Choosing Her Biker (Warriors Series {4.5})

Chapter Eight

He'd wanted to ask her about the gravestone.

Terror wasn't stupid. He knew what G.W.M.C was, he was part of it after all. So why was it on her father's gravestone? She never mentioned her dad being in the club. Come to think of it, whenever he was over at her dad's house, there was never anything there to suggest he was in the club either. Mathias had guns, a lot of people in town had guns. He had a motorcycle but he also had a 1982 Chevy Trailblazer, three 4-wheelers, a fishing boat, and a small RV. No cut, no patches, nothing that had anything to do with the club. At least from what Terror saw.

He wanted to ask her about it, but didn't. She didn't need him asking questions right now. Right now, she needed him to be her rock to lean on.

He left her alone that night, making dinner and eating it in silence. Shiloh helped clean up, said goodnight, and went to bed. Terror opened the fridge to grab a beer and grabbed Sam's chicken as well. He'd already fed him, but what the hell. He warmed it up in the microwave and threw it in Sam's bowl when it was warm enough.

There was nothing good on TV, but Terror couldn't bring himself to sleep. He hated seeing Shiloh so upset. He hated that she was getting married to some douche from New York. He hated himself for helping her get married to some douche from New York.

In the morning before they left for the city, he couldn't seem to ask the question. The ride felt longer than it was. He took them straight to the hotel they were staying at so they would be checked in and could put their bags away. He had a feeling they'd be doing more shopping and it wouldn't all fit on the bike with their shit.

He carried the bags to the room, Shiloh slid the key into the door and opened it for him. He walked down the small hallways and froze. There was only one bed.

"Um. Terror?" Shiloh asked, walking further into the room.

"There's supposed to be two beds."

"Are you sure?"

"That's what I booked."

"So why do we have one?"

Fuck if he knew. Maybe the receptionist thought they were a couple and switched the room for them. She didn't flirt but he knew she was interested, so it's possible.

"We can get it straightened out later if you want."

She shook her head and sat down on the bed. "No, it's fine. We need to get going and by the end of the day we'll be too tired to care."

"You sure pretty boy won't care?" He asked and realized there was anger behind his words. She didn't seem to notice.

Shiloh shook her head again. "What he doesn't know won't kill him and I'll just explain things later."

He shrugged. "Fine with me. Where to first?"

"Chair and table rental, then flowers. What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "Almost one."

"Ok, we have time. Ready?"

He looked at her for a second, then down at himself, and in the best mocking-woman voice he could do he said, "Oh my God, Shy, no! Do you see me? Like, are you looking at me right now? I'm hideous! That ride was just horrible on my hair, and my makeup could totally use some touch-up."

Shiloh was laughing her ass off, holding her arms around her waist. It took her a minute before she took a deep breath and straightened. "You," she pointed a finger at him, "are ridiculous. Let's go."

If there was one thing he hated about the city, it was all the stares he got. At home, he was used to people staring at him and he was ok with it because he knew what they were thinking. In the city, he didn't know anyone and he had no idea what they would do. It was his first time in the city without the club and his PTSD had him on alert more than ever.