He ran his finger around the downtown Oklahoma City area, where the Ship’s Inn was. “This city’s too hot for us right now. The Kings are going to be out for our blood. Rath asked our friend, who’s fixing your car, about club activity. Thorny owns a bike shop down in Texas, so he has friends in some of the local clubs. A tiger doesn’t change his stripes, so Brick might hook up with some other club. Thorny thinks the Vipers might be a logical group to move to. They’re a soft rival of the Kings, meaning they don’t play nice, but they don’t go out of their way to annihilate each other. The Vipers are still one-percenters—outlaws—but they’re not as violent as some of the other clubs. Rath and I came across them during our trip across old Route 66, and they were cool. So we’ll track down some Vipers in Tulsa.”
“Sounds like a plan.” She probably scooted off the bed a little too quickly, but his energy felt overwhelming.
He folded the map, stood, and stretched. And caught her staring at the way his muscles coiled.
She quickly shifted her gaze to the tattoo. “I like the eagle. I didn’t notice before that the wings are the pattern of the American flag.”
He touched the tips of his fingers to it. “Thanks. It was my way of saying, ‘I’m an American.’ People tend to lump Puerto Ricans in with Latino immigrants, forgetting that we are actually part of the U.S.” He dug through his bag. When he pulled on a black T-shirt, she could see angel wings imprinted on the back. Fitting. He is your angel, after all.
Within seconds he had on black steel-toed boots, a pair of sunglasses propped on top of his head, and the bag slung over his shoulder. Now he looked all badass again. She’d been so caught up watching him, she hadn’t done a damned thing to get ready to leave.
She packed her few things, tied her hair back, and was ready. Except maybe she wasn’t, by the way he was assessing her with a frown.
“How many biker bars have you gone into?” he asked.
“Three, but usually during the day when it’s not as busy. The Ship’s Inn was the first I went to at night, but I wasn’t planning on going inside. Detective Boyd warned me that it was very dangerous to go into one of those places once people were stoned and drunk. And as I sat in parking lots watching for Di, I saw that it was true.”
He gave her an affirming nod. “Knowing the dangers is a good start, but you need to understand the dynamics of the people who inhabit this lifestyle. First of all, you have to meld into the subculture.” He stepped closer and tugged on the belt loop of her jeans. “You’re too white bread. You’re also too pretty and healthy, but there’s not much we can do about that.”
She might have flushed at his compliment, but he was all business. “I brought clothing that wouldn’t draw unwanted attention. Especially that kind of attention.”
“Not a bad idea, but you don’t fit in. And now you’re with me, so you don’t have to worry about being manhandled. Take your jeans off.”
She raised an eyebrow even as his order shivered through her. “Pardon?”
“You have to drop that polite vernacular, too. Take off your jeans so I can do some damage to them. They need to look more road worn.”
She took her bag into the bathroom and traded the jeans for some shorts before coming out.
He took the jeans and went outside, where she watched him kneel down and rub them against the concrete curb. Threads splintered at the knees and the waistband. After a few minutes, he stood and handed them back. Then he assessed her again, his gaze on her chest. “Now we work on the top. Come back inside.”
She put her hand to her collarbone as she followed him. “What are you going to do to it?”
Julian reached behind him and brandished a wicked-looking knife. Then, of all things, he crooked his finger for her to come closer. That intimate gesture shot both fear and desire through her.
“Mollie,” he said, and even that sounded intimate. “You have to trust me if this is going to work.”
“I do trust you.” Reluctantly, she stepped closer. He took the scoop collar of her shirt in one hand and pulled it away, his knuckles brushing her skin. Then he drew the knife down the fabric with the other. It split apart all the way down to her cleavage.
She looked up at him, which put his mouth an inch from hers. He paused, taking a measured breath as his gaze locked to hers. Did he feel the pull, too? He stepped back to survey his work, making her feel all kinds of self-conscious. Especially when his green eyes heated. “Now you’re rocking the look.” He stilled her hand as she tried to tug the shirt up. “You’ve got a fantastic body, Mollie. A biker chick is going to make the most of it.”
A fantastic body. His words tightened her throat. “Di was always the one who flaunted her body. She’s curvier, prettier. And she knew how to work it.” I, on the other hand …
“You went the other way,” he guessed. “Conservative. Responsible. But don’t underestimate yourself. You’re a beautiful woman.” Their gazes held for a moment, as she tried to form a reply. A thank-you? Denial? Before she could think of what to say, he went on. “You need to be my BOB.”
“BOB?”
His mouth quirked. “Bitch on the back. Biker term for the girlfriend or wife. The clubs have one view of women—they’re possessions. Property. Not only their women, but all of them. You give them any indication that you’re interested, they will claim you. I’ve seen fights break out because some chick started partying with the patches. Her boyfriend or husband comes in trying to get her to go home, but she’s drunk and enjoying the edgy attention. Her guy gets all hot, and the bikers go nuts on him. Rath and I broke up a few of these altercations. To avoid any misunderstandings, you don’t walk over to someone by yourself, strike up a conversation, or by any means accept a drink. We don’t want any questions about who you’re leaving with, got it?”
She gave him a slow nod, still trying to wrap her head around it.
He pursed his lips, nodding toward the door. “Let’s roll.”
At the bike, he set both his bags down, settled her helmet on her head, and cinched the strap, his fingers brushing her neck. “If it’s a tight-knit place, they’re on alert when strangers come in. They’re thinking: Cops? Rival club members? Trouble? Rath and I always got watched for the first twenty minutes or so. You and I, as a couple, should look less suspicious. We sit at the bar, have a beer, put the people at ease. When I feel it’s the right time, you hit up the bartender with your question about Diana.” Again, his mouth was only inches from hers as he checked the helmet’s fit.
She pulled her attention away. “So this is where I obey you.”
His gaze met hers, and he let the word “yes” settle between them for a moment. “For both of our safety. And for the sake of our mission.”
Julian put on his helmet and mounted the bike. She settled behind him, resting her hands on his hips. How did BOBs hold on to their men? Tight or loosely?
He clipped his phone to his hip and plugged in a pair of earbuds. He rubbed them on his shirt and handed her one. “Tunes for the road?”
She took it, plugging it into her ear, and he did the same with the other one. Which meant she had to lean closer because of the cord length. After a few swipes of his fingers on the phone’s screen, music filled her ear. She wasn’t familiar with the song, though she’d heard something similar in a nightclub Di had dragged her to a couple of years back. The high energy beat was perfect for dancing, with its electronica dubbing. They headed onto an expressway, the afternoon sun searing her left side.
It seemed strange to ride out in the open like this. No protection, or cage, as the biker culture called vehicles. But feeling completely free. They rode for two hours, most of that through an unpopulated stretch that felt like a dose of fresh air for her soul. No cities, no biker bars. Julian pointed out a deer off the side of the road, and the fact that he took the time to show her a piece of nature touched her. For a while, she felt at peace.
The only problem was there was nothing truly peaceful about being this close to a m
an like Julian.
Chapter 5
The time to just soak in the environment, and the way Julian felt beneath her loose hold on his waist, dwindled. Soon enough, they were winding their way through the maze of Tulsa toward another seedy bar. They rode into an area with both residential and industrial buildings, pulling into an asphalt parking lot with an assortment of ragtag bikes lined up out front, even at four in the afternoon. A hand-painted sign identified it as the Bar None. The place was clean, anyway, with a light brick façade and several neon beer signs. A bass beat throbbed, but didn’t overpower.
Julian pulled up close to but not next to the last bike in line. He backed it in for a quick departure, if necessary. Mollie hopped off first, glad to remove the helmet and fluff her hair. He was watching her as he dismounted, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.
“I love the color of your hair.” He brushed his fingers through the strands near her cheek. “Like amber honey.”
The tips of his fingers touching her skin sent tingles through her. “You should see Di’s hair. It’s the color most people go gaga over, a deep, rich copper. Mine’s a washed-out version.”
He loved her red hair. He’d used that word, “love.” Even though she’d downplayed the compliment, it reverberated through her as he took her helmet and hooked it on the handlebars.
Two guys walked out, squinting in the sun as smoke and now louder music poured out with them. Their black vests identified them as Vipers, with the logo of a bike’s profile, the tires made of the snake’s body. They slowed as they saw her, and Julian slung his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He greeted the two men, who kept on going to their bikes. Julian leaned close to her ear. “Be easy with me.”
She turned, finding the rasp of his stubble rubbing against her cheek. “What do you mean?”
“You’re my BOB, remember? My girl. We probably live together and have had sex a hundred different ways.”
Her body reacted to those words, adding the image of him lying on the bed, sunlight slanting across him—
“That’s what you want these guys to think, to see—that you’re mine,” he said. “Not tonight or for a couple of hours, but mine. When they look at you like those two just did, I’m going to claim you.” His hand tightened on her waist. “You need to move into me to show them there’s no question about where you belong.”
She knew he was saying something important, but when he said “you’re mine,” and “where you belong,” it completely stole away her thoughts. Especially with him holding her like this. Still holding her. She merely nodded.
“But just now when I put my arm around you, you stiffened.”
“Sorry. It feels … strange, you touching me like that.” Strange and nice, which made her even more uncomfortable. “I mean, I hardly know you.”
The guys started their bikes, obliterating any possibility of conversation. Which left them standing there body to body until the bikers roared out of the lot.
“Pretend I’m your boyfriend,” Julian said. “If you need to, picture me as your last boyfriend.”
She laughed the moment it came out of his mouth. “You are so nothing like Jimmie. He was more of a hand holder. Or a hand clinger, really, always reaching for me with a clammy grip.” She shuddered at the memory now. Why had she even liked him to begin with?
“Yeah, well, we’re not holding hands in these kinds of places. Then think about some other guy you dated who was strong. Able.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never dated anyone like you.” She sorted through the few guys she’d gone out with, all for less than six months. “This sounds pitiful, really, but the few guys I’ve dated are usually needy. In trouble. I guess I’ve always been drawn to guys who need rescuing.”
He seemed to assess her for a moment. “I’ve done my share of rescuing. Just remember, it can be a pit with no bottom.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Then this relationship we’re perpetuating is going to be much different than anything you’ve experienced. Being an insensitive son of a bitch is different for me, too, so we need to sink into our roles out here before we go inside.”
She settled against his side. “I’ll do my best.”
“Do better than that. Once we start asking questions, it has to look like I’m your old man backing you up. Couples don’t attract a lot of attention. Two nosy people who are not materially connected do. They’ll think cops, and once they have that in their heads, they’ll shut down. So if I do this, you need to flow with it.” His hand on her back, he turned her so that she was flat up against the front of him. “Relax, Mollie.”
She was supposed to relax with that hard body pressed up against hers? They were materially connected, all right, from her thighs all the way to her chest. She inhaled and breathed out, forcing herself to relax. With her face next to where his neck curved, she breathed in the scent of cologne, fresh air, and Julian.
He ran his hands up and down her back. She reached around him and slid her hands into his back pockets. Hadn’t she seen women do that? Which, she realized belatedly, put her hands right over his tight, firm butt.
The familiar sound of two Harleys roaring into the parking lot once again made it impossible to talk. They remained there until the engines cut. Julian nuzzled her neck as he subtly turned so she could see them. Two men, one with a beard, the other a goatee and red bandana, dismounted. It wasn’t until they turned toward their bikes that she saw their colors—Doomslayers, the top rocker on their vests proudly announced. One guy’s hair was so long, she could barely see the skeleton logo through the greasy strands.
“Not Brick,” she whispered.
The men’s gazes were on her and Julian as they swaggered toward the door, both with leering smiles. The front of their vests boasted several smaller patches. She didn’t see the skull and crossbones, indicating they’d killed for the club, but she still wasn’t exactly comforted. Especially as they paused when they came up beside them.
“Is there more of that inside?” one of them asked Julian.
Julian’s hand slid all the way down to her butt, squeezing it possessively. “We haven’t gone in yet, but I brought my own.” At the same time, he swiveled so that she was slightly behind him and farther away from the men. “You’ll have to get your own.”
One of the men patted a pocket on jeans so dirty, they would probably stand up on their own. “Got some stuff if you’re of a mind to share.”
Drugs. They were asking if Julian wanted to trade sex with her for drugs. The thought repulsed her, and yet she had to keep cool. Julian’s body tightened, but he was keeping his cool, too. She snuggled her hip closer to his.
“Not a sharing kind of guy,” Julian said. “And my ol’ lady’s a one-man type of gal.”
The two bikers traded a look that sent a cold shiver down her body. As though they were wondering if they could take Julian. He casually scratched his stomach, drawing their attention to his waist—where he kept his Glock. Then he gestured to the door. “After you, gentlemen.”
They turned to the metal door and disappeared inside the cavernous interior. One held the door for Julian, who gave him a nod and went in first, his arm now slung across her shoulders. But his hold was tight, his body tensed. Her eyes adjusted, revealing a dingy interior with blocked windows and dim lights strung up by wires on the ceiling. The only bright spot in the whole place was a neon-colored jukebox off to the side. Some big guy was feeding it money, absently fiddling with the chain at his belt. The smoke was as heavy as the music that was playing. No e-cigarettes here.
As Julian confidently led her to the bar, several groups of men paused in their pool shot or dart throw to watch them.
Oh, yeah, she wasn’t going to leave his side. She’d go to the friggin’ bathroom with him.
As though they’d been released by an invisible signal, the patrons returned to their games or conversations, but their gazes remained on her and Julian and the two Doomslayers, who had found an empty table off to the
side. She searched for women first, finding none among the dozen or so people. Next she looked for Brick. He was built like a brick, wide and squared-off. Julian settled on the stool next to hers and ordered two beers.
He turned sideways so that his knees bracketed her and looped his hand around the back of her neck. Then he pulled her close and whispered, “Don’t be so obvious checking out everyone. There are four Vipers near the last pool table watching us. And I don’t much like their expressions.”
Somehow he’d taken note of the rockers on their vests without being obvious himself. With her face now buried in Julian’s hair, she couldn’t see anything. She leaned farther into him, her breasts pressed against his chest, and toyed with his hair as she surreptitiously found the men he was talking about. They were definitely watching with suspicion.
Be easy with him. Look as though she were his ol’ lady. With his silken strands sliding between her fingers, his strong body next to hers, she could do that.
The bartender set two beer bottles down on the scarred wood counter. Julian got to his feet to extract his wallet and paid. He remained standing, and she could feel his readiness. To the onlooker, his entire focus was on her. He wound his fingers around the nape of her neck, tilted her head back, and touched his mouth to hers.
His lips against hers felt electric. Which it shouldn’t, because this wasn’t a real kiss. It was part of the charade to make it look like she belonged with him. The possessive way his lips moved across her mouth was damned convincing, even to her. Her knees automatically slid up on either side of his hips, her hands going around his waist. She knew he would keep it chaste, because he was just that kind of guy. But damn, she wanted to open her mouth and invite him in.
He released her a few moments later but didn’t step back. He ran his finger from the dip in her collarbone up the front of her neck to her chin, giving her a heated look. He was good at this.
But you were good, too. Ahem.
Especially since being kissed in that possessive way was foreign to her. Her body had reacted all on its own. And the way her heart was pattering was a bad sign that it wasn’t just acting.
Wild Ways Page 6