Chaos

by J. C. Cliff

  Well, that was kind of sexy, I think as I half grin at him.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, lifting the glass to my lips.

  He gives me a quirk jerk of his head and quietly watches me sip my wine.

  “I used to be the guy wearing the suit,” he admits once I set my glass back on the bar.

  Turning my attention toward him, he lifts his chin and points to the man across the bar, wearing an expensive-looking, three-piece suit.

  “You used to wear a suit?” I question, snapping my attention back to him. The confession surprises me and I narrow my eyes suspiciously. I cannot envision him decked in silk and having eloquent conversations while making himself look approachable to the general public. Especially not wearing the leather vest he has on now.

  Rubbing the scruff along his chin, he elaborates, “It don’t matter if it’s silk or leather, people will judge you no matter what.”

  Stuck on the fact that he once wore a suit, and baffled at the thought, I blurt out, “You were corporate?”

  He throws his head back and laughs, apparently finding amusement at my curiosity as I try to figure out all his many complexities. The sound is deep and rumbling, and I find myself smiling back at him. He’s got an amazing smile.

  “You could say that,” he responds on a chuckle. Using his thumb, he swipes at the corner of his eye.

  I watch as his smile slowly falls from his face and his features harden. “Appearances don’t make the man.”

  There’s a certain intensity to his conviction, leaving me to contemplate his words. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I don’t give two shits about who judges me. When a man knows his worth, he doesn’t need to prove himself to anyone.”

  A beat of silences passes between us as his features soften. Reaching out, his thumb strokes my cheek and his eyes bore into mine. It’s unnerving the way he looks at me. It’s almost as if he sees into my soul. Suddenly, the sensations cause my heart to flutter and my mouth becomes parched. “It’s what’s in a man’s heart that matters most,” he whispers.

  He must realize he’s gotten way too introspective for his bad-boy biker image, because he clears his throat, and all too quickly lets me go. He reaches for his beer and takes another drink while I pick my heart up off the floor. I find myself roaming his body as he takes another swallow, then yet another before he finally places the empty bottle down.

  As he turns slightly, I catch sight of the back of his vest and the larger patch that spans across the width of his shoulders. “Prospect?” I read the word quizzically aloud. “Oh… I’ve read about that,” I exclaim, and then catch myself, realizing I must be coming off as a dumb ass. Quickly, I straighten my shoulders and try to play it off cool. “I mean in books…” I explain in a rush, “I’ve read about MC gangs and all that.”

  So what if they were romance novels? He doesn’t have to know that. Lifting an eyebrow, he chews on his lower lip as he studies me. Diverting my attention to the worn leather straining against his muscled arms, I bite back a whimper.

  Sweet Jesus, that’s not helping matters any.

  Dipping his head, our eyes become level and I notice his are sparkling with humor. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t get out much?”

  Embarrassed over my lack of experience and ignorance regarding life in general, my cheeks flush.

  I wonder how many times that’s happened since he’s walked into the bar.

  Forcing myself to take back some control and stop feeling like a silly school girl, I boldly reach out and run my fingers over the front patch.

  “So, are you going to tell me what this means?”

  “Blade is my road name,” he replies throwing me a flirtatious wink.

  “Blade,” I repeat, rolling his name off my tongue. “Truth is, Blade,” I stare into his eyes. “I’m new to all this. I’m in uncharted territory.”

  I leave out the fact that I have no idea what a road name is.

  He takes my left hand in his and I observe how carefully he cradles it. My heart flutters at this touch as he gently rubs his thumb over my fingers in a tantalizing slow pattern. We both remain silent for a moment and I wonder if he’s studying the same things I am, if he notices the stark contrast of his tanned fingers against my fair ones, or if he’s just getting off on touching me the way I am him.

  “Judging by that tan line and the indentation on your ring finger, I’d say you’ve been tied down for a while. So, what’s your story, beautiful?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “Are you separated, divorced, or out runnin’ around on your man?”

  My eyes flick to his and I notice they’re narrowed with suspicion. Disgusted with the idea I’d actually have an affair, I yank my hand from his and frown.

  “I’m newly divorced,” I tell him as I glance down at my barren finger and frown. Rubbing my thumb over the tan line, I remorsefully think of the beautiful diamond I once wore with pride. That ring had represented my every dream.

  “Hey,” he calls softly, lifting my chin. “His loss, my gain.”

  The man barely knows me to be making such a bold statement and I brush it off, conceding he’s just a smooth operator. “What, you don’t believe me?” he asks, as if he can read my mind.

  Wordlessly, I shake my head.

  Not for one second, buddy.

  Shrugging, he drops the subject and pushes my glass of wine toward me.

  “Drink up,” he orders, “we’ve got a concert to get to.”

  Taking the glass from him, I draw my lower lip between my teeth and narrow my eyes.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask, only partially teasing.

  Honestly, it seems I lost count of how many glasses of wine I’ve downed.

  Staring at me with a grim expression, he replies instantly, “Don’t need to get you drunk, sweetheart.” I remain silent and take a much-needed sip of liquid courage, because this man is intense as hell. Catching me off guard yet again, he leans close—so close our lips almost touch and I feel his breath against my mouth. Exuding sex and sin, he whispers, “Any woman that gets under me comes willingly and hard.”

  A chill runs down my spine at his crass words, and I realize I don’t have to be a mind reader to know there are dirty thoughts racing through his mind, mainly because I’m thinking them too.

  Wondering what it might feel like to have his mouth on mine, I scoot a fraction closer to him. Would it be wrong of me to close the distance and kiss him?

  “Yes, Annmarie it would,” I scold myself.

  Grinning a smile that spells mischief, he pulls back an inch. “You talk to yourself a lot, don’t you, sugar?”

  Did I say that out loud? “Oh my god!” Shame warming my cheeks, I look away as he laughs at my embarrassment. As sexy as the rich sound of his laughter is, I still want to crawl underneath my barstool and disappear. A sheepish smile forms on my lips.

  “There it is, Ree,” he drawls softly, tapping the tip of my nose. “There’s that pretty smile again.”

  “Annmarie,” I correct, snapping out of the trance he’s put me in. “My name is Annmarie, not Ree.”

  Licking his lips before he rubs them together, he delivers a flirtatious wink and I know for certain he’s going to call me whatever he damn well pleases. Even a sheltered woman such as me only needs one minute with the man to know he’s a man who adheres to his own set of rules. He does what he wants, says what he wants, and I’d bet he’d damn anyone to hell if they tried to intervene.

  It’s uncanny and completely arousing.

  I pause briefly, pondering what one night with him might be like.

  I mean, what wrong can possibly come from two strangers enjoying a few hours of fun together.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ordering us another round of drinks, I usher Ree toward a table and take the seat against the wall. Maybe it’s a guy thing, but I never leave myself vulnerable. A man keeps his back to the wall and his eyes on the door.

  Diverting my eyes back to Ree, I
bite the inside of my cheek. I was told she’d be sitting at the bar with a glass of wine. According to the email, her purse would be black and it would have a red bandana tied around the shoulder strap.

  Dreading tonight, I purposely arrived five minutes late. There was no fucking way I’d wait on a woman. Especially one with a fucking mole as big as my dick.

  I guess the joke was on me.

  Walking into the bar I nearly choked on my own spit when I first laid eyes on her. I knew it was her at first glance. Not only did she meet the description of what I was on the lookout for, she was the only woman sitting at the bar. If I was a bitch, I would’ve pinched myself. I haven’t had a streak of luck like this since I was a bookie when the Seahawks won the Super Bowl in 2014 for the first time ever. I remember being there in MetLife stadium as if it were yesterday. I fucking cleaned house, and so did the Seahawks.

  She was so engrossed with whatever she was doing she didn’t sense me sneaking up behind her. Stopping inchers from her backside, I caught her talking to herself and leaned into her, eavesdropping on the one-sided conversation. There wasn’t much to take in, but it didn’t take a genius to know she was a ball of nerves. Rightfully so after catfishing me the way she did.

  Unable to stop myself, I responded to her gibberish as I breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume. When I whispered in her ear, I got a sick sense of pleasure when her body jerked with surprise, picturing her naked and bucking against my mattress. Shaking the dirty thoughts from my head, I slid into the barstool beside her and got lost in her beauty. I had to force myself to look away and pretend that she didn’t affect me. She might’ve lied through her fucking teeth, but she was still sexy as fuck.

  She wore this sultry fragrance that clung to me like a second skin, and it took everything in me to keep my boy contained behind my zipper. Her long blonde hair was straight and fell perfectly down her backside. Her makeup wasn’t overdone like so many of the bitches I knew and those eyes of hers— those fuckin’ crystal blues—were big, round, and captivating. I sat down beside her and found myself struggling not to get lost in them. To be fair, she appeared to be having a difficult time keeping her eyes to herself too.

  When she called bullshit and accused me of lying to her, I tensed. For the first time, I didn’t want to own up to the piece of shit I am. I wanted to be better, someone she found worthy of her time. To say I was relieved she didn’t press the issue would be an understatement. I think she backed off because she felt some level of guilt, having lied about herself too and couldn’t rightly call me out. Instead, she conceded, accepting my excuses, allowing me to skirt around the truth.

  There was no reason for her to know my brothers set me up as a joke and as far as I was concerned, the less she knew the better. She was divorced, which was a relief considering I didn’t fuck with cheaters. I didn’t care how fine her ass was, I wouldn’t piss on my morals. Where I come from, you’re either in a relationship or not, and if so, you’re fuckin’ faithful. I have zero tolerance for that shit. Had it turned out that she was in fact married, I would’ve had to find some other bitch to photograph.

  That thought gets me thinking. She doesn’t strike me as easy. Nah, someone who carries herself with as much class as she does, won’t spread her legs on a dime. I’m going to have to work extra hard at getting into her pants.

  Or maybe not.

  Judging by the way she’s been looking at me, I’d say my little liar is wound tight. It’s probably been a while since she’s gotten off and with any luck she’ll be willing to change that.

  She comes off as innocent, and as refreshing as that is, I can’t help but wonder what she might be like if she unravels. The clothes she’s wearing, they may be sexy as fuck and make her appear like a tough-as-nails broad, but I can tell it’s all a front. A man can’t survive the streets without being able to read a person and lucky for me, I’m a pro. She’s more of a cashmere and caviar type of broad. The getup she’s wearing, that shit is a costume.

  But I ain’t complaining.

  I’m just fucking relieved I don’t have to tote around a mutt on the back of my bike.

  Ree’s hot as hell.

  The fact that this shit backfired on the club, that’s icing on the cake.

  Unable to keep my eyes off her, I memorize her features as if someone, like one of my brothers, is going to appear and yank her away from me.

  “What do you do, Blade?” she asks, cutting through the silence.

  Telling her I run guns and break knee caps will send Ree running. “I’m a silent partner in a bar in North Jersey.” Which is true. I helped front some of the cash needed to purchase the bar. It was a show of good faith and my loyalty to Chaos.

  A genuine grin tugs at the corners of my lips as I think about how the Riders of Chaos MC were bested by a woman. I just want to revel in this moment and reflect on the surprised looks each man will have once they find out. I’m especially looking forward to Rush’s reaction. I visualize the smug expression I’ll be wearing when the fuck calls church and they vote on giving me my colors. Oh, how sweet it will be to take that patch and reveal the truth about Ree to them.

  “What’s so funny?” Ree asks frowning at me as she cocks her head to the side. She then nervously starts picking at her nails.

  My brows knit together in confusion, wondering if I’ve offended her by laughing.

  “Not laughing at you, darlin’,” I tell her, dropping any hint of humor. Her shoulders relax at that, and I wonder what kind of douchebag her ex is. Realizing I’m getting too involved, I clear my throat, needing to change the subject.

  After tonight I’ll never see her again. She’ll go back to her cashmere and caviar while I revel in chaos.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After finishing our drinks, Blade stands and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. Expecting him to pull out a wallet, I watch in fascination as he produces a wad of cash. Laying some bills on top of the bar, he grabs a rubber band from his wrist and wraps it around the thick bundle of bills before shoving it back into his pocket. Finding this unusual and funny, I almost laugh out loud.

  Almost.

  “You ready to roll out?” he questions, extending his hand to me.

  The invitation to touch him causes me to forget about the ridiculous way he keeps his money and I lace my fingers with his. Lifting my chin, I offer him a smile and eager to get moving, reply, “Heck, yes!”

  Feeling the effects from the wine, I let go of my inhibitions, making a conscious effort to enjoy myself.

  “Let’s roll,” I mimic, earning an amused smirk.

  Blade leads me toward the front door and I notice several people turn their heads to stare at us. I suppose we make quite the pair, but I’m too excited over my first ride to give a damn. Ignoring them, I let my eyes wander to his perfect tight ass. His jeans ride low on his waist, hugging every muscular contour and leave very little to the imagination, making me wonder if they were tailor made to fit him. It’s a ridiculous notion and I bite my lip to keep the silly grin off my face as I picture Blade standing in front of a tailor, legs spread as he measures his inseam. Shit, I’d like to measure his inseam.

  Whoa, Annmarie.

  Where did that come from?

  I definitely reached my quota on drinks.

  As we reach the door, Blade pushes it open and steps aside, allowing me to go first. It’s the practiced move of a gentleman and makes me wonder if he’s this chivalrous in other areas. Shaking my head, I step outside and draw in a deep breath of fresh air. Blade follows me out the door and takes my hand again.

  Keeping in stride with him, I watch as he reaches inside his leather vest with his free hand.

  “I still don’t know your real name,” I remind us both.

  Hoping he will tell me, I peer up at him through the fringe of my long lashes. “Or should I just call you Johnny like the ad said?”

  Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, Blade bends his head and uses his teeth to slide one from the pack.
Poised between his lips, he drops my hand and flicks a flame to the tip. Studying me intently, he takes a drag and contemplates his reply.

  “Blade is the only name you need to know,” he says as he exhales a puff of smoke. He might look hot as hell with that stick to his lips but that doesn’t change the fact that I absolutely despise the smell of cigarettes. Lifting the collar of my jacket to cover my nose, I wave a hand in front of my face, dismissing the cloud of smoke wafting past me.

  “Smoking is a terrible habit,” I scold as he takes another pull.

  “I have a lot of bad habits, sweetheart,” he retorts in a raspy voice. “Smoking is the least of ’em.”

  Frowning, I reach into my purse and pull out a tin of mints. Ignoring his outstretched hand that holds a spare helmet, I rise on tiptoe and flick the cigarette from his lips. Shocked, his eyes widen before they slice to the cigarette laying on the asphalt as I ground it out with the heel of my boot. Lifting my eyes, I watch as his narrows in anger and he grits his teeth. Unaffected by his intimidation, I shrug. It’s bold move for a woman like me and completely out character. Blame it on the alcohol.

  He continues to stare at me in bewilderment as I take the helmet from his hands and drop the tin of mints in his open palm. Closing his fist, I cock my head to the side and whip my long hair over my shoulder.

  “Should you get the urge,” I imply, fitting the helmet on top of my head.

  Stewing in silence, he bites the inside of the cheek, another habit of his I notice, and glances down as his now open palm and the tin of mints that rests there.

  “You know if you chew on the inside of your cheek too much, your cells won’t replicate normally. Once you change the cell structure permanently, it could cause cancer.”

  His jaw ticks for a moment, and I swear I can hear him grind his teeth. There is no mistaking the anger fliting in his dark irises and I pause for a second to wonder if I’ve overstepped. Just as I’m about to apologize for being a nag, he breaks his heated stare and pops open the tin, pouring half the mints into his mouth.