Dead Man Walking (The Fallen Men #6) - Giana Darling Page 0,74

girls and I, twirling and laughing, giddy on comradery and tipsy on good booze.

I closed my eyes again to absorb the feel of them against me, sweat-slicked and sweet-scented. It was what I imagined young puppies felt with their siblings, always touching, always playing, always together. This was the kind of life my outlaw friends and family lived, deep lows and soaring highs. They knew how to lock away grief and fear to suck the marrow out of life when it presented you with the opportunity to appreciate it. So many people believed MC life was about drugs, violence, and crime, but at its heart, it was always and forever about living together as a found family, the kind forged voluntarily by love and loyalty.

When Loulou danced my way, I snagged her wrists and pulled her close for a tight hug that stilled us both.

She didn’t hesitate to wrap me up in her arms, stamping her curves to mine. Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes as I held her, nose to her cherry-scented hair.

“Thank you for giving me this family,” I whisper-shouted into her ear. “It’s so much better than anything we ever had before.”

Loulou pulled away to smile in my face, her eyes fluorescent blue in the flashing lights. “We always had each other, though. I hope you know that would have been enough to make me happy forever.”

My throat constricted, a boa of emotion wrapped around it too tight. “Yeah, I know. But I’m glad you found this, for both you and me.”

“Yeah,” Lou agreed solemnly, tucking my damp hair behind one ear. “Love you, sunshine girl.”

It was an important détente in this little skirmish between us. I threw myself back into her arms, feeling her laughter move through me as she caught me and swung me around.

“Love you, back,” I shouted through my giggles before she put me down.

When we went back to dancing, we did it holding hands.

At some point, a tingle of awareness nestled at the base of my spine, then ran icy fingers up my hot back. I opened my eyes to half-mast, half-drunk on peach bourbon smashes and the heady bass of Bishop Briggs’ “Dead Man’s Arms”. Lazily, I swept my eyes over the crowd of churning bodies, moving over the sight of Lila in Nova’s arms with sudden excitement.

If Nova was here now, did any of the other brothers come with him?

Nova caught my eye as he hauled Lila up into his arms and minutely shook his head before devouring his woman’s eager mouth. I looked away, disappointment a bitter tang on the back of my tongue. I looked to the left to see Harleigh Rose being bent over Lion’s arm as he attacked her mouth and squeezed his big hand high on her thigh.

I closed my eyes again, my focus lost, the high of the music and my sisterhood collapsing around my feet.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I shouted at Cleo as she spun gracefully beside me.

She frowned, tossing her sweaty light brown hair out of her eyes. “I’ll come with!”

I shook my head, darting forward to kiss her sweat-damp cheek. “I just need a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”

She bit her lip but nodded hesitantly, concern in her big grey eyes.

I ignored it, pushing through the crowd toward the bathroom, suddenly feeling emotional. How was it possible that amid all this humanity, I felt so wretched with loneliness?

It was simple, really.

I was obsessed, addicted really, to one man, and I always felt off-balance without his presence nearby, even in those years before he truly noticed me. It was as if he was gravity tethering my dreamy soul to reality, grounding my romanticism in truth, casting shadow and depth to my light.

Clearly, the drink was making me maudlin.

There was a line up to the girl’s washroom, so I delved further down the hall and turned the corner, searching for the handicap option. It was tucked just beside an emergency escape, and I was grateful when I found it unoccupied.

I closed the door, flipped the lock, and braced my hands on the basin as I stared into the mirror. I didn’t wear much makeup, but my gloss was eaten off my lips, and the mascara on my lashes smeared beneath my eyes. My hair was a fluffy mess of curls around my face, giving me a girly, almost childish air when paired with my outfit.

I wasn’t the bombshell my sister was, the badass queen like Harleigh Rose, the bohemian