Filed to story: Reclaimed Book by Roxie Ray
“He’s the cop, I’m the felon.” I shrugged. “Not more to it than that. He’s been around since I took over the clan, so…”
“So, he’s seen a lot of shit,” she said with a teasing edge to her voice. “Makes sense. You’ve made some less-than-stellar decisions.”
I snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Ugh, dealing with this rental is going to be a nightmare.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have the guys at the shop cover it. You can drive one of our cars.”
“As long as you’ve got some automatics.”
“I’m sure we can scrounge one up.” As the police finished their record-keeping and began to let traffic move through, I walked Harley over to my bike.
She paused and ran her hand over the leather seat with a thoughtful expression on her face.
“I can call one of the guys if you’d rather take a car,” I said.
“No, it’s not that. Don’t worry, I remember riding on the back of this bike.”
As did I. We’d spent that summer zipping around Lakeview on this very same motorcycle. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I saw who was driving that truck.” Harley turned around and hooked her fingers into my belt loops, smirking a little. “What kind of dick were you giving Blakely to drive her so insane?”
I burst out laughing, loud enough to make the cops glance over. I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s what you’re wondering about?”
“What? It’s a normal question. She ran me off the road!”
Laughing, we leaned against each other. It was a ridiculous situation-hell, a dangerous situation-but Harley always knew how to make me laugh. These last ten years had made her tough as hell. It’d take a lot more than Blakely’s crazy driving to spook her.
I grasped her waist with both hands and pulled her close to me, still smiling. “The time I spent with Blakely is nothing compared to time spent with you.”
The color returned to Harley’s cheeks as she held my gaze. “Yeah?”
I ducked my head down, so my lips were close to her ear. “No woman comes close to you.”
My dragon purred, relieved to have her close, safe, happy. Now, we just needed to get home, get somewhere private, so I could show her again what she meant to me.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Maybe it was only a text…
Nope. The buzzing continued. Harley smiled and tapped her fingers against the shape of my phone in my pocket. “Gonna get that?”
I sighed and released her waist reluctantly, then answered the phone.
“Ace, everything okay?” Striker asked.
“All good here. I’m with Harley.”
“Great,” Striker said, “because I’m with Dylan at the clubhouse, so you two can meet us here instead of at the alpha house.”
I blinked. “What? Why the hell are you at the clubhouse?”
“Because Dylan wanted to go. He hit me with the puppy eyes, Ace-what was I supposed to do?”
I rubbed my forehead. “Harley, our son is a menace.”
“I could’ve told you that. Did I hear Striker say clubhouse?”
“We’ll be there in a few minutes. There better not be any shady shit going on,” I snapped, then ended the call while Striker sputtered his denial.
“That kid,” Harley said. “He can smell a pushover from a mile away. There better not be any half-naked women wandering around that clubhouse.”
I winced. It was midday, so hopefully any late-night visitors had already left for the day. “Striker will handle it.”
“Not before they traumatize my baby,” Harley muttered.
She was only half-joking. I could only hope Striker had it handled, because the only thing scarier than an angry dragon alpha was an angry Harley Founty. I handed her my helmet and climbed onto my bike. Harley straddled the bike behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. We hadn’t ridden like this in a decade, but it felt like no time had passed at all.
The sensation of the wind on my face was nothing compared to the warmth of Harley’s body pressed to my back and the gentle pressure of her arms wrapped around me. It was almost like flying with her astride my back. Not quite as good-and it only made my dragon want to stretch his wings more-but still settled a protective instinct deep inside me.
There were a lot of bikes and cars parked outside the clubhouse. Way more than there usually were in the middle of the day, when a lot of the guys had work or were still passed out from partying the night before. Word must’ve gotten out that Dylan was at the clubhouse.
Harley climbed off the bike and pulled off the helmet. Her auburn hair spilled out over her shoulders. She dropped the helmet on the bike seat and rushed toward the clubhouse without even glancing at me. All I could do was hurry after her, and I was right at her back when she opened the clubhouse door.
“Oh, jeez,” she said.
Inside, it looked like Dylan was the king of the castle, and the rest of the club members-all twenty of them-were his loyal followers. Dylan was sitting on the bar, his feet dangling off it, with Striker on the barstool next to him. Dylan was laughing, a bright sound that reminded me of Harley’s. That kid looked like a carbon-copy of me, but parts of him were pure Harley. The blend always made my heart swell.
“Is this everyone?” Harley asked as she glanced around. “The whole clan?”
“Oh, not even close,” I said. “There are about a hundred-and-twenty shifters in the extended clan. This is just the club members within the clan.”
“Over a hundred,” Harley echoed. “And Dylan’s the heir of all of that?”
“If he wants to be,” I said.
“There he is!” Striker called. “See, I told you they were on their way.”
“Hi, Mom,” Dylan said with an excited wave.
Striker strode over and clapped me on the shoulder. “See? I told you it’d be fine.”
“You didn’t tell me shit,” I said with a grin. “You’re lucky there’s no shifter chasers around today.”
Harley crossed her arms over her chest. “Damn lucky.”
Striker raised both hands in surrender. “I made sure they were gone before we came over!”
“That’s why you’re my best enforcer,” I said.
“Is that Harley?” one of the clan members said. “Harley Founty? This is Harley Founty’s kid?”
“Damn right it is!” Hawk said, laughing. “Harley, come here and meet the guys again!”
Harley acquiesced with a laugh and allowed herself to be pulled into the gaggle of shifters. I watched her as she shook hands and re-learned names, moving from conversation to conversation with grace. I made my way behind the bar and grabbed a beer from the cooler. Harley caught my eye and mouthed ‘seltzer?’ mid-conversation. She disentangled herself from the group, gesturing toward me and the drinks as I plopped down into the corner of the couch.
