"Could be the Devils..." he muses, thinking out loud. "Stick said that some of their brothers weren't too happy about the terms of the deal we offered them. Maybe some of them are trying to get us back in some way."

"Yeah, it just feels...personal, somehow," I tell him, "The Devils would be more likely to walk into the Black Rock and crack a pool cue over my head if they had a problem, not follow me around like some f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.ies."

"Well, let's just keep it quiet until we know what's happening," Ratchet says. "I don't want Trip or some of the prospects going down there all hopped-up on something and kicking a.s.s if we don't know what's really going on. Do Stacy and Olive know?"

"Nah, we didn't say anything to them," I say, "Stick figured they were already worried enough with him out of town on a run."

"Speaking of Stick," Ratchet smiles, "I hear there might be cause for celebration this weekend."

"Yeah," I grin back, "He's all worried, but she's gonna say yes, no question."

"So what are you going to do?" he asks, finishing up his sandwich and brushing the crumbs of his desk.

"What do you mean?" I ask him, "Hey, you going to eat that pickle?"

"f.u.c.k, West, you eat more than anyone I've ever met," He laughs, "Go for it. I mean, Stacy and Stick, they're going to want to live together, probably not with roommates..." he gives me a meaningful look.

"Oh..." I say, his meaning finally dawning on me. I munch thoughtfully on the pickle. "Guess I hadn't really thought about it."

"I guess you could just stay with a different woman every night," Ratchet says with a smile, "but eventually, it might be nice to stay in one place for a bit."

"Maybe..." I say, standing up and tossing my empty brown bag in the trash. "I'm gonna finish up that radiator with Don. You were right, by the way, he's pretty good."

"All right," Ratchet says, grabbing a pen and leaning over some paperwork.

The newest prospect Don and I work on the radiator of a s.h.i.tty old Ford pickup for the rest of the afternoon. He's ready to do most of the work himself, which is great, because I'm busy thinking about what Ratchet said.

f.u.c.k, Stick and I were always a team. It was always us, hitting on girls together, having each other's back. This house thing is just the beginning. If I've thought he's been busy with Stacy lately, imagine what it'll be like when they move into the house, have babies. They'll have their own family, and I'll be on the outside looking in, just like when I was a kid.

Don and I (well, mostly Don) finish up on the Ford, and I head home. I scan my mirrors for a sign of the blue sedan, but there's no sign of it. I pull into the driveway and feel a deep weariness as I walk into the house.

When I step though the front door, I see Olive at the kitchen sink, her hands buried in soap suds. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me, though her eyes have a distant look in them. All I want to do is bury my face in her neck, take her back into my bedroom and feel her body underneath mine. Everything just felt simple and easy for a couple weeks, and now it all feels complicated again. I haven't even touched her since Stick's been home.

Tossing my helmet onto the floor, I cross the living room and move into the kitchen. I walk carefully up behind Olive, as though she might disappear if I take my eyes off her for even a second. I wrap my arms around her waist, pleased to find that she's real, and warm, and here. Her body stills under my touch, her hands dropping in the sink, still covered in soap and water.

Closing my eyes, I feel her rest her head back against my chest, her body relaxing in my arms. But only for a moment. She stiffens, and I feel her gently press her elbow into my abdomen. What the f.u.c.k? I step away from her, frowning down at the back of her head.

I hear a floorboard creak in the hall behind us, and turn to see Stick standing at the entrance to the kitchen. s.h.i.t...how long has he been standing there? His expression is blank, his head tilted slightly to the side in consideration. I hear Olive begin to wash off the plates in the sink again.

"Hey, Olive, want me to drop you off at work on my way to Stacy's?" he finally asks.

"Yeah, that would be great," Olive says, turning off the faucet and drying her hands. "So, tonight's the big night, huh?"

"Yep," Stick says, grinning nervously.

"I called the restaurant, the private room is all set up," Olive says. That's news to me, though I guess I can understand why Stick would rely on Olive and not me for something like that. I'm not exactly known for my prowess in romantic gestures.

"I'll ask one of the prospects to pick you up tonight," Stick adds. "I know West must have other things to do. We should get going."

"Yeah, let me just grab my purse," Olive says, walking quickly to her room without looking at me.

"Good luck tonight, man," I say to Stick.

"Thanks," he replies with a grin, the uneasiness gone from his eyes.

A moment later, Olive is back with her bag and she and Stick head out the door with a wave.

The house feels empty and quiet all of a sudden. I walk to the fridge and grab a beer, then reach back in and grab the whole six pack. I head out the sliding door to the back porch. I place the beers on the table, turn one of the chairs so it's squarely facing the backyard, and drop into it, kicking off my boots.

I crack the first beer open and watch the orange sun set over the horizon. It's a beautiful night, my best friend is about to get engaged, and I've got a full six pack by my side.

But why is it, then, that I still find myself scowling into the distance as the sun descends?

Chapter Fifteen.

Richard I lie on my back in Olive's bed, staring up at the ceiling. I can see the remnants of small circular stickers up there. Probably from those glow-in-the-dark stars that girls were always putting on their walls back in the day, though it looks like Olive has tried her best to take them down.

Glancing at the clock, I see that I still have plenty of time before anyone is likely to get home. I love being in Olive's room. I feel so peaceful here. When I first came out to Vegas, I was so angry with her. I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I rented a car and drove out here to her house, only to find her living with two bikers. Olive's mother forgot to mention that her son, the accountant, does the books for a f.u.c.king motorcycle gang.

So I bided my time. I knew that with these thugs in the picture I would have to plan carefully. And while I was following her, watching her, I realized that she had gotten involved with that a.s.shole, West. At first I was angry again, then disappointed. Then I really just felt sad. Sad for Olive. Sad that this is what her life has turned into. I mean, dating some dumb f.u.c.king gang member? He could never appreciate her the way that I do.

That's when I figured out what I needed to do. I needed-I need-to rescue her. Her life is spinning out of control, and she needs someone to step in and put it right for her. At first, she might be confused, maybe in pain, but eventually, she will thank me. And she will realize that I'm the one that's been there for her all along.

I turn my head to the side, breathing in her scent from her pillow. A thrill runs through me, and I feel my d.i.c.k getting hard.

It was amusing to realize that her brother didn't know about his sister and good friend being together. I've been trailing her for days now, and watching them through the windows. As soon as her brother came back, Olive and West stopped touching. Lying to your own brother-not a good move. When Olive is back with me, I will never let her do anything like that. I will encourage her to always be honest and straightforward with people.

I stand up and walk over to her wicker clothes hamper. I take the top off and look inside. More dirty clothes since I was here two nights ago. I reach in and take out the black thong sitting on top. These are new, I think, as I rub the soft lace between my fingers. I definitely would have remembered seeing these while we were dating.

Carefully folding them, I place them in my back pocket. She won't notice they're missing. I walk to the cork board she has hanging on the wall above her desk. There are pictures and little notes pinned to it haphazardly. I run my eyes over the pictures. Mostly from high school, though there's one new one. It's of her, her brother, West, and her brother's fiance. Looks like it's from some kind of backyard barbecue.

I reach up to take it, but hesitate. Probably too obvious. I choose a different one, one of the many photos of her from when she was younger that she's not as likely to notice missing. She's sitting on the first row of some wooden bleachers with other girls, and her legs are sticking out from her little shorts. I carefully fold that, too, making sure the crease doesn't obscure Olive's body at all, and tuck it in my back pocket with the panties.

Looking around the room, I take one last deep breath, trying to imprint her smell in my mind. I reluctantly turn to go, pa.s.sing by West's bedroom on the way. I stop. A flare of anger hits me, churning up from my gut as I look into his room. Piece of s.h.i.t. I want to tear through his things, rip his pictures from the wall, set fire to his bed.

My hands twitch. I take a calming breath. Patience, I remind myself. I have a plan, and making my presence too obvious now would ruin it. Even putting the sand in their car-that was too much, and came out of rash anger. I'm lucky it didn't give me away.

I continue down the hallway, back through the kitchen, and out the sliding gla.s.s door in the back. It's amazing, they always lock the front door, but this door has never been locked since I've been coming here. Not once. I shake my head. The hubris of bikers. Thinking they're invincible because of a couple tattoos and a leather vest.

Making quick tracks, I cut across a few lots to the street where I've parked my rental sedan. My cell vibrates in my pocket. I glance at the screen. f.u.c.king Stan again. Jesus, that f.u.c.ker is persistent. How many times do I have to ignore his calls before he gets the picture? He's like a f.u.c.king woman, or something. I press 'decline' and stuff the phone back in my pocket. I unlock the car door and slide behind the wheel.

The manila envelope is lying on the pa.s.senger seat, carefully addressed to Drew Corder at his house. I start the car and drive into town, where I know there's a post office box on my way back to my motel. I took many more photos than I needed to, and included them all in the envelope. I really hope I get to see her brother's reaction when he opens it. If I drop it off today, it should get there on Friday or Sat.u.r.day. I can just see him picking up the mail from below the front door where the mailman has pushed it through the slot.

What's this? He'll wonder as he works open the flap. And out will come all the photos I've taken of Olive and West. Them f.u.c.king on the couch, her bedroom, his bedroom. They've really been quite inventive, far more than she ever was with me, though I'll fix that quickly. I'm sure Drew will feel the same level of disgust that I felt when taking them. It's amazing what you can do with a telephoto lens these days.

Then, when Olive's world is crumbling around her, that's when I'll be there to pick up the pieces.

Chapter Sixteen.

Olive West and I haven't seen one another much in the week since Stick's been back. We've managed to masterfully avoid each other, even while living in the same house. He hasn't shown up once to the Black Rock while I've been working, either. Stick or a prospect has picked me up every night.

And I'm worried about how much Stick saw the other night when West hugged me. The fact that he's had a prospect pick me up rather than West...that worries me. And what was West doing hugging me anyway? He goes out of his way to avoid me, and then picks the worst moment ever to want to touch me? I don't understand that man. I feel like I've had a ball of anxiety in my stomach for days.

Calm down, I order myself, fluffing my hair in the bathroom mirror. A little more eyeliner, I think, reaching into my makeup bag.

Stacy was beyond thrilled when Stick asked her to marry him and gave her the old lady cut he had made for her. Tonight, the club is throwing a party for them, and despite what Stick says, I plan on staying the whole night. And I'm gonna look super hot, too. I've got on a pair of painted-on skinny jeans, patent leather heels, and a lacy, deep red top. I look myself over one last time in the mirror and grab my little silver clutch from the counter.

I head back into the living room, where Stick, West, and Stacy-in her new cut, are waiting. I see Stick open his mouth to protest what I'm wearing, when Stacy jumps in.

"Wow, you look f.u.c.king hot!" she exclaims. "Come on, I don't want to be too late to my own party." She grabs my arm and pulls me to the front door before her fiance can get a word in edgewise.

We climb in the backseat of the Tahoe and Stick and West get in front. Again, I wonder if Stick suggested we take the car to avoid me getting on the back of West's bike. They start talking about some prospects I haven't met and Stacy rolls her eyes jokingly at me. I smile at her. I'm glad she's going to be my sister-in-law. As much as I love Stick, I was always jealous of girls who had a sister to talk to.

Soon we're pulling through the clubhouse's gates. We park out front and then make our way through the front door and out the back into the yard. Stacy and Stick walk in front of West and me down the hallway, and we each carefully examine backs of their heads. It's already humming in the back, and everyone turns and applauds when Stacy and Stick walk out together. I break into a grin too, kicking myself for being so wrapped up in my own thoughts at my brother's engagement party. Tonight is supposed to be all about him and Stacy.

The couple is quickly surrounded by well-wishers and I make a beeline for the beer. I crack one open, and glance around. This party has a more raucous air to it than the last one I was at here. It's started later and is already dark out, and there are no kids to be seen. I chug half my beer and am pleased to see Tree making eye contact with me.

"Hey, you hear the good news?" he asks.

"You mean besides..." I indicate the happy couple with a nod of my head.

"Franchise is opening up a new place!" he says.

"Oh, s.h.i.t, really?" I reply. Huh. Why hadn't he told me that? "The Black Rock's not closing, is it?"

"I don't think so," Tree replies with a shrug of his shoulders. I take another long sip of my beer. f.u.c.k. That's the last thing I need, with needing to find my own place soon and everything. I polish off the last of my beer.

"d.a.m.n, girl!" Tree says, studying my actions.

"Hey, I'm not working, right?" I say with a smile. "How 'bout you and I do a shot?" I suggest, grabbing a bottle of vodka.

Tree flirtatiously slips his arm around my waist. "I thought you'd never ask."

A few drinks later, or maybe it's four, I'm sandwiched between two eager, very cute prospects. I'm leaning on the arm of a sofa in the clubhouse, and Don and the other one-Chain, maybe?-are telling me something about this other club called the Devils, the one that Stick went off to deal with. They are far more talkative about the whole situation than West and Stick, though maybe it's because they're prospects. And they're drunk. And my b.o.o.bs look great in this shirt.

"So Stick lays out the deal and was like, take it or leave it," Chain says. It's so weird to hear them talk about my brother as this bada.s.s biker guy. To me, he'll always just be my crazy older brother.

"But now they're being such f.u.c.king p.u.s.s.ies," Don adds.

"Yeah, that s.h.i.t with your car was f.u.c.ked up," Chain says. Don elbows him hard in the ribs. "What the f.u.c.k, man?"

"I told you not to say anything," Don growls at him.

"Wait, what about my car?" I ask, my attention suddenly piqued. I try to focus through the haze of alcohol surrounding my brain.

"Nothing," Don says, sipping at his beer.

"Do you just mean, how the Devils f.u.c.ked with it?" I guess, trying to pretend I already know what they're talking about. I can't believe Stick and West didn't tell me! Are they talking about the car trouble West and I had on the way back from our hike?

"Oh, yeah, I thought you didn't know," Don says frowning.

"Yeah, they told me, just not the specifics of exactly how they did it. They thought I'd be bored with all the technical stuff, but I actually find it so fascinating," I lie, and lay my hand on Rich's knee, giving it a little squeeze.

"Well, it's actually not that technical. Those a.s.sholes just poured sand in your gas tank. Saw West and Ratchet fixing the filter. More of a pain in the a.s.s than anything else," Don says, shrugging it off, and giving me a smile.

"Huh," I say. "I don't know a lot about how motorcycle clubs work, but is that how you guys usually get back at each other?"

"No, but who else could it be?" Chain asks.

Cutting through the happy buzz I've worked up tonight, a tingle of fear runs down my spine. There is someone else it could be. But that's paranoid of me to think...right?

"And hey, don't tell anyone we told you about this," Chain says. "I'm not even supposed to know."

"Oh, no, for sure," I reply, plastering a smile on my face. "Hey, you guys want another beer?" I ask, standing. Chain grabs my hand and tries to pull me into his lap.

"Aw, come on, don't leave us, baby," he says. "Your brother doesn't have to know," he adds with a smile.

"I'll be right back, promise," I say with a wink. He lets go of my hand, thankfully. My smile disappears as I turn my back to them and make my way outside. I step around the couches filling up with amorous couples and walk down the hallway to the backyard.

Where the h.e.l.l are Stick and West? They should have told me about the car. That's exactly the kind of thing Richard used to do to me. What if he followed me out here? What if that was him at the bar the other night? I scan the crowd, but can't spot the guys anywhere.

"Hey, Tree," I say, grabbing his arm. "You know where Stick or West are?"

"Haven't seen either of them in a while," he replies, pulling speculatively at a joint in his long fingers.

Sudden, frustrated tears spring into my eyes. Getting upset isn't going to help anything, I know. But I can't stop myself from feeling hurt. And scared. I moved out here to get away from my crazy ex, to start over with people who really care about me. But Stick and West don't even care enough to tell me about what happened to the Tahoe-they won't let me be a real part of this world. It's not f.u.c.king fair.

"You OK?" Tree asks, as I spin on my heel and dash away.

"Fine," I call back, tears choking my voice. I tear through the bustling clubhouse, air thick with the smell of pot smoke and beer. My chest begins to heave as I burst through the door, staggering out into the relatively quiet night.

I'm furious with myself for drinking so much, for daring to feel like I'd found my home here, at last. I'm just as alone as ever. I'd better get f.u.c.king used to it.