A/N: Another swifter than planned update - thought I'd make the most of still having the chance to enjoy writing, before life inevitably gets a bit more hectic in the run-up to Christmas ... Hope you enjoy and, as always, thanks for reading and do feel free to share your thoughts! :)


Twenty-One

"Fucking hell," Tig groused, wiping his brow for what felt like the hundredth time. "Bad enough being hauled in here on a weekend, without sweating like a whore in confession as well. Ain't this why we got hang-arounds?"

"You ain't the only one wi' places he'd rather be, Tiggy," Chibs scowled impatiently. "First proper bit o' down time Eden's had in ages, yet here I am – up to me flaming elbows in engine oil. We should be glad o' the trade, but wi' the air con packed in and Lyla's hands full at home wi' the kiddies all sick …"

"And the prospects fucking useless."

"Aye, not likely to make mechanics o' them, are we? Chibs sighed. "Shite, I better ring Eden, cancel our plans."

"You can join me in the doghouse if her reaction's anything like Vee's," Tig grimaced.

"Ach, cheer up, brother," the president tried. "After all we've been through, we should be glad this is all we've got to worry about."

"It has been a while since anyone shot at me. Or bit me on the ass …"

"Give it time, man, give it time."

Chibs was still chuckling at their little exchange as he stole two minutes for a smoke break, ignoring the complaining of customers being kept waiting in favour of wandering across the yard to find a quiet corner to call his old lady from – her bright greeting bringing a smile to the corner of his mouth.

"Hey, handsome," came Eden's voice from the other end of the phone. "Am I gonna see you soon?"

"I'm sorry, baby. Turns out I'm needed here. Lyla's called in to say the kids are all down wi' some bug or other and it turns out the place goes to hell in a fucking handcart without her. Christ knows when I'll get away …"

"I hope you're not thinking you can just cancel on me any time you like now I'm your old lady," she said, but he could hear the teasing tone behind her scolding words. "Filip, it's fine – these things happen."

"Shite timing though," he grumbled. "First chance in ages to spend some proper time wi' my girl and this place falls into absolute fucking carnage. And the air con's on the blink, so it's about three degrees hotter than the surface o' the goddamn sun in the garage … Listen, I gotta go, pet – I can hear Tig from here, threatening to castrate some bloke for getting arsey wi' him, and I'm told that ain't exactly kosher when it comes to customer service. I'll check in later, if I get the chance."

"You're lucky I love you, Telford," she laughed.

"Believe me, I know. Love you."

He ended the call with a sigh, squaring his shoulders as he headed back into the mayhem, almost nostalgic for the days of bullets and shit-kicking by comparison.

Almost.


Looking down at the lingerie she was wearing beneath the short, silky robe she now wrapped around herself, covering up the revealing deep crimson lace, Eden sighed ruefully. So much for her hopes for a long, dirty weekend with her sexy biker, with no intention of straying too far from bed.

But she had known what she was getting into with Chibs, how demanding his life could be. She supposed she should be grateful it was only a busy garage keeping him away.

Such was the lot of an old lady, or so she was told.

Twisting in front of the full-length mirror stood in the corner of the bedroom, Eden swept the carefully blow-dried waves of her hair into a messy pile high on her head. The more she thought about it, the more she thought that was where she wanted it – his crow. Spread-eagled wings silhouetted in graceful flight across the back of her neck, a Scottish thistle in the beak.

Thoughts of how she had laid back in her man's arms talking and laughing over the placement of her planned tattoo brought a little smile to her lips. She could still practically feel the gentle fingertip he had stroked across her ribs, high up under her breasts. That had been just one suggestion, if she'd wanted the ink somewhere private. Not that she'd really thought it through at that stage, although she had suspected he'd prefer his crow somewhere everyone could see it and had said as much, making him chuckle and admit that had its appeal.

"But it's your body, baby," Chibs had said, letting his lips follow the path of his touch. "I'll be perfectly happy either way. And besides, there ain't anywhere you can put it where I ain't gonna see it …"

"Pervert," she'd teased, swatting his arm and then reminding him that, as the club's resident tattooist, Happy would also have to see whatever spot she chose.

"I'd trust Hap wi' our lives," he'd declared at that. "But you ain't getting your kit off for him. End o' story."

Even now, she smiled while remembering how the laughter had faded away as he'd turned his attention first to kissing her breathless, then to making love to her until she cried out his name. Just the memory flushed her cheeks and sparked fresh regret at their spoiled plans, until a thought occurred to her and a little grin quirked her lips as she hurried to get dressed.

After all, old ladies were supposed to support their men …


"Two hours I've been kept late – and now you've scratched the damn paint as well. I should have listened to my husband after all, gone somewhere reputable …"

"But—"

"And I can't believe you've got the cheek to expect me to pay! No, I don't want your pathetic excuses. What I want is my car and adequate compensation, so what are you going to do about it?"

The woman, middle-aged and overly made-up, in too-tight jeans and a low-cut top, dripping with showy gold jewellery, was only getting more and more shrill as her temper frayed in the face of Charlie's well-meaning efforts to appease her. The young prospect was hating every second of having to deal with the latest in what seemed like an unfairly long line of unreasonable customers, not wanting to look weak in front of his brothers, but also realising there was going to be no getting through to this one. He wouldn't have minded quite so much if they had actually scratched her car. But, as he'd already told her – twice - he'd washed it himself after Tig fixed whatever minor issue had been found under the hood and he knew for definite that the scratches had already been there, looking very much like the result of the owner simply not taking enough care when opening the driver's door. He wasn't taking the rap for that, having everyone think he'd messed up. Again.

"You're lying," he blurted out desperately, a caught look crossing his face when he realised exactly what he'd said. Just because it was true didn't mean it was a good idea to put it out there, not quite so bluntly anyway.

"How dare you!" the woman exploded, her not-so-dulcet tones seeming to echo around the garage, even over the radio blasting in the corner and the usual clatter of tools that seemed to subside in the face of her outrage. "How dare you accuse me!"

"Listen, lady," Charlie started, trying to sound commanding, like his brothers. Knowing himself he was failing miserably when he actually couldn't think of anything to say to improve the situation. He could see Wheels sniggering from the relative safety of the office and didn't actually know whether to dread or hope for someone more senior also noticing the woman's histrionics and stepping in. "Look, just stop yelling, please …"

Little did the prospect know that the president himself had heard pretty much all he needed to from beneath the car he was working on, having long since rolled his sleeves up – in a manner of speaking, having discarded even his work shirt in the near-stifling heat to make do with the wifebeater he'd had on underneath - and got stuck in to try to ease the backlog. And now, with beads of sweat trickling into his eyes, it was all Chibs could do to grit his teeth and try to stay focused on the job in hand. He knew he should probably go over there before things escalated any further, but all things considered, his patience with the entire day was wearing more than a little thin.

"Excuse me, ma'am, could I ask you to step into the office?"

The polite enquiry was entirely out of kilter with what was going on and the calm intervening voice so unexpected that it took even Chibs a second to place its owner, making him raise an eyebrow when he did. He was curious to see how it would play out if he stayed put, but it quickly seemed like it just wasn't going to wash with their irate customer.

"No, you could not – I've been kept waiting long enough. I just want this little shit to give me my car keys and I'll be going."

"Of course. And I realise the backlog has been very inconvenient, but I'm sure we could find someone to T-cut out a few small chips if you were prepared to hang on just a little longer. And, of course, there's just the small matter of payment to settle."

"I'm not paying for the privilege of having my car damaged by these … these … thugs!"

"I didn't damage her car, I promise I didn't," Charlie tried desperately, his anxiety steadily rising at the thought of having inadvertently caused all this aggro, but his input went largely ignored.

"If you thought they were thugs, then maybe you should have considered gracing somewhere else with your custom. Try stiffing them on the check."

Chibs smirked at that, mentally high-fiving his old lady for her ability to turn on that professional charm – but still take no shit. However, the response soon had his jaw clenching angrily and he had to force himself to remember what she'd said about fighting her battles for her.

"Excuse me?! I'm not taking that from some club whore!"

"Don't speak to her like that!" Charlie yelped, seeming more offended by that than anything thrown at him, but a restraining hand on his chest held him back.

"I'm not the one trying to take advantage of a young man just doing his job. Charlie says he didn't damage your car and I believe him. He wouldn't lie. Not to me, not to you. So take a walk, cool off, come back with the money you owe and I'll be waiting in the office with your keys. Keys, Charlie … Charlie? Keys."

At the sound of footsteps then heading his way, Chibs slid out from under the wreck he was on the verge of declaring a hopeless case. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as his eyes landed on slim, tan legs and travelled slowly upwards, lingering on the tantalising sliver of toned stomach between the cropped tank top and denim cut-offs, before finally reaching his old lady's face.

"There's my gorgeous girl," he drawled. "Remind me not to mess wi' you, darlin'. Eden, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be enjoying your time off."

"Couldn't have my old man struggling and not come see if I could help," she shrugged, as he clambered to his feet and snaked an arm around her waist to steal a quick kiss. "Ugh, you're all sweaty …"

"Never heard ya complain before, lass," the Scotsman smirked, his hand slipping to the curve of her ass, only for her to shy away from him with a little laugh.

"Hey, no skiving on my watch," Eden teased, snagging the work shirt he'd discarded and pulling it on over her tank top, not bothering to do up the buttons. "You're meant to be on the clock, Telford. I'll be in the office. Come on, Charlie – you can give me a hand."

Watching his old lady head inside, the prospect trailing her like an overgrown puppy, Chibs couldn't help focusing on the sway of her hips, decidedly sinful thoughts running through his mind.

"I can practically see your dirty mind working," Tig snickered, as he ambled past with a spare tyre in his arms. "Speaking of which, you do know the kid's gonna think all his Christmases have come at once - shut up in that hot, sweaty office with the girl of his dreams …"

"He better not be dreaming about her," Chibs scowled. "Or I'll bounce him outta here on his scrawny arse. What is it wi' fucking daft wee prospects and women well outta their league?"

"Like you can talk – that one should be outta your league, never mind his!"

"Whose bloody side are you on here?" his president exclaimed, feigning outrage.

Tig held up his hands. "If you think about it, that was actually a compliment."

"Thanks, brother," Chibs said dryly.

"I mean, I've always thought you're a very handsome man …"

"Stop talking, Tiggy."