Jacob: ODIN’S FURY MOTORCYCLE CLUB #1 by Victoria Jayne

Author:Victoria Jayne [Jayne, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Limitless Publishing LLC

Chapter 17

Jacob

* * *

She didn’t even wait for the check. She just left. Well, fled was more like it.

Scrubbing his hand over his beard before he brought it to the back of his neck, Jacob watched her go. With a shake of his head, he took out his wallet and didn’t look at the bill. Instead, he slapped two twenties on the table, well aware he’d grossly over tipped, and swiped the lollipop bouquet off the table. She wanted the arrangement. He saw it in her eyes, in the way she looked at it, but she wouldn’t take it because she was fucking loyal—loyal to a tweaker fucking prospect screwing club ass. He didn’t deserve Sparrow.

“Oh, you just bring it—” the waitress started to tell him where to take the bill to pay. He held up a hand, interrupting her. He didn’t care. He suspected the look on his face did more to stop her speaking than the gesture with his hand. Either way, it got the job done.

There may have been a time, probably when he first got his prospect patch, or in his early member days, when walking through a parking lot carrying a bouquet of lollipops might have made him self-conscious. Clomping his boots as he all but stomped across the lot, he felt the eyes on him. He’d only had his club colors the last three years and prospected for two, but in that time, he’d grown accustomed to people staring at him.

The cut, the beard, the wallet chain, dark hair to his shoulders, and a pissed off look on his face—it tended to draw attention. Right now, he didn’t give a rat’s ass. He needed to figure out Sparrow, and why she would turn down something she really wanted—lollipops.

One of Rooster’s—their ginger-haired pot-bellied Road Captain—specialties was finding motels that were still back in the Stone Age. They had a computer system, but it was older than Jacob. They didn’t even have a keycard system. So, Jacob stood there like a jackass, jiggling the friggin’ key to the room he shared with Dash because the lock stuck sometimes, trying not to drop the damn arrangement.

“You shouldn’t have.” His sponsor’s hand came down over his shoulder with a slap just before he yanked him back.

The lollipops bobbled. Panicked, Jacob fumbled, trying to keep them from dropping to the concrete. Once stabilized, he turned, noting the white bandage peeking from the frayed and faded collar of Dash’s T-shirt.

“Thought you were sitting for six hours,” Jacob grumbled as he stepped aside, stuffing the useless key into his pocket. He pinched the cigarette he’d smoked to the filter between his fingers and flicked it to the ground before he crushed it with the tip of his boot.

Dash cracked his neck as he slid the key in the lock. “Mooky works quick. Like him. Solid recruit.” He nodded as he wiggled, pushed, and with a final kick, the door swung open. Turning to the younger biker, he waggled his brows. “Looks like I got the touch,” he said with a smug grin.

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