In a full-throttle run, I blasted past the shop’s open garage doors, locked up the rear brake, and spun the bike into a 180-degree tailspin.
Halfway through the controlled skid, I released the brake, downshifted two gears, and hit the throttle.
Now pointed directly at the open doors, the bike shot through them and onto the spotless concrete floor of the shop.
I grabbed a fistful of front brake and the pressed the rear brake pedal at the same time. The bike came to a screeching stop in the center of the shop.
After whacking the throttle a few times for good measure, I killed the engine.
Crip was leaning against the work bench drinking a beer. Unless he was taking care of beating someone’s ass, he could always be found in the same spot.
Against the bench with a beer.
“God fucking damn you, P-Nut,” he howled. “Don’t come in this shop like that. You’re going to kill someone one of these days. And, I’m sick and fucking tired of you revving that piece of shit up in this shop. It’s un-goddamned-called for. This is the last time I’m telling you.”
He was the president of the Filthy Fuckers MC, and a former navy SEAL. He was a wise man, a great leader, and someone I comfortably called a brother. Despite holding him in such high regard, I treated him as if he irritated me. In fact, I never let anyone know how I felt about them.
I considered doing so a sign of weakness.
I pulled off my helmet, hung it over the handlebars, and reached for my smokes. “That’s what you said the last time.”
“Well, this is the last time.”
“Until next time.”
“I mean it.”
“I’ll slow that fucker down when I’m too old to control it.”
He crossed his arms. “What the fuck brings you in here this time of day?”
“Ever heard of the Selected Sinners MC?”
“Yep.”
“What do you know about ‘em?”
“Decent bunch of fellas, I think. Midwest presence. Kansas, Texas, and maybe Oklahoma. Up and coming club, for sure. President’s name is Bishop. Axton Bishop. Why?”
I lit my smoke, took a long drag, and nodded. I was damned impressed with his knowledge, but I wasn’t about to let him know.
“Girl who lived next door is the cousin of this Bishop fella. She just found out. Didn’t know she had any relatives. Long story, but I might be makin’ a run out that way to see him.”
“Smidge?”
“Smudge.”
He shrugged. “I was close.”
“I’ll start calling you Crop instead of Crip. Suppose that’s close enough.”
He let out an audible sigh. “Need some club presence on that run to see him?”
I took a long pull off my cigarette and then blew the smoke in his direction. “Nope.”
He waved his hands through the plume of smoke, as if coming in contact with it would kill him.
He shot me a glare. “1,500-mile run is a long one. Going without a chase vehicle or a few of the fellas isn’t a good idea.”
“1,364, to be exact. And, I ain’t lookin’ to have any of the fellas tag along, thank you very fucking much.”
“Remind me why you’re in this club.”
“I love large groups of sweaty men.”
“I’m being serious. You’re one hell of a rider, I’ll give you that. And you never miss a meeting, a ride, or a run. When it comes time to take care of business, you’re right there, every time. You’re devoted, that’s for damned sure. But you want nothing to do with anyone in this club unless it’s on your terms.”
I took another drag off my cigarette and considered what he’d said.
I locked eyes with him. “I’d take a bullet for anyone in this club, you included. Two things in my life are important to me, family, and this club. But, I’m no different than anyone else in this MC. I don’t swap spit with every swinging dick who wears a patch. Don’t know ‘em that well, and don’t care to.”
“You run with Smokey, Pee Bee, and Cholo. That’s it. Club’s a damned sight bigger than that, ‘Nut.”
I spit out a laugh. “The patch earns my respect, but friendship comes hard, Prez.”
“Just saying, you ought to try running with a few of the other fellas. Get to know them.”
I thought of the prospect that ended up being an ATF agent. Smokey, despite my warning, had befriended him. In the end, he was a cop who was posing as a biker.
I chose my friends wisely, and only after a long period of them proving themselves. With me, trust was earned over time, and never simply given.
Trusting people exposed me and those I cared for to risks, and I wasn’t in the risk-taking business.
“Let me ask you a question, Boss.” I said, my tone sarcastic.
He took a drink of beer and then gave me a condescending look. “I’m all ears.”
“Other than club business, when was the last time you rode with Bones?”
He glared.
“Big Larry?”
He took a drink of beer.
“T-Bone? Lightning?”
“I can’t ride with everyone,” he growled. “I’ve got a club to run, ‘Nut.”
“I can’t ride with ’em all, either. But I’ll ride with the ones who prove themselves.”
“Your point is what?” he asked.
“My point is that you and I are lot alike, but for different reasons. You don’t like people, and I don’t trust people. End result’s the same.”
He finished his beer and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. “Suppose I’ll give you that. Let me ask you a question, ‘Nut.”
“I’m all ears,” I said mockingly.
“You trust me?”
“Trust you? Absolutely. Just don’t like you,” I said with a laugh.
“Don’t care much for you, either,” he said dryly. “You want some company on that run to see Bishop?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t even mentioned it to Smudge yet, but I was sure she’d want to go. The thought of just the two of us going was exciting, and I was actually looking forward to it.
“Doin’ this one alone, Boss. Nothing against you or the club, but I’m taking the girl on a fact-finding mission, and she’s pretty sensitive right now. Tough patch in her life. She’s kind of like me, she ain’t too trusting.”
His eyebrows raised. “Something need taking care of?”
“Already took care of it.”
“Care to elaborate?”
I considered simply saying no, and then decided to tell him the truth. I got little recognition out of being one of the good guys, and needed all the help I could get.
“Stepdad was beating the shit out of her, and I didn’t know it. Tough little bitch, that’s for sure. Found out he’s been beating on her for years. Saw her at Biggs a week ago, and her eyes was damned near swelled shut. So, I took care of him.”
“Her stepdad?”
“Yep.”
“Son-of-a-bitch.” He crossed his arms over his chest and inhaled a long breath through his nose. “I’ll pay that motherfucker a visit.”
“Already taken care of.”
“He still walking?”
“Yeah, but he looks like someone stuck his head in a garbage disposal.”
He looked down at the floor and shook his head. After a moment, he exhaled and looked up. “You said you saw her at Biggs. She the new girl there?”
“She’s the new girl in parts, yeah.”
“That’s Smidge?”
“Smudge, god damn it.”
“That’s her?”
“Sure is.”
“Jesus jumped up Christ. She’s a fucking looker. Peeb and me went in for fork seals. God damn. How old is she now?”
“Same age as your Ol’ Lady,” I said.
He shook his head lightly. “She single?”
I shrugged. “Ain’t sure. Smoke and I are thinking she might be gay.”
“One way to find out,” he said.
I coughed out a laugh. “Not like you in that respect, Boss.” I turned toward my bike. “I don’t fuck youngsters.”
“If you aren’t fucking her,” he said. “Someone else will be. Think about that.”
I raised my right hand high in the air. “Appreciate ya, Boss.”
If I’m not fucking her, someone else will be.
Oddly, that was all I thought about on my ride home.
Chapter One Hundred Seventy-Seven
Joey
The sound from his exhaust shook the windows of the house, giving warning that he would be walking through the door any minute.
Crap!
I was close, but I wasn’t finished with our celebratory dinner.
He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and let out a howl. “Holy fucking shit it smells good in here. You cooking again?”
“Yes. Chicken.”
“That’s not normal chicken. That smells good.”
“Chicken adobo. It’s Filipino, I think. It’ll be done in just a few. Sorry, I wasn’t sure when you were going to get home.”
“I sent you a text and said I’d be here at 6:00.”
You sent me a text?
It wouldn’t seem like much to most women, but the thought of him caring enough to send me a text message all but floored me.
“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t see it.”
He came into the kitchen and walked up behind me. While I turned on the burner for the rice’s water, he rested his chin on my right shoulder.
Then, I felt his breath against my neck.
Oh God.
“Damn, that smells good,” he whispered.
He rested his hands against my waist and peered over me. I knew his gestures were innocent, but my knees went weak nonetheless. I struggled to keep from collapsing, and reached for the bowl of vegetables with a shaking hand.
“It’ll be done in just a minute,” I murmured.
His chest pressed against my back. “Can I taste it?”
His warm breath against my ear caused goosebumps to rise along my upper arm.
My knees did the wobbly thing. Again.
My interaction with men had been limited to minimal kissing and a mountain of blowjobs that led to nothing else. The intimacy of a gentle touch and whispering in my ear were new to me. My body – and mind – were reacting favorably.
But.
I knew his intention wasn’t sexual.
“Test it?” I muttered.
“Taste it.”
“Sure.”
As I fumbled to grab the spoon, he released my waist with his right hand. His muscular chest pressed against my back. My eyes fell closed momentarily. When I opened them, I gasped at the sight of him reaching into the skillet of hot food.
“It’s hot!”
He plucked a small piece of meat from the pan and raised it to his mouth. “Dear God. That’s good. Kind of spicy. And sweet.”
I heard him lick his fingers. Then, he released my waist.
The air shot from my lungs in an inadvertent choppy exhale, a reminder of the emotion that had built within me.
Being touched by him was an incredible feeling.
I wished I could bottle what I was feeling and open it at any time I liked.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.
I was so flustered that I had no idea what I was doing, or what my next step was going to be. I knew I needed to finish preparing the meal, but I gazed at the stove, not really knowing what in the hell was going on.
I’d never been in such a state of confusion, especially from someone simply touching me.
“It’ll be uhhm…I’ll have it ready in just a minute,” I stammered.
I tried to rub the goosebumps from my arm, but didn’t totally succeed. I grinned at the feeling of the irregular skin beneath my palm.
“I’ll wash up,” he said.
Or, you could stand behind me with your hands on my waist.
I let out a sigh. “Okay.”
The water boiling over the top of the pot brought me back to reality.
While he used the bathroom, I cooked the rice and sautéed the vegetables. When I realized the meal was ready, I found it odd that he hadn’t returned to the kitchen.
I turned toward the hallway. “It’s ready!”
“I’m coming,” he shouted.
Before I turned around, he opened his bedroom door.
Holy cow.
The change was subtle, but it was enough to cause my heart to skip a beat. Dressed in dark jeans, sneakers, and a button-down shirt, he looked fabulous.
I stole an eyeful of his handsome looks and swallowed hard.
He tugged against the tail of his shirt as he walked, and then looked up. My heart rose into my throat. I couldn’t pry my eyes away from him. I waved my hand toward the stove behind me.
“It’s uhhm. It’s. It’s ready.”
“Let’s do it,” he said. “My mouth’s been watering since I had that sample.”
I was wearing an oversized hoodie and a pair of jeans. The look had become somewhat of a trademark of mine. Short of when I worked at the dealership, it was all I wore.
The change from my typical wardrobe to dressing sloppily came in my latter high school years. After being asked on dates, taken out, and then later cast aside because of my revolting leg, I decided to make a change. The alteration to my appearance didn’t prevent male interest altogether, but it sure minimized it.
In turn, it lessened my pain.
“Let me uhhm. Let me change really quick, okay?”
He stepped aside and then shrugged. “Okay.”
A hint of his cologne found its way to my nose. Without me consciously telling them to do so, my hips began to twist back and forth.
It was my cue to leave.
“Be right back.”
I shuffled to the bedroom. A wisp of his scent and the image of him stepping from his bedroom followed me.
After much thought, I nervously emerged from my room in a fitted tee, an old pair of tight-fitting jeans, and my sneakers. Other than seeing me at the dealership in my cleavage-revealing uniform, I was sure Percy had never seen me wearing anything but baggy jeans and a hoodie.
I held my breath and walked toward the kitchen. Normally I’d perceive wearing the fitted shirt and the tight jeans as a risk, but for whatever reason, I felt that Percy wouldn’t cast me aside if he found out about my leg.
His eyes went wide. “Damn. That’s cute.”
“I always like the way you look,” I said. “But you look nice, too. I like that shirt.”
He swallowed hard. “You look good all the time, too. But I like those jeans.”
“Thank you.” I grinned. “Ready to eat?”
“Ready if you are.”
We filled our plates and sat down. After a few bites of chicken, he ate some of the vegetables and then looked up. “You can cook this any time. Christ on a cracker, girl. You’re a keeper.”
A keeper?
I gazed blankly at my plate. “A keeper?”
“Someone’s going to be blessed to have you as a…to have you…you know…to have you as a partner.”
Partner?
It seemed like an odd choice of words. Nonetheless, I liked the point he’d made. “Thank you.”
He took a few more bites, and then lowered his fork. “Can I…can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Are you…do you…” He let out a sigh. “Hold on a minute.”
He seemed nervous, and I wondered just what it was that he was uncomfortable asking me. His eyes fell to the table. After a moment, he looked right at me.
“Are you gay?”
I coughed an unexpected laugh. “Me?”
I’d never thought anyone would suspect I was a lesbian, but now that he mentioned it, I could see why he might conjure up such an idea. I couldn’t help but wonder if such a belief had prevented him from noticing the affection I occasionally tossed in his direction
“Uhhm. No.
Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I’m sure not.”
No shit?” he said excitedly. “You like guys?”
“I uhhm. Yeah. I do.”
He nodded. “Okay. I was just wondering.”
His gaze fell to his plate.
I cleared my throat. “Do you like girls?”
The question obviously caught him off guard. He locked eyes with me, and then arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Do you like girls?”
“Fuck yes,” he snapped back.
“I was just wondering. I’ve never seen you bring one home.”
“I’ve never seen you with a guy, either.”
“So, we asked the question for the same reason I guess. Huh?”
“I don’t bring women here because I don’t trust ‘em. To tell you the truth, I don’t trust people.”
I felt privileged, but still had to ask. “Why’d you let me come here?”
The question seemed to bother him. His eyes narrowed slightly. He began to poke at his food. After piercing a piece of chicken with the tines of his fork, he lifted it from his plate and looked at it.
He shifted his eyes to meet mine. “I think I might trust you.”
I trusted him and found it odd that he wouldn’t trust me.
“You think you might?”
“I’m thinking so. Might not seem like a big deal to you, but it’s a big deal to me. So, for what it’s worth, I’m thinking I might trust you.”
I chuckled a light laugh. “I’m thinking I might trust you, too.”
“You got trust issues, too?” he asked.
“No, not really.”
“Why don’t you go on dates?”
Sooner or later I’d have to tell him, but I sure wasn’t planning on telling him on that night. Revealing my promotion was my intention, but the plans got changed.
I silently blamed him, his cologne, and his breath against my neck. Not that I was complaining.
I inhaled a short breath, looked up, and exhaled. “I’m a burn victim.”
“A what?”
“A burn victim.”
He squinted. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve been burned really bad, and I’m self-conscious about it. I’ve been on a few dates, and the guys always left me after they saw it.”
“If they left you because of that, they were stupid fuckers.”
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