by Jessica Ames
I pull up outside the apartment block she’d directed me to. The ride went too fast and I can’t wait to hit the road, forty-plus hours of nothing but her and me. We’ll either fuck each other senseless before we reach New Jersey, or she’ll have smothered me in my sleep. Right now, it could go either way.
Her apartment is located just outside the main downtown area of Temecula, close to the bar. I’m grateful for that. I don’t like her being on the bike in a skirt. If I lay the bike down, all that pretty skin on her legs is going to be one big road rash.
With such precious cargo on the back on my bike I take it slower than I would usually, carefully navigating the traffic. Luckily, the late hour means there isn’t a lot of it, but all it takes is for one cage driver to take their eye off the ball for us to end up roadkill. I love riding, but it comes with dangers.
Her apartment block is a modern looking building that doesn’t look like it has great security, which pisses me off. Carla is a club princess. She should be somewhere safe. What the hell is Gunner thinking letting her live somewhere like this?
I growl a curse under my breath as I cut the engine on the bike, both my boots placed on the asphalt.
“What’s your problem now?” She huffs as she climbs off the back and starts to undo the helmet. As soon as her hair is free, her hand goes to her flattened curls. She still looks beautiful, even without the volume of her hair.
“Ain’t got a problem,” I tell her, watching the movement of her hands.
“Why are you growling then?”
I scowl and kick down the stand before climbing off the back myself. I check my bike is secure before I turn back to her, tugging the bandanna off my face and pulling my helmet off.
“Where’s the security, Kitten?”
“Why would I need security? And stop calling me Kitten. My name is Carla.”
I grin at her before I sober. “Your pops know you’re living in a place without locked gates on the front?”
“My father knows what I want him to know. I’m not sixteen, Rooster. I don’t answer to him.”
I snort. She may think that, but we all answer to Gunner in the end.
I follow her as she strides over to the front door of the ground floor apartment—another tick in the shitty security box—and I lean against the wall by the door as she slips her key into the lock.
She steps into the apartment first and I move in behind her, my eyes everywhere. Inside is nothing like I imagined. The décor screams old, and I don’t mean falling into deprivation, I mean everything is vintage. The couch is in the style of the nineteen-thirties and there’s old posters on the wall from the war. Pinup models who share a similar hairstyle to hers are in frames lining the back wall. It’s like I’ve stepped into a time capsule. It’s stylish as fuck, though, not that I know jack about style, but I can tell a lot of thought went into the decoration.
“This is a hell of a place you’ve got,” I tell her.
Carla’s eyes find mine as I finish sweeping the room and a little pink infuses her cheeks. After a moment, she tears her gaze away and I feel my lips pull up into a smirk. Yeah, she’s interested, even if she’s pretending she’s not.
“Thanks.”
I shove my hands into my jeans’ pockets. “Pack light,” I say. “Ain’t room on the bike for whatever girly shit you want to bring. One bag. That’s it.”
Her eyes roll. “I don’t have ‘girly shit’. I have necessities.”
I sigh. This might be harder than I thought. “Make sure your ‘necessities’ fit into one bag.”
I watch as she crosses her arms under her tits, my eyes gravitating there of their own volition. I’m only human. Tits are tits and when they’re in my eye line…
She clears her throat and I lift my eyes. “My face is up here, pervert.”
I grin at her. Busted. “Go and pack. I want to make it at least a couple of hours before we find somewhere to stay for the night.”
“It’s late. Are you going to be okay to ride?”
“For a moment there, it sounds like you care about me.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
I laugh. “Being on the back of a bike is second nature to me. As soon as I start getting tired, we can stop for the night.”
She sighs loudly and disappears up the small hallway toward what I assume is the bedroom.
I peer around for a moment, before I sink onto her couch. It might look nice, but it’s the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever sat on. Couches are built to feel good, to relax on. I don’t understand how anyone could ever get comfortable on this thing. It’s like a torture device.
In the end, I just perch my ass on the edge of the cushion.
“You need a new couch, Kitten. This thing is an abomination to couches.”
“What?” she yells from the bedroom.
“Your couch is shit.”
Her head pops around the door, scowling at me. “No one asked you to sit on it.”
“You want me to stand?”
“Honestly, I’d rather you weren’t here at all, yet here you are.”
I put a hand to my chest. “Ouch, that hurt.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes skyward. “Like you can be hurt.”
I smirk at her, but I have the feeling she could be the only person capable of causing knife wounds in my skin.
“You packed?”
“I was halfway through when you started complaining about my couch.” She disappears back into the bedroom and doesn’t come out for another ten minutes. I’ve studied every inch of her living area in that time. It’s fussy as hell, but I do like that there’s something new to find every time you look.
When she steps back into the room, I push to my feet. Surprisingly, she did as I asked and managed to get all her shit into one small bag. I’m amazed. I really thought we’d be arguing about lightening her load.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” she mutters.
“Kitten, this is going to be a long trip if you don’t lighten up.”
“If you’re expecting me to lighten up you’re going to be waiting a long time. I don’t want to come on this trip. I have no interest in going back to Jersey. I just wanted to live my life in peace, free from bikers and drama. Is that too much to ask?”
This woman…
I let my lips lift at the corners. “When you pull that stick out of your ass, make sure you let me know.” She fires me a death glare, which I ignore. “Come on, let’s hit the road.”
She looks like she’d rather do anything but, although she does follow me out, and I can’t help but wonder if we’re going to survive the next few days.
Three
Carla
I hate him. I hate his breathing guts. The man is obnoxious, full of himself and okay, he might have reason to be considering he looks like he does, but that’s not the point. I want to throttle him even as I want to scale him like a tree. My hormones are all over the place.
I watch as he fastens my bag to the back of the bike, the thick muscles in his arms bunching as he moves. He’s sexy as hell, but the man knows it, which isn’t attractive, but even so, I can’t stop watching him.
I have a problem.
When he’s done, he turns back to me and I clamp my jaw shut. I wonder if I was drooling too.
He grins, as if he knows where my thoughts have gone and my mouth pulls into a scowl.
Jackass.
I fasten my helmet and check my jeans are tucked properly into my boots. The last thing we need is for a loose piece of clothing to get caught while we’re riding. When I’m sure everything is okay, I pull the zipper up on my leather biker jacket. It’s a warm evening, but on the back of the bike, it’ll get cold after a little while.
Rooster roams his eyes over me, lingering over the narrow set of my waist before he rubs a thumb over his lips.
“A biker’s fucking dream,” he mutters and I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, it’ll definitely be in your dreams.”<
br />
He climbs onto the bike, making a big show of cocking his leg over the back. This man… he’s crazy. Why on earth did my father send him? Of all the bikers in his club…
He could have sent Grim or Bullet. Anyone would be better than this asshole. I’d rather spend the next few days with one of the club bunnies, women who sleep with the brothers on the regular, than put up with this brazen biker.
“You getting on?” he demands when I don’t make any move to get on behind him.
What the hell am I getting myself into?
I sigh and move over to the bike. I climb on the back, using his shoulders to steady myself, ignoring the electricity that whizzes through me as I touch him. I’m not even going to think about it, because thinking about it would mean admitting I feel something for this man, and I absolutely do not.
Nope.
As soon as I’m seated behind him, he glances over his shoulder at me, giving me a grin. He turns back around and starts the bike up, the rumbling of the engine vibrating through me, the roar of the pipes loud. Without invitation, he reaches behind him and grabs my hands, pulling them around his waist.
“Let go,” I hiss at him, but he just chuckles.
“Retract the claws, Kitten. I’m not trying to get into your panties, but this is safer than traveling with you hanging onto the bitch bar at the back.”
“Says who?” I demand, trying to pull my hands free, but his hold on my wrists is like iron shackles around me.
“Says me. We’re going to be hitting speed when we get onto the highway. I need to know you’re going to be safe sitting behind me.”
I give up trying to free my hands and sigh loudly. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
“You don’t sound excited about this road trip.”
I lean forward and hiss in his ear, “Let’s get one thing straight, Rooster. I’m only sitting behind you because I have no choice. I’d rather walk than have to touch you.”
“Ouch, that was a shot to the heart.” I can hear the laughter in his voice and it makes me want to strangle him.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re the most infuriating man on the planet?”
“It’s come up in conversation a few times,” he admits.
“I’d say I’m surprised, but I’m not.”
He laughs before he hits the gas and we take off. I try not to lean into his back, but with the wind whipping at us, I have to duck behind him to protect myself. I should have put a bandanna on.
The roads are quiet because of the late hour, lit only by the streetlights. As we get on the I-10 and head east, I find the tension leaching out of my shoulders and I relax, enjoying the ride. It’s been a long time since I was last on the back of a Harley and I forgot how freeing, how amazing it feels. It’s like flying. It makes all the ugly thoughts, all my worries dissipate—for a time, at least.
I can’t help but worry about my father and if he’s okay. What is going on that is so bad I need to come home? In the six years I’ve been away from home, he’s never once demanded I come back to New Jersey, which makes me think whatever is happening is really bad, and that makes panic flare through my stomach. The thought of my father in danger sends knife pricks along my spine. He’s all I have left. My mom did a Houdini on us when I was just a few months old. She didn’t want a kid and was happy to leave my dad to raise me. It’s always been the two of us, which makes me feel like the worst daughter for staying away all these years. He sacrificed so much for me. I should have done better. I was wrapped up in my own needs, though, my own feelings. I never stopped to consider how my actions might hurt my father. I didn’t stop to consider what leaving did to him. Now, it could be too late.
I want to interrogate Rooster, find out what the danger is, but there’s no way of talking on the back of the bike, so all I can do is enjoy the ride.
By the time we pass Palm Desert, palm trees lining sections of the road, I’m starting to get tired. I don’t know how Rooster is still riding, but he manages another nearly two hours before he pulls off the I-10 and finds a motel just off the highway in a place called Blythe. It’s right on the California-Arizona border.
He pulls into a space in front of the reception and kicks down the stand. I climb off, my legs feeling like jello. We must have been on the road for at least three hours, maybe more and my body is feeling it. I’m cold and I’m aching. I can’t help but think flying would have been easier than this.
When I wobble, he reaches out to steady me.
“Easy, Kitten.”
“My legs are numb,” I complain, which makes him chuckle. “Are your legs numb?”
“I’m used to riding.”
How the hell anyone can be used to riding like that for hours, I’ll never know.
I watch as he climbs off the bike and undoes his helmet. He has helmet hair, which would make me laugh except I’m sure my own looks horrible, too.
“Come on, let’s go book a room.”
He places both our helmets on the back of the bike and together we head into the office. There’s a rangy looking guy behind the counter who eyes us like we’re there to rob the place. Bikers get a bad rap, but considering Rooster isn’t even wearing his cut, I find the man’s attitude annoying.
“Can we get a twin room for the night?” Rooster asks.
The guy eyes him then moves over to the computer. After typing for a couple of seconds, he mutters, “Going to need a credit card.”
Rooster pulls out a card from his wallet and slides it over the counter. The thought of a biker having a credit rating almost has me laughing, but I manage to hold it back.
He pays for the room and the man hands him a key.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a real people person?” Rooster asks as he slides his card back into his wallet. It disappears into his ass pocket.
The man grunts and Rooster grins as I stifle a laugh. “Really, your conversational skills are top notch.”
He eyes Rooster. “You need something else?”
“I’d suggest some hospitality, but I think that’s a losing battle.” He turns to me. “Come on, Kitten.”
His hand comes to the small of my back and I feel the heat of his hand burning through my skin. I should pull away, but I can’t bring myself to. He feels good against me.
He gets our bags off the back of the bike before he directs me towards room number six and when he moves his hand to open the door, I feel the loss of his touch.
He steps inside, hitting the lights. It floods the space, which is clean, although basic. Not that we need much. There’s two twin doubles and a dresser. A bathroom sits off the main room. The carpet is brown, worn, but clean.
Rooster moves to the window and tugs the curtains over, shutting out any prying eyes while I sink onto the edge of the bed. I remove my boots, wiggling my toes when they’re free.
“That was a long assed ride.”
“Yeah, but we’ll have less far to go tomorrow. You want to use the bathroom first?”
I shake my head. “You go.”
He shrugs and heads into the room. I listen as the shower starts up. He’s naked in there.
My mouth dries and my eyes linger on the door. I may dislike him, but I’m not immune to those good looks or that dimple.
I’m flicking through the television channels, trying to distract my mind when he steps out of the bathroom, a white towel slung around his hips. My eyes move to his abs, and what abs they are. The guy doesn’t quite have a six pack, but it’s not far off, and his chest is inked with different designs I want to study. He’s hotter than Hades and my body is reacting to him, whether I want it to or not.
I’m in so much trouble.
Four
Rooster
She’s staring at my body like I’m a piece of prized meat. I grin. I knew she wasn’t immune to me. When I catch her staring at my chest, I can’t stop from firing back her own words at her.
“My face is up here, pervert.”
Her eyes snap
to mine before she scowls, her mouth pulling into a tight line. I can see how much I’m getting under her skin, but for some reason, I enjoy the banter between us.
“Believe me, you’ve got nothing I’m interested in.”
“I would believe you, except you were ogling me.”
She splutters and shakes her head. “I was not.”
Her attention goes back to the television, but she’s not really focused on it. I can tell by the way she keeps casting me side-long glances.
“Woman, your eyes were all over my body.” I put my hand to my chest. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know? I’ve got feelings.”
This makes her snort her disbelief, which makes my smirk widen.
“I know exactly who you are, Rooster.”
“And who’s that?”
Carla turns to face me, her eyes blazing fire. “You’re the type of man who thinks he can get what he wants with just a few honeyed words or a look.”
She’s got me sussed completely. I am that guy, but it usually works. I’ve used this method of getting what I want for years. She’s proving tough to crack.
“That’s not all I am.”
Her eyes nearly roll out of her head. “I figured you out the moment you sat down at my bar. I knew exactly who you were and what you were about. That view hasn’t changed. You’re a cocky bastard with no regard for anything but getting what you want, and I’m not ‘on the menu’.” There’s a lot of derision in her words. There’s also a lot to unpack there. “Look, I get it I need to go home. I’m going, willingly—”
“Debatable,” I mutter.
“—but that doesn’t mean we need to talk or pretend to be friends.”
“Who’s pretending? I thought we were friends.”
Her eyes narrow and I’m pretty sure she’s considering kicking me in the balls. “Can you be serious for five seconds?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”
She throws her hands up into the air, exasperation in the movement. “The only way we’ll survive the next few days without killing each other is if we just don’t talk.”