And that was on my mind all day. Eight hours of waiting on tables, but really it was eight hours of going back and forth on the whole idea.
Of course an arranged marriage was incredibly outdated and absurd, but in the MC world, stuff like that still happened every once in awhile to cement relationships, just like in the old days. Clubs were basically very conservative groups and sometimes did things that seemed hopelessly backward to other people.
But I understood why this arranged marriage would be important. From Jetter’s perspective, letting his people patch over to the Demons was like signing his own death warrant. He needed something to assure him that he’d continue to live and breathe, and what better than to marry the daughter of the president?
To everyone else, Jetter marrying me only solidified the bonds between the Rebels and the Demons. Patching another, unrelated club over into a bigger club was often a pretty tricky thing. The Rebels and the Demons hadn’t always gotten along, and there was some real bad blood between some of the guys. If I married Jetter, it would help to alleviate some of that stuff, or at least it would solidify the bonds that were tying the two clubs together.
Without the marriage, the patch deal would never happen. I knew it and Dad knew it, which was why he even brought the issue to me to begin with. I was the key to the whole thing, even if I didn’t want to be that key.
And as the weeks passed, the war was heating up. The Snakes were getting more confident in their ability to kill our boys, especially with the Mezcals on their side. The casualties were mounting everywhere, and although it looked like we were winning, that wasn’t guaranteed. Our supply lines to the south were cut off, and we really needed some of the contacts that the Rebels could bring over, not to mention the increased manpower.
In short, the marriage made total sense even if it was completely antiquated, even if it was treating me like a piece of prized cattle to be bought and sold.
My loyalty to the club had never been tested. Most of the guys were asked to do things, violent things, dangerous things, illegal things, and that was how they proved themselves. But me, I just got to hang around without needing to do anything.
This was my chance to show the Demons how much they mattered to me. I knew they’d appreciate it and would understand the sort of sacrifice I was making.
I wanted to do it. I really did. But every time I imagined myself married to a man like Jetter, my stomach turned and fear gripped my whole being.
The day dragged forward, minute by agonizing minute. Clutch watched me, catching my eye from time to time and grinning at me, and I just kept going in circles about the whole thing.
By the time my shift ended, I was exhausted, mentally and physically. I found Clutch sitting in his booth still, working on another cup of coffee.
“You done?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, sitting across from him, “I am.”
“How’d it go? No guys give you shit today?”
“No, none.” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “Tired.”
“Yeah. I get that.”
Suddenly, something gripped me. I looked at Clutch and felt something, a crazy idea coming over me.
I realized that if I took this marriage plunge, this might be one of my last days of freedom. I had no clue how fast things would move. I could end up married tomorrow if I said yes tonight.
“Take me out,” I said to Clutch.
He raised an eyebrow. “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “One of those loud college bars. I want to dance and I don’t want to go anywhere near the club.”
He grinned at me. “Now why would I do that?”
“Because I’m going, and you have to protect me.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I do.”
“So take me out.” I got quieter. “I’m not sure how much freedom I’m going to have left.”
He went silent for a second, that serious, brooding look digging into me.
“Okay, princess,” he said. “Let’s go out.”
10
Clutch
I didn’t know what was going through the girl’s head, but she sure as hell could fucking dance.
Not that I much cared about dancing. Still, there was nothing better than having an ass like Janine’s rubbed up against your cock while you moved to the beat. And I could move with the best of them.
The club was packed and loud. It wasn’t my sort of joint. I preferred something more southern, more honky-tonk and less like a shitty east coast banger. But Janine was making the calls, and I was just following along.
After work, I dropped her at her place, swung by my own to change into fresh clothes, and then picked her up. She came down in these tight black jeans that made her ass look fantastic and this black shirt that showed off just a hint of her fantastic tits, her hair done up. She looked like a fucking sexy biker chick, which was what she was going for.