Rookie: Rugged Skulls MC by Davies Amy

Author:Davies, Amy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-16T16:00:00+00:00

I pull out some chicken fillets from the fridge and throw them onto a tray and into the oven. Then I start the pasta in another pan, before adding some herbs and a tin of tomatoes for a sauce.

Letting the food cook, I pull open the bi-folding doors to let in some fresh air. Kids laughter fills the air from the other rental cabins that are also Sarge’s. This is a very popular site for tourists, which is why the club decided it would hold our safehouse. Plenty of people around to be witnesses and most wouldn’t think to look at such a family orientated place, but there is always a first.

Stepping back inside, I pull out the plates and cutlery, and a drink for each of us, before checking on the food.

Just as I’m about to shout up to Della that food is ready, she steps into the room, and my tongue hits the floor. She is now out of her jeans and is wearing cotton shorts and a thin strap top that molds to her tits.

“Something smells nice.”

“It’s just pasta and chicken.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, but to have my woman compliment my cooking does something to me. “Sit,” I state, nodding to the decking.

It’s a nice night out, and I think she needs some time to come to terms with what is happening when I explain it. I think outside, with the sounds of the lake and the nature, will help her.

We sit and eat in silence, and thank fuck it wasn’t awkward. It was nice. When I finish, I push my plate away and drain my beer, before getting up and getting us more. Thank fuck she is a beer drinker like me, because I don’t do wine or those girly drinks.

Once the table is cleared, we sit and look out at the water. I hate that I have to break the serene look on her face, but she needs to know what kind of cunt is after her.

“You ready to listen to what I have to say?” I jump right in; there is no right way to make this smooth for her.

She pulls her legs up onto the chair, tucking her feet under her arse. She worries her bottom lip, keeping her gaze locked on me. I know Della is twenty-one, but she suddenly looks younger while she waits for me to explain everything that is happening.

“Hey.” I move around the table and sit next to her, taking her hands in mine. She tries to pull away, but I hold firm. I rub my thumb over her knuckles, memorizing the smoothness of her skin, taking in the little scar between her baby finger and ring finger. I wonder how she got it.

“Broken glass,” she says, like she read my mind and answered my question for me. “It was the day after my mom passed. I was washing dishes and got angry. I squeezed a glass too tight and it shattered.”

Della turns her hand over, and I see a few other little scars on her palm.

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