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transparency. It was obvious that he wanted to know the answers to those questions.
    “Right?”
    Leo shrugged, swallowing the last of his beer and standing up, pulling on his cut.
    “Right,” he finally said. But he didn’t sound very sure of himself. He looked down at Chase, his eyes bloodshot and intense.
    “This stays between me and you, alright?”
    Chase nodded.
    “Of course brother.”
    After that, they never spoke about it again. At times, Chase wondered if Leo even remembered telling him. But then, he would notice a certain look in Leo’s eye that told him that he did. He might have been well past intoxicated, but the weight of his words held a certain impact.
    One that neither man could easily forget.
    “Fuck,” Chase said aloud to himself, bringing himself back down to reality. His voice echoed off the monochromatic walls of his bedroom. He needed a shower, but the steam leaking from his bathroom door indicated that Trish was already inside.
    She worked nights at the small diner her family owned, Logan’s Eatery. Chase and the boys had been frequenting the place for years. It was where Chase had first met Trisha. She was the daughter of Trey and Lucy Logan. Trey was the Founder of the Dark Knights, a club out of San Francisco, and his wife Lucy ran their diner.
    Chase fell for Trisha almost instantaneously, but love was hardly what motivated him. He was intrigued by her, but more so, by the fact that she understood the club lifestyle and its inhibitions and duties. When you’re the daughter of an outlaw like Trey Logan, it kind of just comes with the territory.
    She didn’t expect more from Chase than he could offer her. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t nag. She was the epitome of everything the wife of an outlaw was expected to be. The problem, of course, was that Chase didn’t love her.
    At first glance, she was perfect for him. At 5’10 and one hundred and ten pounds, she complimented Chase – all 6’3 and two hundred pounds of him – quite well. Hell, she could have easily been a model if it wasn’t for her small town upbringing. She was tone and busty, but not overbearingly so, with legs for days and a pair of lips Chase had fondly come to know as “perfect for blowjobs.”
    The best part of all was that she wasn’t even remotely conceited. In fact, it occurred to Chase early on that Trisha was quite unaware of how stunning she was. She was quiet and submissive, with aspects to her that could be best described as “awkward,” but damn if she wasn’t nice to look at.
    Chase was infatuated with her. He looked at Trisha like a penny that just needed a little polishing, and he made it his mission to do just that. Three months into their relationship, he went to Trisha’s father and pleaded to him for his daughters hand in marriage.
    It was the only way Trey Logan would allow Trisha out from under his thumb, and Chase knew that. He also knew that he would be proud to have Trisha marry someone like Chase – a fellow outlaw. Someone that would protect his daughter just the way he had.
    “It would be a privilege,” Trey said to Chase, firmly shaking his hand and offering him a beer as though he had known him for years – not just five minutes. Chase figured it must have been his bike, a classic 1987 Harley. That, and the patches that adorned the back of his leather cut. A silent reminder of what he was all about.
    They were married two months later, after knowing each other for a total of five months. But neither one of them seemed to care. They walked down the aisle of a packed church, surrounded by their friends, families, and fellow outlaws. When the ceremony was over, the Disciples escorted Chase and Trisha’s limo out onto the freeway, the engines of their bikes reeving.
    They spent their honeymoon in Cancun. They ate Mexican food by the plate full, drank until they couldn’t anymore, and smoked more joints than either one could count. It wasn’t love, but it was something.