up.”

Wiz glances at Edge, who gives her the slightest nod. If I hadn’t been looking directly at Edge, I would’ve missed it.