Page 13

“What?” Mason quirks a brow.

“Guys with Harleys always think loud pipes make them good riders.”

Several members start grinning, clearly enjoying the back and forth.

Mason narrows his eyes. “You saying you ride better than us?”

“I’m saying, I can ride better than you. There is no us. You’re just a prospect, too. I bet I can take corners without scraping half my bike across asphalt.”

Someone nearly chokes on their beer.

"Fuck you," Mason mutters, suddenly standing taller.

I shrug. “What? Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Nah, he’s fine,” the second prospect cuts in, straightening as he walks over to join my lovely conversation with Mason. “But sport bikes are cute.”

“Cute? And who exactly do you think you are?” I repeat, crossing my arms.

“Yeah. Little starter bikes for adrenaline junkies. It’s cute, and I’m Thomas.”

I stare at him for a long second before smiling slowly. “Well, you wanna know something else that’s cute, Thomas?”

“What?”

“The confidence mediocre men have.”

The room erupts. One of the older members slaps the bar. Another nearly spits out his drink. Even a few club bunnies crack reluctant smiles. The prospect turns red.

“Oh, she got your ass,” someone calls.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps.

“For future reference, Mason. If you’re gonna try to impress a woman, maybe don’t insult them or their ride. As for you, Thomas, don’t forget how many things can be cute.”

Mason laughs under his breath. “I kinda like her.”

Thomas just glares at him.

Before either can fire back, Lennox pushes to his feet. The shift is immediate. Conversations quiet. Bodies straighten. Everyone suddenly finds something else to look at while also paying very close attention. Even after three years apart, I recognize authority when I see it. Dad used to wear the same expression right before someone got their ass chewed out. Lennox fixes both prospects with a look. "You think the only place for a woman in this club is attached to a man?"

Neither answers.

Lennox glares at their blank expressions. "And since when do either of you get to judge somebody else's bike?"

"Oh, wow," I mutter, not quietly enough. "My hero finally arrives."

Lennox cuts his eyes toward me, and I raise my hands in surrender. Neither prospect is brave enough to meet his stare, lowering their eyes to the floor.

"Everybody, listen up. She was voted in during church. That makes her a prospect. You treat her with the same respect you'd give any other prospect."

A few members bristle. Most just look surprised. Across the room, Barbie and her friend visibly relax. Apparently, being a prospect is less threatening than agreeing to be a clubhouse whore. Only then are you a threat to these women.

Lennox nods toward me. “This is Tatum.”

A few greetings are tossed my way. Most people simply nod. Then Lennox looks at me and jerks his head toward the hallway. "Come on."

Switch rises from his chair and follows behind us.