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Gabby – Earlier That Morning
“Today is going to be a great day,” Lizette told me as she flipped pancakes while I made the tenth omelet this morning.
She was right, too. Today was going to be a great day.
Here in a little while, Asher promised the women we could get a giant tarp and put it in the back of the truck and fill it full of water so we could get cool.
After that, we were having a barbeque with burgers and hot dogs because they had some allied clubs coming in for the weekend as well as Wrath MC was coming to visit. Not to mention, they were patching in two prospects and the rumor around the clubhouse was that they had a man that had gone nomad for reasons none of us girls know, and he was coming back today to get his patch. Hopefully.
The other club girls would be open for whatever, but not me. I was off today from working because I was babysitting the little ones during the party with Asher’s daughter, Stella. Which I was grateful for. One of the prospects was disgusting, and on top of that, with the other men coming in, Asher had given the order that the club girls would be with any of the men.
Not to mention, if their ole’ ladies couldn’t come with them, I had no way to tell if the men were claimed or not because some of them didn’t wear wedding bands.
Just as I plated the tenth omelet, I had two more to go when Whit walked up behind me and caged me in with the stove. “Hey doll, got a minute you can spare for me?” Whit asked as he ran his nose along the column of my neck. I knew what he was asking for.
“You got it, big man, soon as I finish the dishes,” I told him and got a wink in response.
I liked Whit. He was a decent guy. He was also the Vice President of Zagan MC.
Just as I finished the last two omelets and ate my own food, Lizette and I knocked out the dishes when Sutton came walking into the kitchen.
She headed for the fridge to get her yogurt and then to the pantry to grab her granola.
Seeing the hickeys on her neck, I snorted, “You get branded last night?”
I asked her and saw a blush form on her cheeks.
Just then, Irish walked into the kitchen, tagging the last plate with the last omelet on it.
Sutton watched him walk to a table, sit, and chow down. All the while pretending she was eating her own food, but one glance at her and you knew she was sitting in that position so she could keep an eye on him from the corner of her eye.
When he was finished, he stood up, brought me the plate with a wink then walked out.
All the while, Sutton followed his movements with longing in her eyes while she ate her yogurt and granola.
And when I noticed that he hadn’t spared her a backward glance, I saw her shoulders drop.
Grabbing a hand towel, I dried my hands after I washed his plate and fork, then I walked over to Sutton and said, “Honey, as far as I know, he hasn’t slept with any of the other club girls.”
She looked up at me with a tear trailing down the corner of her eye and smiled weakly. “I know. Pres is getting pretty pissed off at him, I do know that. He claims I’m his, but he won't do anything about it either. He warns all the brothers that try to come onto me, too.”
“He doesn’t want you but doesn’t want anyone else to have you?” I was a blunt person. I didn’t see the need to sugarcoat anything.
She nodded solemnly. “Maybe it's time to move on. We’ve been doing this dance for over a year now.”
“You going to try to be with one of the other brothers tonight?” I asked her, knowing that was the direction she was more than likely going in. It wasn’t fair to her that Irish was stringing her along like he was.
“I’m thinking about it. But I just… I don’t want whoever it is to get hurt. You saw what happened the last time a brother from another chapter grabbed me around the waist while we were dancing.” She visibly shuttered, obviously remembering in grave detail what had happened.
The guy that she had been dancing with had wrapped his hand around her back to pull her in closer, and where his hand had landed? It was right at the top of her ass. It really was nothing, but it wasn’t to Irish.
He had stormed over there, grabbed the man’s hand, and wrenched his arm back too far. We all heard a pop when he dislocated the guy's shoulder.
As if that wasn’t enough, Irish had grabbed Sutton, pulled her behind him, and then while he still held onto the guy's arm, he maneuvered him to the ground, roughly, then with one of his steel toe boots he slammed it down hard into his side.
And that, my friend, was how that other guy suffered four broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a dislocated shoulder, not to mention torn tendons.
“You can always talk to Asher,” I told her.
