Loch: A Steel Paragons MC Novel

by Eve R. Hart

  Diesel wasn’t one to sit still. He got restless even after rotating through the four or five club girls we had around. Sometimes he would be lucky enough to pick up one of the townies who hadn’t had a go-round with him. But for the most part, there wasn’t anything exciting left around here.

  “Don’t think that boy is ever gonna be like you,” I said, giving him a pointed look.

  Stone was a few years older than me. He met Melody seven years back at a club get together up in Tennessee. The moment he saw her, he was done for. And ever since then, it was like no other woman existed. Sure, they fought. And when they did, the whole club knew about it. Sometimes it could get downright loud and nasty. The thing I didn’t get was their fights were very rarely about anything big. They were perfect for one another. You could see their love ever times they looked at each other. But every now and then the weeds needed to be pulled so you could see the beauty of the garden. Fighting was their weeds; the little things that added up on an everyday basis. Then they were plucked out and the flowers were able to grow again.

  “Oh, it will happen to him,” he said, sounding downright sure of it. “And I hope I have a front row seat to laugh at his dumb ass.” To that, we both laughed.

  “That’ll be the day…”

  “And what about you?” He gave me a look and a raised brow as he took another swig of his beer, his eyes remained locked onto mine.

  “Nah, too old and set in my ways. Plus, I like my quiet time,” I replied waving him off.

  “You ain’t that old. Just you wait. When you least expect it, brother.” He tipped his beer to me and walked off to join the others around the pool table. I shook my head to myself, trying hard to think of anything but Reagan’s beautiful smile and all the things it did to me.

  The next night I had planned on working at the bar alone. Wednesdays were never busy. Also, I wanted to give Chris another day off to recover from whatever sickness he had. I sure as shit didn’t want to catch it. But for some unknown reason, I told Reagan to come back. Now it was going to be her and me, and more than likely a very frustrating night.

  While part of me wanted to be near her and learn things about her, the other, and rational, part of me knew it was all wrong. The best thing would be for me to lock myself up in my office. I had no doubt that she would be able to handle the bar all on her own. It wasn’t complicated work, and she had done it before. Smile, serve, repeat. Hell, I didn’t even care if she smiled. Easy.

  The next night when she came rushing in, face flushed red, and trying to tame her frizzy hair, I raised an eyebrow in question. After she wrangled her hair into some huge knotted mess on top of her head, she sighed and shook her head at me. It was like she was telling me not to ask. But, being that she had started to get under my skin, I couldn’t let it go.

  “What’s wrong? And don’t give me that nothin’ shit. I’m not gonna buy it.” I leaned back against the bar and folded my arms across my chest. She cut her eyes at me as she grabbed a clean glass from under the bar then filled it up with water. I waited patiently as she downed the whole thing in a matter of seconds. I couldn’t help but watch her throat delicately bob with each swallow. I had to bite the inside of my cheek as she threw her head back, draining the last little bit. My mind flooded with thoughts I didn’t need to be thinking. Thoughts that shot straight down to my stirring cock.

  “Stupid air conditioning in my car crapped out on me,” she finally said. She pinched the front of her shirt and fanned it in an attempt to get some air flow between her sticky skin and wet shirt.

  It was then that I took notice what she was wearing. And Holy hell. Couldn’t say that money didn’t go to good use. However, I wished I was the only one that got to see her in it. A spark of jealousy shot through me at the thought of my brothers coming in later. I suddenly wanted to shut the damn bar down.

  Her t-shirt was fitted, but not too tight. The V in the front dipped low and I could see a hint of black lace from the top of her bra poking out over the dark rust color. I knew if she bent over the shirt was loose enough that I would be able to see straight down it. My jaw clenched thinking about how many times she would have to lean over to serve people. If I thought the shorts yesterday were bad enough, it was nothing compared to the tight ones she was in now. The deep blue stretchy fabric covered nothing below her ass cheeks. Her long, toned legs were bare. She was wearing a pair of fucking ankle length, harness style, motorcycle boots. The chunky kind, with a low heel. A shorter, smaller version of the ones that, like myself, half of the brothers wore.

  It was at that moment I wanted to throw her over my shoulder. Then plant her ass on the back of my bike, take her home, and fuck her until she couldn’t scream my name anymore.

  Clenching my jaw again, I closed my eyes trying to remember what she had just told me. Her A/C. Not working. The jangling sound of her metal bracelets shifting brought me back to reality and I opened my eyes.

  “Give me your keys,” I said, holding out my hand. She looked up at me skeptical for a moment before finally placing them in my palm. Her fingers grazed over mine as she pulled her hand away. They were soft and I wondered how they would feel running down my hard body. I turned on my heel and headed into the office. I needed to get away from her as soon as possible.

  “You know, my car is in the other direction,” she yelled out behind me, humor resonating in her voice.

  I shut the door and sent a text to one of the prospects to come pick up her car. Then I sent a text to Diesel telling him I needed someone to fix it. I knew a couple of the guys would be hanging around the garage in back of the compound. More than likely they were goofing around than working on something. Now they would have something to do, and I would make sure they would get it done by the end of the night.

  I leaned against the edge of my desk, trying to figure out the mystery that was Reagan. Her outfit stopped me dead in my tracks, that was for sure. Thinking about those tight shorts had me reaching down to adjust myself. But there was something more to it. Even in the short time I’d known her, I picked up on it.

  She seemed to be a professional chameleon. Changing and adapting to the situation around her with ease. But, she did it on her own terms. The thing was, most women I’d known would have worn something closer to what a stripper would wear. Shoes that looked like they would break an ankle. And shirts that were so shredded they didn’t cover anything. Add in a push-up bra that hiked their tits up right under their neck and you would have the typical club girl. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t one to complain about that look. But Reagan obviously wasn’t that type of woman, and she wasn’t about to put herself down just to fit in. While her outfit was practical, it was still sexy as hell. It made me want her even more. It also made me wonder where she learned to do it so well. What in her life made her become the girl who, in just a short glance, was able to read the environment around her and change her colors to blend in?

  I walked out of the office not even ten minutes later. Reagan was behind the bar, wiping it down aimlessly. I felt her eyes on me the whole time, but I acted like I was unaffected by it. I met Brandon outside. He was with Diesel and Bocca yesterday when Reagan walked into the bar. I was sure he was well aware that I was handing him the keys to Reagan’s car. Being that it was the only one parked out front when they’d left yesterday, I was sure he took notice. He got off his bike and walked over to me. I dropped the keys in his hand. He looked at me, then the car, then back to me. With tight lips, and a firm nod he got into the car and drove away.

  That was why I liked the kid. He kept his mouth shut and, for the most part, head down. He had been prospecting just shy of a year and I knew he would be patched-in soon. I had no doubt about him and I wouldn’t doubt that the other brothers felt the same. It helped a great deal that he was an aspiring tattoo artist. His work was good. Best I’d seen in awhile. We were working on making one of the empty rooms in the clubhouse a permanent place for him to ink. But he didn’t know it yet. Kid had talent, and if
he wasn’t stuck in this shit hole of a town, he could go places and be big.

  I walked back inside and the door closed with a loud thud behind me. Reagan wasn’t standing behind the bar anymore. I searched the room and saw her bent over one of the tables, wiping it down. Her ass was threatening to spill out of her shorts. Her legs spread wide. I ground my teeth at the thoughts of ripping those shorts off and sliding inside her from behind. Her body stiffened a little like she sensed I was watching her. After a few long seconds, she slowly stood up and turned towards me.

  “We going to play this game of how long it’ll take you to say something to me all night?” She cocked her hip and propped her hand on it. A smirk spread on my lips. Her pissed off stare made me chuckle on the inside. She rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. Then at least tell me what you are doing with my keys?”

  “Fixin’ your problem,” I said.

  “Wait, no. I don’t have the money for that right now.” Her face looked a little panicked.

  “Don’t want your money, babe.” I walked over to the bar and sat on a stool at the far end. I could hear her boots clomping against the floor as she stomped over to me.

  “Nate, please. I don’t want your hand out. I can take care of myself.” Her tone had a bite to it, and I could tell she was trying to keep it under control. That was the first time she’d called me Nate. I hadn’t heard that name in a long time. Most people now called me Loch. A few special people, like Ethel, called me Nathan. Hearing her call me that caused me to smile. “What?” she asked, looking confused.

  “You called me Nate.”

  “Yeah, and? That’s short for Nathan. Should I not?” Gone was the confident, tell-you-to-shove-it girl; replaced by the uncertain and eager-to-please one. I wondered if it was just me that made her flip like that. I wanted to tell her I liked hearing it from her lips. I wanted to tell her to say it again. Hell, I wanted her screaming it as I plowed into her over and over.

  “If that’s what you want to call me,” I said instead. Because, well, I was an asshole. And I knew it would make her think twice about any warm and fuzzy feelings she may have been having. “And I know you can take care of yourself. Just like I know Ethel can take care of herself. No problem in lettin’ someone help you out every now and then.” With that, she clamped her mouth shut and took a deep breath in through her nose.

  “Thank you,” she finally said with a little nod. “When will it be done? How will I get home?” I could see the wheels turning in her head. There was no cab service in this town, not enough of a need for one, and I knew she knew that. I also wouldn’t have doubted that she was thinking she could walk home. While it was probably safe enough, I would never let that happen.

  “It should be ready by close,” I said and still saw uncertainty in her eyes. “If it’s not, I’ll take you home.” The words came out of my mouth before I could think about it. Her eyes widened before she ducked her head. I saw the light tint of the blush rising up her cheeks before she tried to hide it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Reagan

  I had never been on a motorcycle. The thought both thrilled and terrified me. I wasn’t actually scared to be on the back of a bike. I was scared of being on the back of his bike; my body tucked tightly against his, arms wrapped around his waist. But the horrified look that came over his face after he mentioned it, told me he was less than thrilled about it.

  I shrugged, trying not to think about it too much, and went back to wiping down the tables. They weren’t all that dirty. I was just trying to keep busy. That and put some distance between myself and Nate. Still, I could feel his eyes on me as I worked. And I had no idea why it made me feel so uneasy.

  The bar was dead and I had no idea why he even wanted me there. Hours passed, boring and long. I didn’t even have him to talk to, seeing as not long after I walked away from him, he locked himself in his office. I toyed with the idea of knocking but thought better of it. A shut door usually meant ‘don’t bother me’ and I definitely wasn’t about to poke the bear. With nothing else to do, I played some games on the new phone I had gotten yesterday to pass the time.

  Finally, a little after nine, I heard the familiar rumbling of motorcycles. A lot of them, too. I hopped off my stool a little too eagerly. My right leg had gone to sleep and I felt myself going down. Just as my knees were about to buckle, strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind me. I yelped at the surprise contact and stumbled back into a hard chest. Those arms tightened around me and my body closed the two-inch gap between us. I cocked my head to the side and saw Nate smirking down at me with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, embarrassed. Shaking my leg out, I tested my weight on it. Pins and needles, but I could stand.

  “You good?” he asked, sliding his hands back to grab my hips. Heat flooded through me and I felt it all the way through to my core.

  “Yep,” I said, trying not to hobble as I walked away. Pretty sure I failed at that. Before it could get any more awkward, the front door pulled open and about ten or so bikers piled inside.

  I made my way behind the bar and noticed Bocca flashing me a giant smile and a nod as he walked in. I felt my lips turn upward in return. The guys all scattered. Some went to the pool table, a few piled around a table in the middle of the room, and a couple took a seat at the bar. Two of them headed over to Nate and started a conversation. As I doled out the beer bottles, I kept an eye on Nate. He didn’t look happy at whatever they were telling him. I had a feeling it may have had to do with my car. His eyes cut over to me without warning. I’d been caught staring. I jerked my head in the other direction, searching for something to make me look busy.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Bocca greeted me, his elbows propped on the bar. I couldn’t help but notice how his arms bulged, his biceps threatening to tear through the seams on his sleeves. I smiled and set a bottle in front of him.

  “Hey yourself,” I returned and he laughed. He looked around then pulled out a stool and took a seat. I was glad to have someone friendly to talk to. Okay, really, I was just glad to have anyone to talk to.

  “So, how ya likin’ it?” He took a long pull of his beer, still eyeing me.

  “I can’t complain. A little on the boring side, but now you’re here, so it’s not too bad.” I was flirting. I knew it, but I just couldn’t help it. Seemed Bocca didn’t mind either.

  “Awww, doll,” he said dramatically placing his hand over his heart and flashing a wide, full teeth smile. A smile that I was sure made all the ladies’ panties melt. Mine may have been threatening to. I shook my head and rolled my eyes at him, trying my best to hide my reaction. I scanned the bar to make sure everyone was satisfied and didn’t need anything at the moment. Yep, no one was even close to having an empty beer. I leaned forward resting my forearms on the bar, so that I could talk to Bocca without feeling like I had to yell. Bocca mirrored my movements. Our heads were inches apart. A few errant strands of hair hung in his face and I had a small urge to reach out to tuck it behind his ear. His eyes held mine. But I got the feeling he was trying really hard not to look down my shirt. Which I realized was loose and hanging open, giving the entire bar a straight shot to my bra and boobs.

  “I’m tryin’ real hard here, doll,” he said after a few seconds of us being in an eye deadlock. I laughed. His honesty was endearing. I half-expected him to unapologetically gawk. The fact that he didn’t was a little refreshing.

  “You are holding out longer than I thought you would,” I said pushing my chest forward a little. He gave me a warning look with his eyes. “Go ahead, take five seconds. Won’t hurt anyone.”

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong. VP says you’re off limits. No matter how beautiful you are, gotta follow that.” He took a sip of his beer. I rolled my eyes again trying to keep my blush at bay. He did call me beautiful and it hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “I’m a grown ass woman, ya know? No one can say I’m off limits unless it’s me,” I practically seethed. It wa
sn’t that I was trying to start something with Bocca in any way. But I’d be damned if I should have that option taken away from me. Bocca chuckled into his bottle before he took another sip. “I just don’t get why he would say that. Unless it’s because I’m Ethel’s granddaughter. But, I’m sure you know her, she’s an advocate for a healthy sex life. So it makes no sense.” I resisted the urge to throw my hands up in frustration.

  “Oh, you’re a spitfire. This is going to be fun.” He smirked, like there was something I was missing, and set down his bottle. Then there it was, his eyes flicked down to my chest. Victory. I laughed as his eyes shot back up to mine. This time the look in them was a little dark and hooded, but he quickly brushed it away and gave me a lopsided smile.

  “So, how come they call you Bocca?” I asked, figuring I had pushed the limits enough for the moment.

  “Apparently I never shut up. Bocca is mouth in Italian, and I guess some say I like to run it.” He shrugged.

  “Huh,” I said. “That’s kinda funny, and a little mean.”

  “Never said we were nice people, babe.” With that, he gave me a wink, slid off the stool and walked away, leaving his words to swirl warnings through my head.

  I glanced around. Some of the guys were tilting their bottles back as they finished the last swallows. I grabbed a few fresh bottles and popped the tops off, Bocca’s words bouncing around my head the whole time.

  “I don’t pay you to stand around and flirt,” Nate’s voice came from behind me, deep and harsh. I jumped, nearly dropping one of the bottles. “Boys need more over at the pool table.” I turned around slowly and held up the bottles I now had a death grip on in my hands. I gave him a snide smirk before I turned back around.

  “And yes you do,” I turned back around to face him. I just couldn’t let it go. “You pay me to serve and make you money. Part of serving is making people feel comfortable. I’ve learned that a little flirting can go a long way with the green. Guys tend to empty their drinks faster and tend to drink more. So, that leads to me selling more, which is more money in that pocket of yours. And it also gets me more tips, which I need now, seeing as these are the only people that have been in here all night.”