Ryder: The Crazy Aces MC by Nicola Jane

Author:Nicola Jane [Jane, Nicola]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-07-04T00:00:00+00:00

By the following morning, I can tell Neve is more nervous. She spent the entire night tossing and turning and when it was finally time to get up, she rushed out before I had the chance to pin her down and fuck her slow.

I call the prospect to bring me a car and ask him to take my bike back. Then, while Neve packs a bag for her and Harlee, I call Griff.

“Jesus, Pres, it’s nine in the morning,” he grumbles sleepily.

“I thought I owed you a conversation,” I tell him and I hear rustling his end, like he’s getting out of bed. “I’m taking Neve and Harlee to the clubhouse.”

“To show them around?” he asks.

“No, brother, I’m thinking of making this a permanent thing. I wanna claim her.”

“Shit, Ryder. Where the fuck did this come from?”

“She’s it, man. I ain’t looking elsewhere.”

“Well you know I like her, and the kids great, so I’m happy for you brother. Really happy. I’ll come over and give you a hand.”

Neve

We arrive at the clubhouse. It’s pretty much how I imagined it to look on the outside. There are three large shutters, two at each end are pulled down but the middle one is lifted halfway, giving us access. Inside, there’s a bar to the left. Ryder clears his throat to gain his attention but it doesn’t work, he continues to stare up at the small television hung on the wall. “Whiskey, this is Neve,” says Griff. He looks over, giving a slight nod of his head. He then picks Harlee up, “And Harlee,” he adds. She nuzzles her head into his neck and closes her eyes like she’s shy.

“She’s under my protection Whisky, you spread that around for me,” adds Ryder and the old guy gives a salute in acknowledgment.

Ryder turns to me with a smirk, “Whisky don’t talk, he had his tongue cut out when he was a kid so don’t expect much from him. He’s a great guy and he’ll look after you, so you need anything, you see him.” I give a nod, glancing around the bar area where there are wooden tables with four stools tucked neatly under each one. Ryder notices, “Whisky has a serious case of OCD, if you see a stool outta place or missing, put that shit back. He’s smashed up the joint before now just because some crazy bastard stole a stool.”

“Got it,” I say, looking past the tables to the couches spread out, all pointing towards a large screen television hung up high on the wall. Ryder leads me in that directions and towards a large man laying on one of the couches. As we approach, he sits up, showing off crazy red hair and a bushy ginger beard. “Pres,” he greets.

“Bear, this is my woman, Neve,” Ryder replies.

“Aww she’s a wee pretty little thing,” he says, with a hint of a Scottish accent, “Is she your little one?” he adds, looking from me to Harlee.

I smile, nodding. “She sure is, Harlee. She’s five.

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