“You should probably, maybe, uh… check that impulse when you’re behind the wheel of a car,” I advised Rush. “Speeding tickets are expensive.”
“No shit,” Rush grinned at me.
“You guys gonna shoot the shit with Tyra for the next four hours or are we gonna get a sandwich?” Tack cut in to ask.
Tabby jumped up and down twice, turning toward her father, shouting, “Sandwich!”
“I want enchiladas,” Rush declared.
“I’ll make fajitas tonight for dinner,” Tack told his son and I stared at him. The idea of rough and ready biker guy Tack in a kitchen cooking was something my mind violently wanted to expunge but it couldn’t because he’d said it.
“Rock on!” Tabby exclaimed, throwing both her arms in the air, fingers extended in devil’s horns. Then she whirled to me and dropped her arms. “You had Dad’s fajitas, Tyra?”
“Um… no,” I answered.
“Get ready to have your world rocked,” Rush stated. “Dad’s fajitas are the shit.”
“I, actually… uh, can’t make dinner,” I started, all eyes, including Tack’s, locked on me and Tack’s, I noticed, looked annoyed for reasons unknown since he hadn’t actually ask me to dinner. “I have a ritual that I never miss on Thursdays.”
“What’s that?” Tabby enquired, her head tilting to the side.
“Thursday Takeaway,” I told her.
“Thursday Takeaway?” Rush asked.
“Um… yeah,” I answered. “Tonight I’m doing Imperial Chinese. I’ve been looking forward to it since last Thursday.”
“Babe, you so totally don’t want to miss Dad’s fajitas. Imperial is sweet but Dad’s fajitas rock!” Tabby declared.
“Seriously,” Rush added.
“Red, get your purse,” Tack ordered.
“Actually, um… I already had lunch so you just go on without me,” I jerked my head to the door and smiled at Tabby and Rush. “But it was cool meeting you.”
“Babe, get your purse,” Tack repeated with a slight modification.
My eyes moved to him and I said quietly, “Tack, I have work to get done.”
“Get your purse.”
“But –”
“Purse.”
“I –”
“Purse.”
“I don’t –”
He bent a bit at the waist in my direction. “Purse.”
I finally snapped, “Tack!”
“Jesus,” he muttered then moved while speaking and where he moved was toward me. “You’re not payin’ anyway so you don’t need your fuckin’ purse.”
I had moved several inches away from the wall but I pinned myself against it again, now willing my body to dissolve through the wall but this also failed. I was in this position for approximately one point five seconds before Tack’s strong hand curled around mine, he yanked me from the wall then he dragged me across the room. Then he dragged me through his children. Then he dragged me out of the office and down the steps where he stopped me on the passenger side of a very cool, shiny black car.
“Keys,” he called, lifted his hand, tagged a set of keys Rush sent sailing through the air then he ordered, “You two in back. Tyra’s shotgun. I’m drivin’.”
Then he unlocked the door and used my hand in a forceful, not to be denied way where I had no choice but to plant my ass in the passenger seat. The minute my feet hit the floor, he threw the door to and rounded the hood. He opened his door, both his kids scrunched into the back and Tack folded behind the wheel.
I stared at the door to the office thinking, guess I’m getting sandwiches with Tack and his kids.
Um. Yikes!
Tack turned the ignition, the car’s engine growled in a totally kickass way and with no other choice, I twisted and grabbed the seatbelt.
Chapter Eight
Open
I sat tucked in the corner of my couch, my knees up, heels to the seat, plate wedged between my thighs and torso and I ate Tack’s fajitas which, just as Tabby said, rocked.
This was after I sat sipping a diet while Tack and his kids had sandwiches, chips and pops with Rush eating two huge chocolate chip cookies on top of that. Through this, Rush sometimes spoke, Tack sometimes interjected, I said a few words here and there but mostly Tabby chattered away, completely over her drama. She was talkative, animated, smart, charming and funny. This was the way she was but it was also the way she was around her father and brother, both of whom clearly adored her so she could safely blossom under their adoration and she did.
This was also something I didn’t need. Rush, the eldest at seventeen, nearly eighteen (Tabby just turned sixteen, upon which Tack gave her a car, the same as he did for Rush, this I learned while Tabby chattered away), I could see as he was her big brother. Tack, since he was her father and she was his only daughter, I could also see but that didn’t mean I wanted to see it.
Badass biker Tack smiling at, teasing and openly adoring his daughter was something I definitely didn’t want to see. One could say the messages Tack had been giving me since I met him were most assuredly mixed. One could also say the personalities Tack had been displaying since I met him were most assuredly multiple. I wanted to focus on the bad messages and scary or annoying personality traits. Tack being a loving father, close to both of his kids, openly respecting his son and definitely being Daddy to his little girl were neither of those.
Fajitas on my couch were also after Tack took his kids and I back to Ride where Tabby hung out in the office with me and Rush worked on the red car in the garage with Tack. Tabby was just as talkative, animated, smart, charming and funny with me alone as she was with her brother and father there. This meant I got zero work done and also was unable to return any of Lanie’s texts, all of them getting increasingly demanding that I inform her immediately that I gave notice. I did manage to send off an, I’m busy, got someone in my office text which finally quieted her down but only after she ordered me to text her the minute I gave Tack my resignation letter.
Tabby in my office also made it impossible for me to avoid fajitas. It was impossible because at five to five, Tack stuck his head through the door that led to the garage, his eyes hit me and he stated, “Tab’s with you, babe, Rush and I’ll follow. I’m on my bike. Rush and I’ll go to the store to pick up the shit, you take Tab to rent a movie and we’ll meet at your house.”
The ten thousand words all rushing up my throat got jumbled and clogged on their way to my lips so I only got the chance to open my mouth before he disappeared behind the closed door and Tabby cried, “Awe… some! Let’s rent Saw! That movie kicks ass!”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I had no interest in renting Saw nor did I have the heart to tell her I wasn’t all fired up to have her Dad make fajitas at my house for his kids and, apparently, me. What I did have was the desire to find her father and then find a way to explain to him that he was a big jerk, I wasn’t playing his games and no matter how he told me to feel, he scared the freaking hell out of me and I wanted no part of it.
Since I couldn’t do the last, I closed down the office, loaded Tabby in my car, we rented Saw, I took her to my house where I immediately opened a chilled bottle of white wine and got her a diet. She wandered my house, declaring it was “the shit” and I changed out of my skirt, blouse and heels into a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a camisole. We were out the backdoor off the kitchen and on the back deck when Tabby heard the growl of her brother’s car and the roar of Tack’s Harley. She popped out of her seat, raced into the house and I heard her greeting her family with loud exuberance at the door, shouting, “Rush! Wait ‘til you see Tyra’s pad. It’s the shit! Her back deck is fah-reeking awesome!”
I closed my eyes and lamented for the fifty-fifth time since I buckled my seatbelt in Rush’s car the decision to show at work after Tack’s slam bam thank you ma’am. Then Rush and Tack showed on the back deck and greetings were exchanged. Rush’s was a, “Hey, Tyra.” Tack’s included his fingers sifting into the back of m
y hair, a gentle tug that brought my head way back to see he was bent in and then he gave me a lip touch that was sweet and supremely annoying at the same time. The latter because he was a jerk and he had no business kissing me and further because I couldn’t demonstrate this or inform him of this fact with his kids in attendance. Something he very well knew.
Tack went to work in my kitchen like he cooked in my kitchen frequently even though his motorcycle-booted feet never stepped into the damned room in his whole badass life, while the kids alternated between him in the kitchen and me on the back deck. Rush, being a gentleman (where he got this, I did not know as it wasn’t from his father), filled my glass twice, even once topping me up when I didn’t need it.
Therefore I was essentially on glass three of white wine when Tack declared dinner was done, the kids raced into the kitchen and I followed much more slowly. We all received piled plates and headed into the living room. Rush stretched out on the floor, Tabby collapsed in the middle of the couch, I took the end and Tack took an armchair.
And there I sat, eating Tack’s fabulous (really, they were amazing, he was a scary biker but it couldn’t be denied the man could cook) fajitas and watching a movie that scared the absolute crap out of me while sipping wine and wondering how in the hell I was sitting in my very own living room with Tack and his kids eating his fajitas, sipping wine and watching a movie that scared the absolute crap out of me.
I finished my fajitas, put my plate on the end table, grabbed my wine and drained the glass, deciding that was a good excuse to escape to the kitchen. I could tell them I needed a refill then wander to the back deck, sit there, drink wine and plan my escape. They probably wouldn’t even know I was gone or, at the very least, I could manage a head start.
At this point, Tabby was on her back, knees bent, the soles of her feet in the couch, head on the armrest, eyes on the screen so I had a direct shot in front of the couch to the kitchen.
So I took my shot.
“Need a refill,” I muttered, standing. “Anyone need anything?”
“I’m good,” Rush mumbled from the floor.
“I’m okay, Tyra, thanks,” Tabby said distractedly.
Excellent. They both were into the movie. A good start.
I walked across the front of the couch and was passing Tack’s armchair when I was stopped and what stopped me was Tack catching my wrist in a firm grip. I looked to him to see him standing.
Then I heard him announcing, “Tyra and I are off-limits for a while.”
“Cool,” Rush mumbled from the floor.
“’Kay,” Tabby said distractedly.
My head jerked back to look at Tack but his hand slid from my wrist to curl around mine. I found the wineglass not in my hand but on the end table by Tabby’s head. Then I found myself being pulled down my hall to my bedroom. Then I found myself in my bedroom. Then I found the door to my bedroom closed.
I jerked my head back again to look at Tack, my mouth opening, my mind deciding I didn’t care if his kids were just down the hall because when I finally made noise, it was going to be loud. But I found my mouth clamping shut because my body found itself in the air. Automatically I grabbed onto Tack’s shoulders, his hands at the backs of my knees swung my legs around his hips and then he took three long strides and I was flat on my back in my bed, Tack on top of me.
I blinked up into his handsome, goatee’d face.
Not this again.
“Tack –” I started, his name vibrating because I was so… freaking… pissed.
“Now that I’m not pissed, baby, we need to take some time to talk shit out,” he said gently.
Oh no, we did not.
I unwrapped my legs from his hips, shoved my feet into the bed and bucked up at the same time I pushed against his shoulders but Tack didn’t budge.
When this didn’t work, I hissed, “Get off me.”
He had a forearm in the bed beside me and his other hand came up to cup my jaw, his thumb moving out to sweep my lower lip. I fought back the urge to bite him as he spoke.
“Just settle, Red, and be quiet. I got something to say and I need you to listen.”
“You do not have anything to say that I want to hear,” I whispered irately.
“You’re gonna hear it anyway,” he replied.
I stopped pushing against his shoulders and glared at him. “Of course I am,” I stated sarcastically. “You want to say something, you say it. You want to do something, you do it. And who gives a shit what I want? Is that the jist of what you were about to say?”
His eyes held mine. “Not exactly.”
“Right, well, carry on, Tack. You’re going to anyway.”
“I see you’re pissed –”
“Mm hmm,” I cut him off. “Good call on that, handsome.”
“Babe,” he murmured and I could swear his mouth was moving like he was fighting a smile.
Oh. My. God!
“Do you find something funny?” I snapped.
“Well… yeah,” he answered.
“Interesting,” I replied. “See, I don’t find anything funny. Because, this afternoon, I was innocently working and the next thing I knew, I was on my back on my desk. That is not cool, Tack. That scared the holy hell out of me.” I ignored his face changing, his eyes changing and what the way they changed communicated to me and kept right on talking. “And just now, I was innocently intending to walk to my kitchen and refill my wine and I find myself flat on my back in my bed, something else that’s not cool.”
“I needed your attention then and I want it now,” Tack returned.
“Well done, handsome, you found a definite winner. You got my undivided attention then and you have it now.”
“You pissed me off earlier, Red, and you been pissin’ me off for a while. It wasn’t a good play to take your shit out on me this afternoon.”
I stared up at him a beat then asked, “I’ve been pissing you off for a while?”
“Yeah.”
My head tilted on the pillow “How?”
“Jesus, Red, don’t act stupid and don’t think I am.”
Um… what?
“Pardon?” I asked.
“I don’t know how it works in your world but I’m guessin’ in your world you can lead a man around by his dick by actin’ sweet then turnin’ on the freeze and ignoring his ass for days. Then you think you can shovel shit at him and he’ll eat it for a chance to get another taste of your sweet pussy, but baby, I’m tellin’ you now, that’s not how it works in my world.”
“Ig… Ig…” I stuttered, “Ignoring your ass?”
“Ignoring my ass.”
“I… I don’t even know what to say. That’s insane.”
“Red, you got my numbers in your phone, all ‘a them. And your car has been at my garage for days and I haven’t once seen your face until I walked into our office today. I left you sweet and smiling in this goddamned bed and I don’t see you or hear your voice for four days? Then I walk into your office and you give me attitude and tell me to kiss your ass because you’re in a pissy mood about some shit you refuse to share? No. You gotta know, darlin’, that shit don’t play with me.”
“Well, Tack, that goes both ways because you showed and were all about biker charm and warm looks and then I got nothing from you for four and a half days. Then you walk in my office and tell me to buy you a sandwich! No. You gotta know, handsome, that shit don’t play with me.”
He studied me a few beats, his eyes flashed then his thumb swept my lower lip again and he murmured, “Well, fuck me.”
“I see the light’s dawning but I don’t care,” I announced. “Too late. I don’t understand the rules to your game but what I do understand, I don’t like. You have got to listen to me, a game is supposed to be fun and this is no fun for me. This isn’t fun at all. When it isn’t infuriating, it’s frightening and I don’t like either of those. I like your kids. They’re good kids so what I’m going to say next reflects on you, not them. I want you to let your ki
ds finish their movie and then I’d appreciate it if you’d get yourself gone and take them with you. And, by the way,” I finished, “I don’t care if you accept my resignation or not. I won’t be in tomorrow and I’m not coming back. Now, please, get… off… me.”
“Listen to me, baby,” he said gently.
“No,” I replied sharply.
“Tyra, listen to me.”
“No!”
His thumb moved to press lightly against both of my lips as his head dipped down and to the side and I felt his teeth nip my earlobe. My body stilled under his at the shocking headiness of his nip, my breasts swelled, my fingers curled into his shoulders and my belly dropped all before he growled into my ear, “Listen to me.”
When I made no response, his thumb slid from my lips and his hand spanned the side of my head, he kept his mouth at my other ear and he held me captive as he spoke.
“Shit is not good in the Club. Shit is not good outside the Club. Shit is not good with Naomi. I got a lot goin’ down, it needs my attention. I need to stay sharp. I do not need to be thinkin’ about your sweet mouth wrapped around my cock or my dick buried in your tight, wet pussy, which is all I wanna think about. When I say I gotta stay sharp, baby, I mean, I don’t, I get dead and when I say that, I mean the not breathin’ anymore variety. You don’t fit into all the shit that’s swirlin’ in my life right now unless I can make you fit. That’s all I got to give you and that’s all you’re gonna get. And you’re gonna take what I have to give, Red. You’re not gonna resign. You’re not gonna disappear. You’re gonna be where I want you to be, you’re gonna do what I want you to do and you’re gonna listen to what I have to say and if you don’t do it, I’ll find a way to make you do it. That scares you, you gotta learn to get over it and you’ll learn not to be scared because I’d rather cut off my own arm than ever hurt you. But you fucked up, baby. You showed me somethin’ I want and I get what I want and I do what I gotta do to get it. So this needs to sink in right fuckin’ now, Tyra. You… are… stuck. Find some way to deal with it and my advice would be, don’t fight it. You fight it, I’ll take you on. That’s a guarantee. Do you understand me?”
Motorcycle Man Page 8