Billionaire Cowboy: Siblings (Book 2 in the Richland Series)

Chapter 8: Michael

Michael’s pov

As the guys were released from church, smoke and laughter returned to the family area. The classic drum beat from Enter Sandman by Metallica echoed against the walls, creating a sea of bobbing heads as cans of ice-cold brew were tossed into raised hands. Even a couple of bunnies hopped onto the catwalk to entertain the army of willing men.

Just like that, life goes back to normal.

Scanning the room, many had turned their attention to the bunnies except the spiderweb creep who stood out like a sore thumb walking in the opposite direction, closer to the hallway, closer to Rianne. With only his beer as a companion, the creep avoided eye contact and boasted a holier-than-thou attitude with his chin raised and a smirk across his ugly mug. Arrogant behavior, like he would never waste time with peasants.

Peasants who could make him disappear.

Finishing my beer in one big gulp, I paused as the familiar behemoth known as Tank walked into the room with an arm over my girl’s shoulder. His face showed little if any emotion, but her tear-stained face made my heart drop.

Before I could react, a sharp whistle silenced the room. Heads turned towards the bar where Hawk lifted a beer, “Raise one for Rianne.” Hollers and yells rumbled around the room, but it wasn’t hard to see my girl plastering a polished politician’s smile. She may have accepted it, but she clearly has not bought into whatever just happened.

Out of the corner of my eye, the spiderweb creep strolled up to her side licking his lips. What’s his deal?

The creep needed to keep his space from Rianne. But there’s little I can do, or is there? Without being a pledged member of this chapter, is the creep protected? What if he stumbles into a fight at a bar? Would these guys step in or sit back and watch?

My mind was going a mile a minute. The creep's lack of interaction with anyone except the bunnies was noticeable. And, not a single male acknowledged him. And while the creep looked weird, his build was on the scrawny side. Thinking about the time I've spent here, these MC guys are obsessed with physical strength, like they’re Viking warriors having to prove themselves.

Maybe that’s my ticket, a fight. I’m guessing if I started something with the creep, they’d let us go at it for a bit.

Planning my attack on the creep, I hadn’t noticed Tank motioning in my direction. Getting tapped on the shoulder, I turned as knuckles, the size of a pitbull’s forehead, pointed towards my friend. Now those hands could do some serious damage.

Slowly taking steps, I searched for someone to watch over my girl while I meandered away from her. Wrench stood up, catching my attention. Striding towards Rianne with his broad shoulders, looking like a guard dog, he crossed the room with a couple of long lunges and pulled her behind the bar.

Maybe he’s more capable than I gave him credit for.

With my girl safe, I reluctantly followed Tank outside, as unsettled feelings crept in. A couple of security lights lit up the darkened area as smoke clouds billowed from a small group gathered in a semi-circle. These guys are like dragons. Walking to an open area that Tank nodded towards, the situation felt like a grave site.

Feeling trapped but also curious, I stood in a casual stance mentally preparing to defend myself.

A prison-like chill raced down my back.

Talk about irony; a moment ago I was planning to cold c**k the creep and now it looks like I am the target.

With his gravelly voice, Tank explained what had happened regarding his cousin. To say I was shocked that he spoke to me so openly in front of his brothers and confided in the club’s promise to protect her, was an understatement. The boy was always tight-lipped.

Standing with arms crossed, Tank was trying to look intimidating, but it did little to phase me. Sorry, my friend, remember we grew up together. My short-lived internal victory was squashed by thundering boots pounding on the ground around me, more figures had joined the prison yard.

Okay, sh*t is getting real.

Tank barked, “I sent you to keep an eye on Ri tonight.” Slowly looking over my shoulders, I noted around twenty figures mimicking his intimidating stance. Things were going to get messy.

I clenched my fists at my sides, ready to brawl. Then a deep voice from behind bellowed, “No need to start a fight, you’ll never survive.”

Bastard.

Tank continued, “And while you shadowed Scott, I had you tailed.” Eyes widening then quickly squinting, I sifted through my actions over the past three weeks. Why me?

Someone yelled, snatching my attention, “No one is good enough for Ri. You understand?”

Nodding, I stared at my friend, wanting him to get this brawl started. Dropping his arms, he rubbed his chin slowly, smoothing the edges of his long beard.

The delay was killing me.

Tilting his head, he finally spoke, “Dealing with Matt will be nothing compared to your fate if you hurt her. You’ll have the club to deal with and I promise you won’t like what I have in mind.” Growls and grunts from the surrounding area made it clear there were more brothers here than the few I could see.

Tank’s words were more than a threat, a promise.

Clearing my dry throat, I spoke to the best of my ability but failed at sounding tough, “Never, I’ll never hurt her.”

Way to sound like a p*ssy.

Walking up with a cocky smile, Tank smirked, “Now there’s only one obstacle.” Letting out a deep breath, I evened out my weight, expecting a beatdown. Whispering in my ear, my friend spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, “You need Ri to trust you.”

Patting my back, he walked off into the shadows with his brothers following. Frozen on the spot, fading laughs let me know I was abandoned. My heart rate was erratic. What just happened?

Did Tank just give me permission to date Rianne?

**** ****

Rianne’s pov

Dr. Feelgood by Motley Crue pumped through the speakers as countless beers and shots were passed around like water to thirsty survivors. To think a non-motorcycle girl like me would be welcomed into such an elite group. I stuck out like a pimple on prom night. Suddenly I thought of Groucho Marx when he refused to join any club that would have him as a member.

Did I make a mistake? Did I have a choice?

Misty, Hawk’s Old Lady, saved me from overthinking when she wrapped her dainty arms around my shoulders and whispered, “Welcome into the family my dear. Just a heads up, the girls are going to take you out tomorrow night to celebrate. Be prepared for a night you’ll never forget. You’re one of us now.”

Misty was childhood friends with my mom and has always treated me like family when I visited the clubhouse or attended club events, but tonight something felt different.

Leaning back and looking into my eyes, Misty continued, “You’ve always been the daughter I never had. I love my boys, but there’s always been a part missing and now we’re whole.”

Misty and Hawk have three boys, two are members. The youngest, Wrench, recently turned eighteen and is prospecting.

She took a deep breath, blinking quickly with tears-filled eyes and leaned in whispering, “Between you and me, Hawk brought up your protection a while ago. It wasn’t a last-minute decision.” Wiping a tear sneaking down her cheek, I smiled, trying to hold back my own tears.

She added, “Come on sweetie, you know you’ve always been a little sister to many of them.” I nodded, agreeing, unable to speak.

She laughed, wiping her snotty nose, “I’m guessing it got a little heated in there. Your cousin was ready to lay his life on the line for your protection. You are his one and only family member outside the club.”

How does she know what happened?

Shaking her head and having to wipe her snotty nose again, she explained, “Your cousin rarely speaks so when he talks, everyone listens.” I smirked, knowing how closed off Ty became after our family turned their backs on him. “Rianne, one night he had one too many drinks and explained how you were the only one who stood by his side when he prospected. His parents, siblings, cousins, everyone turned their backs on him, but not you.”

I remember like it was yesterday. The once friendly and outgoing guy known as Ty slowly faded away as the quiet and serious Tank emerged.

Embracing Misty in a warm hug, I met Ty’s eyes receiving a big smile. We have a close bond, thanks to both of us being disappointments.

~*~*~

Now, how could the beloved Richland family raise disappointments? Well, our family lives for three things; family, God and rodeo. When Ty and I ended our involvement in rodeo competitions earlier than expected, all hell broke out. With childhood success in bull riding and barrel racing, our future was planned for us.

In the Richland family, everyone had followed the plan, until Ty and me.

Avoiding rodeos after my horse was killed was not an accepted excuse because, according to my grandfather, "Any horse could replace Star." But to me, Star was more than a horse. I lost a part of me the night she left us. Over the years, I redeemed myself as a rodeo promoter, but the transition was not easy. Entering some rodeo grounds triggers memories.

Returning as a worker and not a competitor is the only way I emotionally survive.

But nothing compares to Ty's rocky road. Forget the fact that during his senior year of high school, he lost a close friend from a wild bull's crushing stomps. That did not matter. Being a champion bull rider, the older generation wanted to use Ty's glory to promote the family's bull breeding business.

No one cared about his emotional state or how his friend's death impacted him. All they cared about was the family business. I remember watching him drive to the cemetery every Sunday afternoon. No one questioned where he was going. One day, I asked if I could join him and a couple of weeks later, he opened up about losing his passion for riding.

Around the one-year anniversary of his friend's death, he began prospecting for the MC. At the time, the club's reputation was one of illegal terror, but their business was always with outsiders, so few locals cared. Other than loud motorcycles roaming the roads, their existence was forgotten about most of the year. In town, people were polite, either due to respect or fear.

It was our family who treated Ty like trash.

Over the years, Ty single-handedly helped change the MC's reputation. His influence within our town has always been strong and I believe that's what pissed my family off the most. The older generation shunned him only to get townies who praised him. My generation was afraid of being shunned, so they followed blindly.

But not me. Being the youngest, I learned how to keep to myself and protect my heart, which would break unexpectedly. Even with his responsibilities towards the club, Ty made it a point to be there for me. The only one who didn't question my decision to walk away from rodeos.

~*~*~

Being pulled out of my thoughts, Misty smacked my butt before wandering off. I watched her backside hoping I hadn't missed anything. Turning and taking in the scene around me, my fuzzy mind tried to focus. I may need to drink water for a bit. Watching Ty’s relaxed behavior among his MC brothers brought a smile to my face. He’s where he belongs. Sitting next to Hawk, they’re like father and son, two leaders who endured the club when things were sketchy.

Even though Hawk is older, the two had the same vision for the club after the previous president was killed. Working together to rebuild, they dropped all illegal connections for legit businesses, decreasing the odds of members in jail.

At one point, over half the members were serving time after a run went badly.

Distracted by two shots of Tennessee Whiskey, Misty returned with her hard mama bear face. She may look tough, but inside, she’s a fluffy teddy bear. Placing a shot glass in my hand, she walked us to the poker table, “We need a chair for our girl Rianne.” Without hesitation, the big burly guys slid to the side as a prospect carried a chair in our direction. Lifting her chin, I followed her lead and swallowed the shot. Licking my lips, I smirked, enjoying the burn. I can't remember the last time I drank this much.

An older guy handed over a small pile of chips with a scratchy voice plagued by decades of cigarettes, “It’s not much, but if Tank’s stories are true, you’ll double that in no time.” Smiling, I sat down and began watching everyone’s body language.

After two hands and memorizing everyone’s tell-tail signs, it wouldn’t be long before I started taking names. Looking down at my stack, I had two, maybe three hands before I had to start playing the table.

Accepting a beer that was leaned up against my left shoulder, I took a sip, keeping tabs on the competition. “No room kid,” a male’s voice barked. A familiar voice shot back, “Not for me, Ri.” A stack of bills dropped on the table. Turning to peek over my shoulder, Michael smiled and whispered, “Time for you to play.”

As kids we grew up playing poker, especially Texas Hold ‘Em, the game of tonight. Michael always wanted to beat Ty and I always wanted to be invited to play with the older cousins, so we learned to run tables. With the help of my solid buzz, I acted like a bad arse and nodded to the dealer, “Stack ‘em up.” A couple of throaty laughs from the older crowd supported my attitude.

Feeling a hand draped on my shoulder, Michael let me know he had my back while letting the room know he was claiming me. Oh, come on, he’s gorgeous.

Bring on another shot!

One thing I have learned over the years, in the MC life, Old Ladies wore cuts to let everyone know who they belonged to. The bunnies belonged to the club and me, well, I belonged to myself. As much as I feel safe around the MC guys, I did not want to give someone the wrong impression that I was interested in more than a distant friendship.

At least with Michael I was safe.

Right?

He’d never want more than maybe a quick transaction.

Right?

And, if the rumors were correct about his bedroom skills, he’s the perfect guy to hand over my v-card.

Right?

As sad as it was to admit, I had already talked myself into accepting his offer, if it ever came.