Ruthless
Page 26
I rolled my eyes. “Just tell him I’m out front, Jess.”
“I will. Coffee. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Bye.”
I didn’t wait for Jessica’s reply before I pushed the end button and then shoved my phone back into my purse. What was it about me that made even my best friend, Jessica—who knew all about the crap I went through in high school with my family and Michael—so ridiculously protective of me? I was a strong woman, dammit. She, of all people, should know better.
I took a second to get my irritation under control, then I turned to Tucker with a somewhat fake smile. “He should be right out.”
Sure enough, not even a minute later, the gate rolled open and my best friend’s man was striding toward my car. I’d met Zag a few times. He’d practically lived at the hospital while Jess was recovering from her gunshot wound. But most of our interactions were when Jessica was there, so I must’ve caught his softer side. There was no evidence of that now.
The streetlight illuminated the harsh planes of his face; his cleft chin and razor-blade cheekbones stood out in sharp relief. Even his shoulder-length hair didn’t soften his edges. If anything, they just showcased how much he belonged in this world.
Unlike me. I still hadn’t changed out of my job attire. My white summer dress definitely didn’t fit in here. I must have looked like a virgin sacrifice. I was way out of my league. But Tucker, nervously picking at his nails in the backseat, reminded me exactly why I was here doing this. Someone had to look out for this kid. I really hoped his dad was better than his train wreck of a mother.
“Sit tight,” I told Tucker before I opened my car door and stood in the V between my door and the car. “Hey.”
Zag stopped a few feet away, and I could tell by his expression he wasn’t impressed, either with me, the grinding sound my car was making, or the fact that I was sitting in front of his biker clubhouse.
Something told me it was probably the latter.
“What the hell are you doing here? Because the only reason a single girl like you shows up is to audition to be a club whore. If that’s the case, you’ll have to blow Sig first,” he said, nodding toward the stocky guy at the gate. “That’s the price of admission around here.”
“You take that back!” Tucker bounded out of the car and stood toe-to-toe with Zag before I could blink. Even though his nose only came up to the biker’s chest, he shoved a pointed finger in Zag’s face. “Ms. Clark is awesome. She’s not like that!”
“Tuck?” Zag looked from the kid to me and back to Tucker. “What are you—how are you—”
“This would be ‘what the hell I’m doing here.’ ” I couldn’t help the snide note in my voice. His comment about paying the admittance fee burned. “Tucker thought his dad was here, and I need to have a word with him.”
I glared at Zag and tilted my head, hoping that my expression told him what I really didn’t want to say in front of Tucker. Mostly that Zag could go screw himself. Although I was pretty impressed that Tucker was willing to stand up for me with a crazy biker. I hoped he got some of those amazing qualities from his dad. Maybe Mr. Gifford wouldn’t be as scary as Zag.
Hey, a girl could hope.
“Sig, go get Reb.” Zag barked the order to the biker guarding the gate but didn’t look away from Tucker. “I’m glad Ms. Clark has someone like you to look after her, Tuck. She needs it in a neighborhood like this.”
It wasn’t exactly an apology, but Tucker’s shoulders puffed up with pride at the compliment as he dropped his accusatory finger. It would’ve been cute but for the look Zag sent me. He clearly wasn’t happy that I was in possession of his buddy’s kid. And here.
Hell, neither was I, but that didn’t mean I was just going to hand him over to whoever claimed to be Tucker’s dad. We were gonna have a little conversation first.
My self-righteous resolve crumbled as I caught sight of the biker striding toward us.
He was huge. His wide shoulders cast a large shadow behind him, and from what I could make out in the dim light, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He would’ve looked more like a football player than a biker but for the leather vest, boots, and badass swagger.
I had no doubt he was Tucker’s father as the kid took off at a run with a shouted “Dad!”
And then I was treated to the amazing sight of this big, bad biker cuddling with his kid. Well, not cuddling exactly—Tucker was eight, and a boy, so clearly too old for that, but it was dang close. He clasped Tucker to him for a brief second, and I could’ve sworn he dropped a kiss onto the top of Tucker’s head. But it was all over quickly when Tucker pulled away and mimicked his dad’s stance.
“What the hell are you doing here, kid? And who brought you?” Tucker’s dad crossed his muscular arms over his equally muscular chest and surveyed me from head to toe. Something in his expression made me think he found me sadly lacking.
Tucker crossed his arms. “This is Ms. Clark. She lives next door to Mom at the apartments. And she’s awesome.”
A smirk crossed Tucker’s dad’s face. He gave me one more once-over, a bit more searing this time, before he turned back to his son. “That doesn’t explain why you guys are here.”
Tucker quickly lost his defensive stance and ducked his head.
I stepped forward and shut my car door with a slam. “We’re here because I need to have a conversation with you, sir. In private.”
Mr. Gifford’s lips quirked at my “sir.” How anyone with heavy stubble and neck tattoos could look both intimidating and amused was beyond me, but he did. Might’ve had something to do with the poor lighting on the street. I really wanted to be able to look into his eyes, but I’d need a step stool to accomplish it.
Of course, right then my car made an awesome coughing sound, and the headlights dimmed for a second before the engine leveled out and purred once more. That wasn’t good. I really needed my car to last a bit longer. I couldn’t afford to replace it right now.
Instead of staying toe-to-toe with Mr. Gifford, I ducked back inside my car and shut it off before it really embarrassed me by dying. I stepped back to close the door but ran into a solid object that definitely wasn’t my door—it was more man-shaped. My cheeks heating with a blush, I was careful to keep a respectable distance between me and Mr. Gifford as I closed my door.
“Your car sounds like shit,” he rumbled.
An aroma of tobacco, leather, and man wafted between us. Why did he have to smell so damn good? I shook my head slightly and turned back to the matter at hand. “Yeah, well, it works for me for now.”
He grunted in response. “Follow me.” Tossing one arm around Tucker’s shoulder, he walked around my car and up the sidewalk.
The gate ahead of us rattled as it slid open. I stared at the razor wire for a beat. Were they trying to keep people in or out? Unwilling to examine that thought too closely, I followed them into the compound and the gate clanged shut behind us.
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