Seven
Stone
After peeling myself off the damn concrete, I looked around at my scattered groceries. I grabbed the handlebars of my bike and tipped it back up, grunting as I moved. I’d taken many dives over the handlebars of my motorcycle over the years. I knew how to tuck and roll. I knew how to protect myself. Even though my helmet somehow ended off my damn head and mingled itself with the broken glass, I kept myself out of harm’s way.
Came with the territory of my lifestyle.
“Fucking hell,” I murmured.
I gathered up the things that weren’t completely ruined on the road. Four bottles of beer that hadn’t busted. The cheesecake that hadn’t popped open. Some other random shit that hadn’t mangled itself in the process of pouring out of my bike. I shoved it all back into the storage compartment before closing it up. Then, I dusted my leather coat off and started looking around.
Traffic eased slowly around me. Some, to get around the glass, and others? To get around me. I looked around at the cars to see which of them speeding off had hit me. Surely there was some sort of mark on their fender or some shit. People in San Diego were notorious for hitting bikers and speeding off. Like if they hit us, we were going to automatically pull weapons on them and fill them with lead.
I looked behind me and saw a woman behind the steering wheel of a rundown station wagon. Wide blue eyes. Dark brown hair piled into her face. Her beauty would have made my cock throb had it not been for the trickling of blood running down her nose.
I furrowed my brow as I leveled my eyes with her.
She was hurt. How badly? I studied her from beyond her windshield as people continued cruising beside us. Around us, like we didn’t fucking exist. I narrowed my eyes a bit to get a better view, moving my body to get around the glare of the sun off her damn windshield. I didn’t want to spook her. If she was hurt or concussed, she needed a fucking doctor.
But I saw those hands of hers white-knuckling her steering wheel. And I didn’t want to spook her away.
Slowly, I bent down. My hand reached around onto the ground, trying to locate my helmet. If I held her eyes, she probably wouldn’t run. She probably wouldn’t try to flee the scene. Just in case, though, I needed to make sure I had my helmet to toss over my head. The blood kept running down her face, and she was so shell-shocked I wasn’t even sure she noticed it. Her tan skin radiated with the sun that bared down onto our backs. And when I didn’t feel my helmet grazing my fingertips, I tore my gaze away from hers.
Away from those striking ocean blue eyes.
I picked my helmet up as quickly as I could. I leaned back up, steadying my bike against my thigh. I tossed my helmet around in my hands, trying to make sure the outside of it hadn’t been compromised. I pressed it between my palms and gauged its give. It didn’t feel cracked. It didn’t groan or give underneath my skin. A grin slid across my face as my eyes leveled with the woman’s again. My helmet was good to go, and I was ready to challenge her if she decided to flee the scene.
I should have known the second I slipped that damn thing over my head, it would be on.
Just as I brought it down against my neck, I heard the squealing of tires. Horns honked and people cussed as a waft of wind crashed against my left side. Oh, this pretty girl had guts. Lots of them. I watched her station wagon tear around the left-hand turn at the light as my leg quickly slipped over my bike.
“Not on my watch,” I murmured.
I was equal parts pissed and concerned. Her car weaved around, and I didn’t know what kind of condition she was in. Also, she fled the scene. They always fucking fled the damn scene. Without a care in the world as to the damage they could have possibly done to myself or my fucking bike. I chased after her, blowing through the red arrow as I careened around the corner. I ignored the people who yelled after me and honked their horns like some chorus of fuckwads who were angry at absolutely nothing.
I had a woman to track down.
I followed her from stop to stop, trying to keep a distance. For some reason, I kept toggling between unhinged anger and unadulterated worry. Every second that passed by made me more concerned for her head and more confused as to why the fuck I cared so much today. Maybe it was because of this shit with the club or maybe it was because of that bullshit at the grocery store with that woman and the guy stalking her out.
But I figured I was at least warranted in chasing her down.
What the hell was in the water for these women today anyway?
I pulled off onto side roads and kept on her tail. I used tactics Notch taught me to keep my bike as muted as possible. I followed her from stop to stop, keeping an eye on the old, beat up station wagon she drove. The damn car looked like it was about to shit itself simply from love-tapping my chrome back end.
“Woman’s not safe in that car, either,” I murmured.
I darted down another back road, keeping my eye on the intersections. Every time I passed one, she passed. Our vehicles were perfectly in sync. We rode that way for a few blocks, my bike muffled and her car groaning at the speed she was trying to move.
Then, I crossed an intersection that didn’t have her matching up with me.
With a furrowed brow and a worried state of mind, I slipped myself down the alley. I came out at the intersection, shrouded by the buildings that loomed over me. My eyes cased the road. I looked across the street. I tried to track down where the fuck that girl had gone before I found her pulling up to a window at a fast food joint.
She paid for some food. She pulled up to receive it. Then, right there in the damn drive through, she inhaled some french fries and a drink.
My kind of woman.
I grinned as she eased out into traffic. She was in the perfect position for me to make my move. I looked both ways before my feet eased my bike out onto the main highway, and I slipped into the lane beside her. I revved my engine as I picked up speed. I saw her tap her brakes before her car sped up. She darted in and out of traffic, weaving around cars in an attempt to get away from me.
But no old station wagon was a match for my bike.
I rushed to catch up with her in the lane that was clear in front of me. She kept pulling into it to try and get around other cars, but it was no use. The stoplight coming up in front of us was yellow, and I had a feeling she wasn’t the type of girl to risk blowing a red light.
I smiled widely when she slowed down at the red light.
I rode up beside her and peeked in through her window. She kept her eyes painfully straight, her knuckles still white against her steering wheel. She was cute, I’d give her that. Ballsy, for sure. It looked like the blood on her head had dried and she wasn’t puking up her food, which was a good sign.
I pushed away my worry and let my anger have its turn.
I reached over and knocked my knuckles against her window. At first, she ignored me. Her eyes darted over, but she didn’t turn toward me. But after the bang of my fist against her window, she jumped and looked my way.
She locked those ocean blue orbs with mine and I felt my stomach clench.
Why the hell does she have to be so cute?
I waved my finger around in the air, motioning for her to roll down her window. The lights were cycling through, leaving us stranded in the lanes that headed out toward the ocean. The woman quickly shook her head no. Like she thought she had a choice in the matter.
I flipped up my visor and glared at her, and it wasn’t long before her window rolled down. Giving me the perfect view of her voluptuous tits that sat against a thick, vivacious body.
Just my fucking luck.
Eight
Hayley
I panicked. Even though I tried to keep my cool on the outside, I felt like raging ocean waters on the inside. I couldn’t believe I left. I still couldn't believe I’d fled the scene like that. But something in the pit of my gut told me to. And that was something I’d listened to my entire life. When all else failed, my gut never steered me wrong.
No
t once.
I looked into the dark green eyes of the man glaring at me through my driver’s side window. I wasn’t sure what to do. He kept motioning for me to roll down my window, and I was hesitant to do so. But he looked mean. Mad. Bad. And I wasn’t sure what he’d be capable of doing to me if I didn’t listen.
Fucking hell, I wished my father was with me to help me through this.
I rolled my window down just as the light turned green. Yet again, cars started honking. The damn mating call of San Diego, it seemed. The man looked down into my lap before his eyes slowly rose up my body, and I felt a flush cover my cheeks.
What the hell was he looking at? And why did he look so pleased with himself?
I debated on flying away again. On pressing down the gas pedal and speeding away. People swerved around us and shouted all sorts of nonsense I didn’t listen to. Because my eyes were hooked on this man that kept staring at me from beyond his helmet. I watched his arm move. His leather-coated arm, as it slid into my car. He breached the threshold of my rolled-down window and wrapped his hand around my steering wheel.
His very large, scarred, callused hand.
“Press the gas. I’ll drive,” he said.
My stomach jumped at the sound of his voice. A shiver worked its way up my spine. I shook it away, wondering if I should listen. It would be nothing to press the gas and rip away from him. Take his damn arm off in the process. I mean, would anyone care about some beat-up biker? All I had to do was tell them he was intimidating me or something, right?
No. That was shitty. Running hadn’t worked the first time.
And something told me it wouldn't work a second time around, either.
I pressed softly down onto the gas and he drove my vehicle. He commanded his bike as well as my car and eased us both slowly off to the side of the road. We pulled into a parking lot, his hand controlling my wheel as well as the steering on his bike. I watched with wide eyes as I kept my foot on the gas, ready to speed off the second I smelled something fishy about this entire experience.
Like it hadn’t already gotten that way.
I reached my hand over into my purse as he eased us into an abandoned parking lot. Traffic moved freely and the horns stopped honking. People stopped cursing at us and continued on with their day like nothing happened. Like I hadn’t knocked over some biker and run from him only to have him in control of my damn vehicle with his hand.
His hand I couldn't stop staring at.
I saw the veins running underneath his skin. His tanned, leathery skin. Like the jacket on his body. He had grease underneath his fingernails and tattoos on his knuckles. I couldn't make out what the black tattoos said. They were old. Worn. Faded with time. Or possibly the sun.
“Off the gas,” he said.
I pulled my foot away from the pedal and smashed on the brake. I slipped my hand into my purse, pulling out my pepper spray as I put the car in park. I had no idea who the hell this guy was or what he was capable of. But I could almost guarantee he was packing. Men like him always were. At least, that was what my father told me about these kinds of guys. People who rode with motorcycle gangs like he so obviously did.
That asshole wasn’t putting the barrel of his gun anywhere near me today.
He let go of my steering wheel once I put my car in park. He moved his arm away from me. Away from my body and out of the car. But his leather brushed against my chest and I got the smallest whiff of what I could only assume was cologne. It was musky. Deep. Rich with oak. The slightest brush of his leather against me sent chills throughout my body. The kind that made their way to my pelvis and warmed my body from head to toe.
My nipples puckered against my bra as I sat there, wondering what the hell was about to happen.
I turned my head to face him and took in his form. He sat there on his bike as he slid his helmet off his head. His tan skin blended to his brown hair. And those dark green eyes of his captivated me. The vein on his neck was thick with protrusion, and it fell beneath a black t-shirt. His legs were long. Curled up tightly onto his bike to keep himself and the vehicle steady. His thighs were strong, and the muscles of his arms bled through the leather of his jacket effortlessly.
And when he turned his torso toward me, I saw the divots of his chest through the tight ass black shirt he had on.
I was completely derailed by how handsome he was.
“There a problem, officer?” I asked cheekily.
“The hell were you thinking, driving away like that?” he asked.
Whatever playful demeanor wanted to come out and have a chat tucked itself back in. I turned my body fully toward him, gazing at him through my window. He didn’t seem as intimidating as he once did. Even though I clearly saw the gun on his hip, he made no move to reach for it. He didn’t even poise himself to quickly grab at it if I pissed him off.
Maybe playing dumb would work.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
His face fell and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
“Why did you drive off after hitting me?” he asked.
“I didn’t realize I’d hit you.”
He pointed. “I’d say the dried blood on your forehead tells otherwise.”
Shit. I forgot about that. Well, at least I didn’t have a concussion. At all. If it was that easy to fucking forget about. I rose my fingertips and felt the dried blood. I winced at the pain as my skin slid across it. Oh, it was tender. That would leave a very nice bruise to explain to my father later.
What the hell was I going to tell him?
“I’m not buying it. I know you’re the one that hit me. So, why the hell did you drive off?” the man asked.
My eyes slowly fell down his frame again. I used my beat of pause as a last chance at admiration. Because the man was very good looking. Tight jeans. Tight shirt. Leather that felt good against my skin. I’d always loved the feel of leather. I owned a pair of leather pants back in college, and they were my fucking favorite.
I eventually got too big for them, but hell. I still had them in my drawer for one of these days I decided to finally drop the twenty pounds I needed to drop.
“Well, do you want me to call the cops, then? Have them sort this accident out?” I asked.
His glare hardened on me. “No. I don’t want to deal with the cops.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“So, what are we going to do about this predicament?”
“I don’t know. I’m not versed in the law. That’s what the police are for,” I said coyly.
I held his eyes, and he held mine. Then, his anger broke. I watched his eyes flicker to my forehead and I could have sworn worry crossed his stare. Worry? From a biker? Hardly. Maybe I was a bit concussed. Seeing things. Imagining things that weren’t there.
Then, he smiled.
He smiled, and his green eyes lit up. He smiled, and the darkness was chased away. He smiled, and my gut clenched, because he had the most fantastic smile on this planet. His strong jawline made those gleaming white teeth more powerful. The wind kicked up and tousled his hair, giving him a rather boyish look. I stared up at him as the scowl on my own face lightened, and I watched his eyes drop down my body one last time.
Oh, I liked it when he looked at me that way.
“I don’t think anything’s wrong with my bike. Anything wrong with your car?” he asked.
“Nope. Drives good,” I said.
“I should hope so. You did a pretty good job getting away until you stopped for food.”
I face fell. “Wait, you saw me eating?”
“I did.”
I felt embarrassed in that moment. I wanted to roll up the window and cower in shame. Sure, I wasn’t ashamed of my curves. But I had ways of offsetting my size with men. Like, eating fucking french fries with a damn fork so I didn’t look like a rabid beast.
“Just in case, though, I should probably grab your number,” he said.
I sighed as my hand slipped into my purse. I felt aro
und for my wallet before diving my fingertips in there, searching for my new business card. They’d come in the day I moved. The day before I packed up and hauled ass from Los Angeles to San Diego. I pulled the card out and placed it between my fingers, then held my hand just shy of the window’s opening.
“Thank you,” the man said.
“Call me if something happens to your bike,” I said.
“Or if I want to get french fries with someone.”
My head whipped over to him and I found him grinning at me.
“What?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I like fries. They’re my favorite. Though, you should’ve gotten two large ones instead of one. So your fries make it all the way through your drink.”
I paused. “What?”
“I’ve always been a sucker for sweet and salty. Try it next time. Two large fries instead of one, extra salt, and a large soda.”
“I… usually don’t get extra salt if it’s a large.”
He chuckled as he licked his lips, and my nipples puckered harder. Was he… flirting with me? It’d been so long since someone had, I wasn’t sure if it was happening or not.
Then, he winked at me. I saw that. I saw that playful little wink of his, and that solidified it for me. He was flirting with me.
And I liked it.
“I’ll call you if something happens to my bike,” the man said.
“Or if you want someone to eat fries with you,” I said, grinning.
“I knew you were a smart one, catching on like that.”
“Might take me a second, but I always learn.”
“You enjoy learning new tricks?”
My skin puckered at his voice.
“Depends on the trick,” I said.
He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Then, he slipped my card into his pocket and used his feet to backpedal his way out of the parking space.
Nine
Stone
Stone: The Lost Boys MC #2 Page 5