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

Chapter 6: Rianne

Rianne's pov

Preparing for the blind date had my nerves on edge. After the short evening with Michael, I was excited to think he had asked my brother if he could take me out. Can you imagine getting asked out by your childhood crush?

My stepbrother Matt spent most of my childhood threatening anyone willing to look in my direction and now, he’s not only allowing but organizing my date? What has this world come to?

A warm feeling filled my stomach as I looked into the mirror smiling at my appearance; sexy but classy. When the doorbell rang, I took a deep breath then pulled back the handle. Trying to control my heart rate, our eyes met and I froze. Holding out a single daisy with a huge smile on his face, I thought I was ready.

What have I gotten myself into?

* * * * * *

Michael’s pov

Shadowing Scott should have been easier with him working on Richland property. I had access to him every day. Offering to do grunt work, we worked side by side. Sure, the reason was based on getting paid, but having grown up with the target made the job feel personal.

In previous jobs for Tank, I observed businesses, high profile people and traffic flow around town. The MC may have stepped away from transporting illegal items, but that didn’t mean the rest of town was full of legit businessmen. At first, I thought the club was still involved in illegal crap, but after a couple of arrests, it was obvious they wanted to limit firearms and drug runs through our town.

But nothing prepared me for the truth about some of the high-profile people in town. My targets ranged from influential to intimidating characters and always revealed a different side to the one they showcased.

Shadowing the Mayor only to learn of his wife's countless affairs or a preacher’s ownership of an unregistered brothel were the tip of the iceberg. Who knew the Chief of Police controlled road closures to protect illegal paraphernalia crossing county lines?

And then we have Scott Kittleman. A puzzle I still can not solve. He had no political ties, his family connections were limited and his recent return to town showed a somewhat boring daily routine. The grocery store for bachelor purchases, the gym for a quick workout or attempts in the MMA octagon, and the gas station for filling up his truck.

The only two stops that stood out were the tattoo parlor and the clubhouse. He used to draw a lot when we were kids. Getting work at the parlor would pay better than ranch work, so I get why he stopped by often. And then there’s the MC. There’s no need to look into the club because Tank would take care of it. In a nutshell, my shadowing has brought me back to point A; who the hell is Scott Kittleman?

Nothing made sense.

Then I had a break. Cleaning out the stalls together, I overheard Scott mention taking a date to a spot two towns over. Lately, all he’s been bragging about are the countless girls he’s banging and here he’s traveling over an hour for a date? What is he hiding?

I made plans and arrived at the restaurant early and claimed a chair at the bar, giving me views of the whole room. My phone vibrated, catching my attention.

Tank: Job done. Envelope at Shop. River's Edge 7pm.

Just under three weeks of shadowing Scott and Tank called it off? Usually, by this time, something big has been discovered, but with Scott, nothing. I should be happy I’m getting paid, but something doesn’t feel right. There were too many red flags.

I knew the job was done but I couldn’t get my mind off the target, especially after Tank gave me the name of the restaurant and a date with a poorly drawn heart with an X.

How did Tank know about Scott's date?

Keeping an eye on Scott, I ordered a pepperoni pizza and wings. The waitress’s boobs were ready to spill out and her smeared lipstick had me guessing she had recently turned a transaction. In the past, she would have been an easy conquest, but there’s nothing appealing anymore about messing around with sloppy seconds.

Accepting my beer, I turned to show my interest was elsewhere as my mind drifted to the long-legged brunette who had been capturing my thoughts lately.

Planning an upcoming date with Rianne, a smirk crossed my face admitting the effort I was putting in just to impress a girl. Now, this whole process should have been easy because I know more about her than my own mom, but I was treading in unknown waters having never dated before.

Not to mention hiding it from my best friend.

Looking up, I paused, watching a reflection in the bar’s mirror: Scott with his hand on the lower back of Rianne.

What the hell is he doing here with her?

*** ***

Rianne’s pov

Surprisingly, engaging in a conversation with Scott on the ride over was easier than I had anticipated. I could count on one hand the number of dates I have been on, which sadly also includes two blind dates, so I expected the normal feelings of awkwardness. But to my surprise, he asked questions, wanting to get to know me, he seemed attentive.

But, once arriving at the restaurant, his true colors started to bleed through. At first, our conversation would pause briefly whenever the waitress, who had no shame of showing her interest in Scott, visited the table. And to his credit, he kept his eyes on me when the waitress flirted or tried touching his arm, but when he didn’t know I was watching, I caught him winking at the bimbo. Douchebag.

As we waited for the check, the conversation took a turn I should have been expecting, but I quickly hid my disappointment, needing to survive the long ride home. Like a planned skit, Scott began inquiring about Ty's motorcycle club. Asking about my opinion of their reputation and things "Tank" endured as a prospect. Only his crew or close friends called him Tank. I've always called him Ty, but everyone in town calls him Tyson.

It didn’t take long to discover his reason for asking me out: the MC. Having a cousin in the club gives me no knowledge of their business, but this i***t had the nerve to assume I would divulge information. What does he take me for?

I'm a rodeo girl, not a clubhouse bunny. I'm used to people asking for rodeo tickets or connections to powerful people within the rodeo community, but this? He had me speechless. My palms got clammy, it felt like I was being set up.

Digging into the brownie sundae, he decided we would share before leaving, I left my spoon on the table, wishing I had driven myself on the blind date, lesson learned. Not reading the tension in the air, or simply ignoring it, he kept moving forward on his agenda. “I’m enjoying our time together. I hope we can continue this.” He reached out to hold my hand and I slowly lifted my spoon, looking at the dessert. So not going to happen, buddy.

Leaning in for a private moment, he whispered, “Maybe we could swing by the clubhouse and you can show me around?” Deciding not to address his suggestion, I responded with my own, “Are you prospecting for the club?” The sharpness in my tone caused him to sit back in his chair followed by a smirk showing his cards. Yeah, I’m brighter than you think.

Stalling before he answered, he flagged down the waitress and ordered another beer. Great, are we ever going to get out of here? “Well, to be honest, that’s why I returned to town. Our family sold the ranch, as I’m sure you already know.” His parent's departure stirred up a lot of emotions. Rumors about the low amount of the sale created fear of outsiders moving into town on prime real estate. However, few people were aware the MC had purchased the land, but Scott would never hear that from me.

More and more about him did not sit right.

If you can imagine, Scott’s behavior became more blatant. Looking over his shoulder, he winked openly at our waitress and scanned the room, pausing at every female.

Who could I convince to pick me up?

Sitting back, remembering he was stuck with me, he continued his rant, “My plan is to open my own shop.” Nodding at the ink work on his arm, it was easy to assume he was a tattoo artist. Then he dropped the hammer, “But, I don’t have family money to open a shop.”

Yeah, that was a blow directed at my family.

Trying to act like I gave a crap about his plans, I kept my emotions in check while my mind wandered to all the people who had pretended to be my friend to get something out of me.

Scott is just like the rest; a taker, and a class-A douchebag.

Excusing himself to go to the restroom, I sent a text to my stepbrother blaming him for this horrible night, followed by a text to my cousin.

Me to Matt: Scott wants the MC not me, thanks for the heads up.

Matt: Had no idea. I’ll talk to him.

Me: Don’t bother.

Me to Ty: Can we meet up?

Tank: Clubhouse

Me to Ty: I’ll stop by after my pathetic date. Hey, I need a ride back to town. Can you help?

Sending my location, there was a brief pause before the dots blinked on my phone.

Ty: Taken care of.

Putting my phone away as a body slipped into the chair next to me, I rolled my eyes, wondering if Scott was going to try to flirt to hide the obvious awkwardness. “How ya date goin?” Slurred, but the familiar voice caught me off guard as I jerked my head up looking into Michael’s emerald green eyes.

Feeling his shoulder and thigh pressed against mine as he adjusted his chair to be closer, I leaned in and whispered, “Just another stupid blind date.”

Oh wait, isn’t he friends with Scott?

Gulping down, probably his third or fourth beer, he slightly slurred, “Wat, no future wit Scoot-uh?” Raising my brow, he leaned in, “I ‘spain lat-uh.”

Offering Michael water, I looked towards the restroom and noticed Scott leaning at a table talking with two females. Nodding in his direction, “Uh, that would be a no.” Finishing his beer, Michael asked, “Wanna leaf?”

Standing with a solution, he suggested, “I shouldn be drivin.” You think? Holding up his keys, I snagged them as my only escape, “I need to make a quick stop on the way home.” Walking with his hand on my lower back, we attempted to leave until Scott stepped in front of me.

Where did he come from?

“Didn’t realize you were here Michael.” Scott barked, looking at me, “I’ll get the check then we can go,” and stood with his broad shoulders acting like a bouncer refusing to let us walk by. Before the stare down between the guys sandwiching me became more awkward, I broke the silence, “Thank you for dinner Scott. Michael can use a ride home, so I’m going to drive his truck for him.”

Refusing to say goodbye, I pivoted, then walked around Scott, who turned, keeping his stare on us. Seeing his reflection in a window, he looked pissed that his date was leaving, rather than being pleased at having the freedom to pursue the remaining females.

What’s with this guy?

Reaching Michael’s truck, we climbed in and drove away from the restaurant. Connecting to Bluetooth, he chose Never Leave by Bailey Zimmerman.

Great song, but why did he choose this song?

Few words were shared after he agreed to come with me to the clubhouse. He focused on his phone being our DJ, playing mostly sappy love songs. Hah, we're going to the one place that I refused to Scott. Ty and Michael have been good friends since childhood. I'm one of the few who know about his side jobs for the club, so I know bringing him with me would be okay.

As we turned the bend that led to the clubhouse, it dawned on me; for being an outsider, I knew more about the club than I probably should. It's not like I ask questions or pry into other people's business, but over the years, various people just seem to open up and I listen politely.

I would never discuss anything mentioned. Some vent and some ask for my opinion. Of course, only knowing one side of the situation limits my opinion, but none of that ever seemed to matter.

Reaching the clubhouse, we were welcomed inside, and I couldn’t help but notice how many people, especially the club bunnies, acknowledged Michael. Was I feeling jealous? Ty walked up, giving me a hug and addressing Michael, “Thanks for taking care of her.” Turning my head, it made sense, “You asked Michael to pick me up?” Neither answered.

Wait, how did Michael get to the restaurant so fast?

Leaving Michael in the main room, Ty ushered us down a long hall. The clubhouse was a mysterious fortress with too many rooms to count. With around thirty members, I know each guy was given a private bedroom to crash in after their all-nighters, as well as a hall with a couple of guest rooms, which I’ve used more than once. Not to mention a larger room that could hold every member comfortably for club meetings, also known as "church."

It’s not like I’ll ever be invited to "church," but more than once Ty and I have talked in the large room privately. I couldn’t begin to explain this place or how the club works, but having my cousin close made me feel safe.

And tonight would be one of those nights, except with the addition of his president. Hawk and I have always gotten along, but I’d be lying if I said the guy didn’t scare me. He had a presence that demanded respect. Everyone called him Pres but me. He said to call him Hawk.

No one ever questioned him, so why would I?

After sharing my concerns about Scott, Hawk leaned forward in his chair staring me as he spoke with his deep nerve-rattling voice, “You have no allegiance to us, but you have always been honest. Whether for Tank or the club, your opinion is welcomed but not needed. Club decisions are not made based on outsiders.”

The tension in the room just rose ten notches.

He paused, leaning back in his chair. I’ve always been honest with Ty, but this was the first time I’ve talked this openly with Hawk. My heart was beating a mile a minute.

Was this visit a mistake?

Rubbing his long beard and keeping my attention, Hawk continued, “But I will admit our club has moved in directions, more than once, that have aligned with your input.” Looking at Ty then back in my direction, his deep voice added, “Tank here put a shield on your back the moment he became a member.” What does that mean? Reading my poor attempt at hiding my emotions, he explained, “He will protect you with his life.”

Looking at my cousin, his lip in the corner lifted. Is that a smile? Assuming Ty would not speak in front of his president, I returned my attention to Hawk, who had lit a cigar. Puffing out circles of smoke, he spoke, “I'm putting up a vote that you will be under the club’s protection.” Standing, he strolled out of the room as the silence was broken briefly by the closure of the door.

Staring at my cousin, I wanted, no, I needed clarification. Reaching for his hand, his attention turned to me, he muttered, “Old ladies and member’s kids are protected, not my cousin.” This lifestyle is for Ty. I’m a Youtuber, an influencer, a….. I don’t even know how to ride a motorcycle. A shaky whisper escaped my lips, “What does this mean?”

With fingers splayed on the table, he took a deep breath, “You’re now the club’s property.” Tears rolled, splashing on my lap.

My voice cracked, “If I’m not an Old Lady, does that mean I’m expected to a bunny? Ty, I'm a virgin. I don't want this.” He stood up fast, forcing his chair to tumble and stormed out of the room while I remained frozen, scared to leave the room.

My mind was spinning a mile a minute. Over the years, I’ve learned about the unique laws of the club. Old Ladies were the “wives” of the members. Once claimed, the ladies wore a cut, a leather vest, that stated they were someone’s property, and no one could touch them without retribution.

The Old Ladies would always be around but never discuss what they saw or heard.

No questions asked, ever.

From what I was told by an Old Lady named Lucky, this includes the guys’ runs out of town to other clubhouses where they may hook up with other club bunnies, property of a clubhouse. It was explained, as if it's simple to follow; the club takes care of the bunnies, and the bunnies take care of the members.

How? Bunnies do anything from serving beer to cleaning, cooking and being available in the bedroom. It reminds me of a family with 24-7 w****s. Bunnies are always available for their club or visiting members. No questions asked.

But here’s the part I have a hard time understanding: each guy can claim an Old Lady, but what happens at the clubhouse stays at the clubhouse. If an Old Lady sees a guy getting down and dirty with a bunny, nothing will be said to his Old Lady. It’s just part of the club laws that everyone follows. The Old Ladies can’t touch or be touched by anyone but their guy, but the guys can do whatever they want.

Hawk said I was now the club’s property.

What have I gotten myself into?