Page 8 of The Price of Love

My over-the-top response earns me a slight smile.

“I miss her,” Storm says.

We all do, but none of us misses her the same way Storm does. The pair had a special bond.

I take a step toward her and place my palm against her chest. With her jacket on, it doesn’t feel right, so I pull down the zipper so I can put my hand closer to her heart. “You have the best heart, Storm. I know it. Aces knew it. She chose you for a reason. You don’t always have to have the right answer.” I pat her chest. “You just need to lead with this.”

“The girls don’t want that. They need a forceful leader who gets things right!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Aces got it wrong plenty, but we all knew she loved us, and she was doing the best she could.”

Storm shakes her head and mutters, “Trying isn’t enough. Success matters. I need to do better.”

“Okay, Antonio Santoro,” I say, calling her by her father’s name.

She glares at me, but I can tell she’s having to work at staying angry. If anyone else said half of what I say to her, she’d put them in their place.

Before Storm can respond, I pat her chest one last time. “You got five minutes to get your ass downstairs.”

CHAPTER 5

STORM

Dimples had the good sense to leave me to my thoughts, but I’m still glad she came. She’s my anchor. Keeps me from drifting when shit hits hard. I smile, knowing what she’d say. The real fight’s always in my head. She wouldn’t be wrong, but that’s where she comes in. Maybe I lean on her more than I should, but I can’t imagine leading the Thorns without her or doing life without her, for that matter.

I snatch my cut from my bed and admire the back rocker, which has three patches. The top patch reads Iron Thorns MC in white letters. The center patch is the Thorns’ logo. It’s simple, yet powerful. A red rose with a thorny stem sits atop a gear. It’s a symbol I’d lay down my life for. The bottom rocker is where a club’s territory is normally displayed. In the Thorns’ case, the patch just says Nomad.

I put my cut on and stand up taller. I can do this. Make Aces proud.

My well-worn boots sit on the floor at the foot of the bed. I should get a new pair, but I’ve earned every scuff and scratch on them. Dimples buys a new pair every six months. Figures. She can’t stand scars—even on leather. I take my time lacing my boots, and when I stand, I straighten my cut again.

Time to get this done.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear raucous sounds coming from the bar. The girls will be living it up tonight. Why shouldn’t they since the winter is finally giving way to riding season? Hearing their laughter gives me renewed resolve. I won’t let Frost turn tonight into a shit show. The girls deserve better.

I stride into the room with my normal, confident swagger. Something I can pull off even when I don’t feel it. The noise level drops a few decibels, and several of the girls shout out to me. Most just call me President, but some still call me Storm.

The clubhouse is filling up. Making my way across the room, I stop and chat with several groups. When you’re in charge, you have to make the members feel seen—noticed. By the time I get to the bar, I’m craving a cold brew.

Prospect Two is behind the bar. She stops mid-pour, sets the drink aside, and comes directly to me. It’s the way of the club. The hierarchy dictates everything. It keeps the order.

“The usual? Jack and Coke?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Nah, I’m in the mood for a cold one tonight.”

“Coming right up.”

The beer is in front of me before I can blink. I’ll hand it to her; she’s responsive, but I’m still watching this one. She’s almost too eager. After thirteen years in the club, I must be getting jaded if I’m suspicious of someone who’s eager.

From the corner of my eye, I see Dimples walking in with a large box. Prospect One is following her, carrying an even bigger box. I groan to myself and glance around the room. Thankfully, Frost hasn’t arrived yet, or it’d give her one more thing to complain about. No way would Frost help a prospect carry in the supplies.

I point at the prospect behind the bar. “Grab that box from Dimples.”

The prospect practically leaps over the bar and hustles to Dimples. Yep, she’s definitely eager. After being relieved of her load, Dimples approaches with a sheepish grin.

“Jesus, you trying to make things harder than they have to be?” I keep my voice low, so the others don’t hear. Not that you can hear much with the loud music and girls partying.

“Sorry, I was outside when she came in, so I thought I’d help.” Before I can speak, Dimples holds up her hand. “I know. It’d just give Frost more ammo. I wasn’t thinking.”