We arrive in Jackpot, Nevada, just as the sun is setting. Go fucking figure. When we pull up outside the run-down bar where the annual party is being held, I feel the sickness setting in. Saylor has been all smiles, shits and giggles the whole ride, and I don’t understand it.
A line is forming outside to greet us. I’m so busy searching the faces of my brothers, trying to read their reaction, that Saylor has to call my name to get my attention.
“Dirk.” I get off the bike and look at her, the smile she wears calms me instantly.
“Everything is going to be fine.” I can’t believe that this woman is bringing me comfort and reassurance when it should be the other way around. And that sickness in my stomach is replaced with something different. A feeling I’m still trying to process.
I help her off the bike, wishing I could kiss her, but this is my club. My brothers. My life. I won’t look like a * in my world. I’ll reserve that side of me for when I am alone with Saylor. Which is exactly where I want to be right now. Everyone gives me space, waiting for me to acknowledge them before they say anything.
“Just stay close to me. I’ll handle everything,” I tell her before walking toward the crowd. My body is stiff, my muscles are tight, and I can feel the vein in my neck throbbing with each heavy beat of my heart. I’m in kill mode. It’s just a precaution, but it’s the best defense I have.
I don’t hold Saylor’s hand. I don’t have to. The fact that she rode here with me should let everyone know who she is with. I don’t tell them her name because it is none of their business. I give them my salute, shaking hands with a few of the older ones that have been around the longest, and walk inside with Saylor on my heels.
I know they are looking. I know what they’re thinking. I just hope nobody does anything stupid. I would hate for Saylor to witness what I am capable of.
Once inside, Shady is the first face I notice. He smiles and I glare. He sees Saylor, smiles wider, and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. My face must tell him how bad I want to rip his fucking head off, because his smile dies and he gets right to business.
“’Sup, Dirk?” Shady asks, shoving his tattooed hands into his pockets. I give him a nod before walking through the bar and out the back door to a private porch guarded by SAs and enforcers. They move when they see me, and I notice all six Nationals are here. Good. I can get this shit over with and not have to repeat myself. Each one stands and greets me. I shake their hands and even hug the National president, who has a Prospect help him stand. This man is the reason I’m still alive.
“Dirk, my brother,” he says, and even after all these years, his raspy voice still slows the heart in my chest back to its normal rhythm.
“Roach.” I don’t say any more because he isn’t listening anyway. His eyes are on the woman who is standing behind me. I watch as they widen slightly at the sight of her. Not that I can blame him. His head turns from side to side as if he can’t believe she is real. I turn my body so that I can see them both, and when my eyes land on Saylor, I realize I haven’t even noticed that her hair is down. Or what she is wearing. Her hair is everywhere, which is nothing unusual, but the wind has added to its unruly nature. She is wearing ripped jeans that sit low on her waist, a white T-shirt that fits tight to her tits, and a silver necklace I have never seen before that says the word faith.
But it’s not her hair or her clothes that have the attention of everyone around me; it’s her smile. It’s not that breathtaking, teeth-baring smile she gives me, and it’s not a small polite smile. It’s a smile that is full of kindness and warmth and makes you feel at peace when you look at it. I’m so caught up in the feeling of ease that has consumed me that it doesn’t bother me when she speaks. The sound is so welcoming that I don’t want her to stop.
“Hi, Roach. I’m Saylor Samson.” I stand in a trance as she takes a few steps forward and leans in to give Roach a kiss on the cheek. And even that doesn’t bother me. I pull my eyes from Saylor to gauge Roach’s reaction. He seems as possessed as me. Then, this man who wears a patch labeled funeral director surprises us all when he smiles.
After Saylor has been introduced to everyone outside, they ask her to sit. I feel my uneasiness growing again and I will Saylor to smile at me. But she doesn’t even look my way. Her focus is solely on the six men seated around her. I stand to the side, within arm’s reach of her, and get a quick count of weapons. Surprisingly, there are only two. I know I can get to them before they draw them.
“Well, tell us about yourself,” Jimbo, the national VP, says. I stare at him as he takes a deep pull from his pipe, then blows his smoke out on a cough before passing it.