SANGRE: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 6)

by Chiah Wilder

  For a few minutes they held each other, a comfortable silence blanketing them. She lifted her head, tilted it back, and searched his face. “You have a cut by your mouth. Does it hurt?” She ran her finger over the wound then slowly across his lips, down his chin to his Adam’s apple.

  His breath quickened. “Nah. I’m good. You know, I used to look for fights, especially at bars, but I don’t do that much anymore. Although, there’re times when a man has to defend himself. I won’t ever let a guy disrespect me or my brothers. That’s what the brotherhood is all about—respect, loyalty, and love. That fucker threw the first punch, and there’s no damn way I was gonna turn the other cheek.”

  “I know. I overreacted. The shadows from my past sometimes get in the way too much. I’m working on all that with my therapist.”

  “That’s good. Are you sure that you weren’t pissed at me for more than the fight?”

  She stiffened under his touch. “What do mean?”

  “I don’t know. You seemed pretty annoyed when that blonde chick came over.”

  She pushed away from him and put her hand on her hip. “Are you saying I was jealous of her? How ridiculous is that?”

  “Well, weren’t you? I mean you seemed pissed when she came up and kissed me before you tossed your head and went to the bathroom earlier, and then she came over playing Florence Nightingale and pushed you away.”

  She blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t really pay that much attention. Who kisses you and who you screw is your business.”

  Seeing she was getting all worked up, he tilted his head in the direction of the bar. “We should head back. We can grab a bite to eat at Leroy’s. Are you up for that?”

  She shrugged.

  “I could go for something. And for the record, I don’t have anything going on with that blonde chick or any woman right now.”

  Walking toward the bar, she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I already told you that what you do is your business. Like you said, we’re friends and friends don’t get jealous of each other if they date or flirt or talk with the opposite sex. I’m about as jealous of you and your women as you are of me and Benz, or that guy talking to me in the bar.”

  Throwing his words back in his face felt like a bucket of ice water. There was something brewing between them, but there was no way he was going to admit it, and from what she’d just said, she wasn’t going to either. The truth was, she was mad because the blonde was hanging all over him, and he was pissed beyond words when that dude touched her in the bar.

  “Does Leroy’s still have homemade pies?” her voice pulled him out of his brooding.

  “Yeah.”

  “I could go for a piece of pie and coffee.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a booth with menus in front of them. Leroy’s was crowded, but Tammy made sure Sangre got the booth he and his brothers liked best: the last one in the corner next to the picture window.

  “You seem to really like it here,” she said as she picked up the menu.

  “I do. They have real good home-cooked food and great coffee. The Night Rebels come here a lot. We even have our favorite waitress—Tammy. She has the right amount of sass, knows when to leave us the hell alone, and treats us real good. Didn’t you ever come here when you lived in Alina? My family came here at least once or twice a month for Saturday breakfast or dinner.”

  “I only came here a few times when I lived here. I’d always have pie. I remember it was so good. We came with our mom. My dad thought eating out was a total waste of money, so we rarely went out for meals.”

  “Hiya, Sangre,” Tammy said as she poured a steaming cup of coffee for him. Glancing at Isla, she smiled. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “A cup of coffee and a glass of water would be great, thanks.”

  Tammy poured coffee in another cup and put it in front of Isla. “I’ll be back with your water in a sec.” She ambled away.

  “Is your favorite pie still apple?” she asked, stirring cream into her coffee.

  He grinned. “I can’t believe you remembered that. And it is. The one here is damn good, but it’s not my mom’s. Speaking of which, you’re invited to dinner this Sunday. When I was at my parents, I told them you were back in town.”

  “So, the invitation is from your parents?”

  “And me.”

  Her eyes quickly darted downward, and a delicate pink flush crept across her cheeks as she dipped her chin down. “Oh,” she whispered.

  His gaze drifted down to the snug top that clung to the soft swell of her tits, loving the way they rose and fell with her quickened breath. Damn, she’s beautiful. A soft smile spread over her lips when she caught him looking at her, and it sent a bolt of white-hot lust right to his dick.

  “Here’s your water. Have you decided what you want?” Tammy asked, pen and pad in hand.

  “I’ll take a piece of chocolate cream pie,” Isla said, her eyes never leaving his.

  “What do you want, handsome?”

  He tore his gaze away. “I’ll have the breakfast burrito.”

  “Sriracha inside like usual?”

  He laughed. “You know me too well.”

  “That’s scary. It means I’m spending way too much time around here.” She refreshed their coffee then scrambled away.

  “She seems nice,” Isla said, her gaze still on him.

  “She is. She works hard. Single mom of two teenagers and no support from her loser ex.”

  “That sounds like lyrics from a country song.” He guffawed. “Maybe you could help me out with the lyrics for a new song I’m writing.” She ran her tongue over her top lip.

  What I’d like that tongue to do to me. If she keeps flirting with me, I’m gonna bust. “So, do you wanna come over for dinner on Sunday?”

  “I’d love to. It’ll be nice to see your parents again. Will your brothers and sisters be there?”

  “The whole damn clan.” A grin broke over her face and her eyes shone like frost in the moonlight. Without thinking, he reached over and stroked her cheeks; they were soft and smooth. As he pulled away, she captured his fingers, holding them tight against her face while staring intently at him. He inhaled sharply. Fuck.

  Plates hitting the table broke the connection between them. “Chocolate cream pie,” Tammy said as she put the dish in front of Isla, “and breakfast burrito with sriracha. I don’t know how you can eat that hot stuff.”

  “It’s damn good.” He winked at her and picked up his fork.

  “Besides more coffee, are you all good for now?” They nodded and she scurried away.

  “Best chocolate cream pie. Ever.” Isla brought another bite up to her mouth. “Just so good.”

  “Glad you’re enjoying it.” He averted his gaze from her face because just watching her sweet lips open and close as she devoured the pie slice made him hard as hell. How fuckin’ lame is that?

  As he chewed, he looked over her shoulder, his gaze landing on Nick Jeffers as he made his way toward their table. Sangre had gone to high school with him, and he couldn’t stand Nick back then, and now that he’d become a deputy sheriff, Sangre had no tolerance for him. He thought he was hot shit because he carried a gun and a baton.

  “What the fuck does he want?” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?” Isla asked, scraping the remaining crumbs on the plate with her fork.

  “Do you remember Nick Jeffers?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. The name sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “He was in my class at Jefferson. He joined the sheriff’s department, and he thinks his shit doesn’t stink. Never cared for him back in the day, and I can’t stand him at all now. He’s headed this way.”

  Isla looked over her shoulder then turned back around. “The way he’s walking is like something out of an old seventies’ cop show.”

  “Steve, how are you?” Deputy Jeffers asked as he came up to their table.

  Instead
of looking at him, Sangre took another bite of his burrito, chewing it slowly. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Nick’s face turn red. He kept eating.

  “I heard you were back in town, Jordan. How’s LA?”

  “Good, I guess. I’m sorry … but I don’t think I know you,” she said, pushing the plate away, “and my name isn’t Jordan anymore—it’s Isla.”

  Jeffers face grew redder and Sangre snorted. “You got something you want to say to me?” he said to Sangre, his hands gripping the side of the table.

  “Nope.”

  “What the hell’s with the attitude? I just stopped by to say hi to you and Jordan.”

  Sangre wiped his mouth, pushed the empty plate away, and rested his elbows on the table. “The first thing is that she just told you her name’s Isla, not Jordan. It’s not that hard to remember … Which brings me to the second thing—I’m not Steve, I’m Sangre. So, if some dude comes over and uses the wrong name, the fucker can’t expect me to answer. Got it?”

  “I refuse to call you Sangre. I won’t recognize that outlaw club you’re in.” Jeffers looked at Isla. “And you think you’re high-and-mighty because you live in LA and have a band. Do you know you’re sitting with a damn criminal?”

  “I wouldn’t keep this up if I were you,” Sangre’s voice was low and hard.

  Jeffers stepped back. “Are you threatening me? You can’t be serious. I could run your ass in right now for threatening an officer.”

  Glancing at him, Sangre cracked his knuckles and held his chin high. “It’s time you moved on. Maybe you can find an old lady who hasn’t picked up her dog’s shit in the park.”

  The veins in his forehead strained against the skin as Nick glared at him. “Stand up. I’m taking you in.” His hand flew to his duty belt.

  “This is ridiculous,” Isla said.

  Jeffers head snapped in her direction. “You shut the fuck up, Jordan. If you keep up with your haughty and snobbish attitude, something bad may happen to you like it did to Lizbeth Kelly and Sharla Davidson.” Isla gasped, and he laughed dryly.

  Sangre noticed that Isla’s face had gone from a rosy hue to a gray pallor. “Get the fuck outta here.”

  “I’m not Wexler! I don’t kiss the ass of scum. You think just ’cause you’re in a biker gang that you can do whatever the hell you want? No fucking way. Now get your ass up, or I’ll drag you up.” Spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth.

  “Go ahead and do it, but just note that’ll it’ll be the last thing you ever do in your fuckin’ life.” An edgy, twitchy feeling wrapped around his muscles and nerves. If he lays one goddamn finger on me, he’s a goner. It’ll be worth the prison term.

  Jeffers stood with his hand on his belt, staring at Sangre. Neither of them moved a muscle; the tension crackled between them. It was as if Jeffers was waiting for him to make the first move, and he was waiting for the flunky cop to do the same. Nobody was giving an inch as each held their ground.

  “What’s going on?” Wexler asked behind Jeffers.

  “Nothing,” Sangre said to the sheriff.

  “This asshole threatened me. I was ready to arrest him.” Jeffers took out a pair of handcuffs.

  “Now hold on and put those things away.” Wexler looked at Sangre. “Did you threaten Deputy Jeffers?” Sangre clenched his teeth and stared. The sheriff cleared his throat and looked at Isla. “Did you hear Sangre threaten my deputy?”

  “No, not at all. As a matter of fact, your officer threatened me. He said that if I didn’t shut up, I’d end up like Sharla Davidson. How can he go around saying things like that to women? Something’s off with him.”

  Wexler shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped back. Sangre could see a muscle in his jaw pulsing. “Did you say that to this young lady?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I was just warning her to be careful. She’s taking it out of context.”

  “Man the fuck up,” Sangre gritted.

  Jeffers slammed his fist on the table, making Isla jump. “See the way he talks to a police officer? We shouldn’t have to put up with that bullshit.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “Let’s go,” he said to Jeffers.

  “Aren’t you going to arrest him? He threatened me.” Nick followed Wexler out of the diner.

  “What the hell was that all about? I’m glad the sheriff came. I was afraid that jerk was going to arrest you.”

  “I’d never let that asshole do anything to me.”

  “Wow, it was luck that the sheriff walked in.”

  Sangre glanced over at Tammy and nodded at her. Her smile widened then she spun around and went into the kitchen. “Who are Sharla Davidson and Lizbeth Kelly? When he mentioned their names you went white as a ghost.”

  Isla filled him in on the murders of the two women and how they’d both been in her class at Jefferson. As she spoke, a sick, gut-twisting feeling punched at him. The fact that the asshole deputy brought up both names meant the law thought the same person killed the two women. He didn’t like it one bit that the women had been in Isla’s class and seemed to both have careers in the entertainment industry. Are the letters she’s receiving from this sonofabitch?

  “Have you received any letters recently?”

  “No. It seems having you buffed men around me is working.”

  “Anything else for you guys?” Tammy asked. Sangre shook his head and she handed him the bill. “See you soon.”

  When they arrived at Isla’s house, he scanned the area to make sure no one was lurking around, then went over and opened the car door for her.

  “Are you the one watching me tonight?” she asked, leaning against him as they walked up the front walk.

  “Yeah. Keith will be here in the morning.”

  “Can you stay inside? I’m kinda creeped out by what that jerk said to me. It’s made me wonder if he’s the crazy one. I mean, he really went off on me. He acted like he hated my guts because I didn’t remember him and that I’m in a band. What the hell?”

  “That asshole’s always been a douche. I can’t believe Wexler hired him on.”

  “The sheriff seems to respect you. That’s totally amazing.”

  He shrugged. The truth was that the Night Rebels and Sheriff Wexler had a tacit understanding: They stopped hard drugs from coming into the county, and he’d look the other way on their club’s activities. It’d worked for the past eight years, but now that Deputy Fuckface was on the roster, things weren’t as smooth as they should be. He made a mental note to talk to Steel and Paco about it in the morning.

  After checking all the doors, windows, and resetting the alarm, he stood at the doorway to her bedroom. She’d run upstairs the minute they’d come in, and he wanted to let her know he was going to crash on the couch in the family room.

  When she came out of the bathroom, she wore a short, white night shirt that barely covered her ass, showing off her curves and leaving very little to the imagination. Blood pounded in his ears, making a roaring sound as his breath grew quick and need clawed through him. I have to get the fuck outta here. He stepped back, and the floorboard creaked under his boots.

  Isla cried out, her eyes darting to the door and then relief covering her face. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry. I just came up to tell you I’ll stay on the couch in the family room. I didn’t mean to barge in on you.” As she leaned over a chair to pick up her robe, her nightshirt rode up, exposing the underside of her butt cheeks. Unable to move, Sangre stared at her as his cock stiffened uncomfortably in his pants. Isla’s enticing curves made him want to throw her up against the wall and kiss her with a hunger that refused to be satisfied while his dick thrust deep and hard into her until she screamed out his name. “I gotta go.”

  “Wait. I thought we could watch a movie or something.”

  Not wanting her to see what was going on in his jeans, he turned around and headed toward the stairs. “I’m pretty beat,” he said loudly. “See you in the morning.”

 
Sangre ran down the steps and went into the family room and flopped on the couch. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, decreasing the volume exponentially. There was no way he wanted her sexy ass coming in here to see what he was watching. She was his friend. Off-limits. He didn’t want to screw this up.

  As he watched the images flicker on the screen, his mind kept seeing Isla in that tight nightshirt that hugged her curves just right. She’s my friend. We grew up together. We’re like family. He repeated the mantra over and over in his head, hoping his aching dick would get the message.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Staring at the flat tire, Isla groaned. “I so don’t need this,” she said under her breath. Looking around, she saw Keith’s car and was just about ready to walk over there when her next-door neighbor started to come over. Faith’s two daughters ran up to Isla and hugged her.

  “Did you make the lemonade?” Carly asked.

  “Daddy finished our lemonade stand and we’re going with mommy to get some decorations for it,” Letty gushed.

  “That’s great. I’ll make the lemonade tonight, so you’ll have it ready for tomorrow morning when you open for business,” Isla said, waving at Faith as she approached them.

  “What’s going on there?” Faith asked, pointing at the flat tire.

  “I have no idea. I must’ve picked up a nail or something. This is such a drag. I really don’t want to fix a tire. Gah! I better go back inside and change out of these clothes.” Isla glanced over again at Keith’s car.

  Keith opened the door and got out. “You having a problem?” he asked as he walked toward her.

  “Don’t bother him. Colt can fix it for you. He’s still at home, so I’ll just run over and get him,” Faith said.

  “That’s okay. Keith can do it. You don’t have to bother Colt.”

  “Nonsense. After all the things you do for the girls, he’d be more than happy to help.” Faith looked at Carly. “Go get your dad and tell him that Isla has a flat tire.” Carly skipped away.

  “Thanks. I hope this isn’t an omen for having ‘one of those days.’” Isla looked at Keith. “I have a flat tire, but my neighbor’s going to change it.”