by Devney Perry
Bastard should have shot me.
I wasn’t sure what Dad had done to get the guy to drop the charges, but they’d been dropped and the guy had moved out of town the next week. After that, I’d learned to be more verbal during a fight. Before I knocked anyone unconscious, they knew that if they talked to the cops, they’d pay with their life.
How many people saw my face in their nightmares?
Doubt had become a familiar feeling these past few years. Doubt. And shame. I’d been proud once. Proud of the man the club had made me. We’d lived our lives by following a set of rules not born from society, but from brotherhood. I’d been so sure of those rules, so steadfast in following them.
Then I’d begun to question them all.
That was the beginning of the end for the Tin Gypsies.
Years ago, after Emmett’s father had been murdered in the parking lot of The Betsy, the club had voted in change. Too many men had been lost, too many loved ones. It had taken us almost six years to unwind the club’s illegal dealings. To change the mindset of an old and outdated legacy.
We’d spent that time building up the garage so it could provide enough income to cover what we’d made illegally. No more drug protection runs. No more underground fighting ring.
Thanks to a lot of work and a little luck, the garage was more successful than any of us had imagined it would be. And when it came time to decide whether the Gypsies stayed a law-abiding club or parted ways, in the end, we were all ready to put the past to rest.
I wasn’t the only brother who’d looked in the mirror and hadn’t liked the man staring back.
Most of the club’s members took the money they’d stashed away and moved to new towns and into new homes. They left old demons behind for a fresh start. Those of us who stayed formed a new family, this one centered around the garage. Dad, Emmett, Leo and me.
I craved this normal life.
I’d thought the norms of society would be suffocating. Turns out, life was easier on this side of the law. It was nice to have people make eye contact when they passed you on the sidewalk. Nice not to see mothers grab their child’s hand when you looked their way. Nice to not be constantly looking over my shoulder.
At least, it had been until Bryce Ryan had shown up with her yellow notepad and goddamn curiosity.
I wouldn’t let her ruin this new life we’d built. I wouldn’t let her threaten my family. The only way I could protect us was by getting the information first.
“Tell me about Amina Daylee.”
Dad blew out a long breath. “Not today.”
“Dad—”
“Please. One day. Give me one day. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I frowned but nodded. Then I changed direction, driving him home instead of to the garage. We didn’t speak as I wound through town. When I parked in the driveway of my childhood home, I stayed in my seat. “Tomorrow.”
He opened the door and nodded. “Tomorrow.”
With his head hanging low, he walked to the side door of the house and went inside.
We only used the side door at Dad’s place. The front door hadn’t been used in years. Even the mailman knew to drop packages at the side entrance.
Because none of us would walk up the front sidewalk. Not Dad. Not Nick. Not me. None of us would set foot on the place where Mom’s blood had once stained the cement. You couldn’t see the stain anymore. The rain and snow and sun had worn it away.
But it was still there.
Nick and I had both tried to get Dad to move out of that house. There were too many memories there, too many reminders of what we’d lost.
But those memories had a different effect on Dad. He stayed in that house because it was where he’d lived with Mom. To him, she was in the walls. The ceiling. The floor.
He’d die in that house before letting her go.
A chill crept over my skin and I shook it off, reversing out of the driveway and heading to work. When I pulled into the parking lot of the garage, I was in a shit mood.
Why would Dad need a day? Why wouldn’t he want to talk about Amina and how she’d been killed? Didn’t he want to find the person who’d framed him?
Had Bryce been right? Did he have sex with Amina? Who was that woman besides an old high school friend? To my knowledge, Dad hadn’t been with a woman since Mom had died. Maybe to punish himself. Maybe because he didn’t want another woman in his life. Sleeping with Amina would have broken one hell of a streak.
It unsettled me some, the idea of Dad with anyone else. He’d been loyal to Mom. Always. He hadn’t done anything wrong. So why was this bothering me?
I walked into the garage and found Emmett underneath the hood of a Chevy truck. “Hey.”
He looked past me, searching for Dad. “Where is he?”
“At home.”
“What?” He scowled. “We need to talk.”
“I know. But he wants a day. We’ll give it to him.”
“Who wants a day?” Leo asked, walking up to us with a bottle of water tipped to his lips.
“Dad.”
The water bottle dropped from his mouth. “Fuck that. We need answers. If it’s the Warriors setting him up then we need to—”
I held up a hand, my eyes cutting over to Isaiah, who was working in the next bay. “Not now.”
He nodded, clamping his mouth shut.
We all trusted Isaiah as a mechanic, but we weren’t going to get into old club business with him around—not just for our sake, but for his.
“Let’s just . . . be patient.”
Emmett scoffed. “Something the three of us excel at.”
“Yeah.” I took the phone from my pocket and walked over to a workbench, setting it and my keys on top. Then I looked at the workboard. The guys had the normal stuff covered, so I’d get to work on the Mustang. Work is good.
I could use some time with my tools and an engine. I could use some grease on my hands and time to think. Because come tonight, I needed to have a plan for dealing with Bryce Ryan.
I needed a plan for getting her onto my side.
“Get off my porch.”
I chuckled, tipping the beer bottle to my lips. “Hello, Bryce.”
“What are you doing here?” She stood in front of me, her hands planted on her hips. “How did you know where I live?”
“Do you really want to know?” I doubted she’d want to hear that I’d been following her around for days.
“No.” She’d come from the gym because her hair was up in a ponytail, a few tendrils near her temples still damp with sweat. Her black leggings molded to her lean legs. Her tank top was tight around her breasts and stomach, leaving only her graceful arms bare.
My dick jerked to life as I pictured peeling those clothes from her body, setting all her curves free. Best not to think about her naked, not when I was trying my new tactic.
“Beer?” I nodded to the six-pack by my boot, which now only had three bottles.
“I’ll pass.”
“More for me then.” I shrugged.
“Now that you know I don’t want a beer, take them and go home.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?” She tapped a foot on the sidewalk. “Just hop on your bike and be on your way.”
“You weren’t here. You made me wait for you and I got thirsty. So I had to drink three beers. Can’t drive now. Someone will have to come and get me.”
“I’ll call you a cab.”
“Can’t.”
“Why?” The tapping foot got faster. God, it was fun pissing her off.
“My bike. Can’t leave it on the street. Have to take it home.”
“So you’re just going to sit on my porch until you’re sober enough to drive home?”
“If you insist.”
She growled at me, then bent low to take a beer from the pack. Off came the cap with a twist, but instead of putting it to that supple lower lip, she surprised me yet again.
She poured my beer onto the lawn.
; “What the—” I shot off the single concrete step, reaching for the bottle. But she put her shoulder in my way, blocking me, as my perfectly good beer soaked into the green grass. “Is there a reason you’re wasting my beer?”
“Yeah. I want you off my porch.” She set the empty bottle down and reached for the pack again. This time it was my turn to block her. “Relax. I’ll drink the other two and maybe by the time they’re gone, you will be too.”
I put my finger in her face. “Pour another one out and next time I’ll show up with a case.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
I sat first, taking a beer out and twisting off the top. I gave her another warning stare before handing it over.
She took a small sip. “So back to my first question. What are you doing here?”
“Getting to know you better.”
“And why is that?”
“Let’s call it curiosity.” I took a long drink. “You’re kind of boring. You go in to the paper early every morning. Your dad is always there first. Then Santa Claus. Then you. Everyone else comes and goes, but you three keep a fairly regular schedule.”
If I surprised her by knowing her routine, she didn’t let on. She just sipped her beer, her eyes locked on the quiet street ahead of us. “That’s the downside of being in charge.”
“Sometimes you walk to the coffee shop on Central, though not every day. Lunch is usually at your desk unless you’re running around trying to fill in one of your notepads. And then you’re gone by five, straight to the gym. Except Tuesday, when you had dinner at your parents’ place. Taking a guess that’s a weekly thing.”
Bryce took a longer swig of her beer and the color rose in her face. It was the only sign that I was getting to her, but it was enough. “Anything else?”
I leaned an inch closer, the heat of her bare arm burning into mine. With our skin nearly touching, I bent my neck so I could talk right into her ear. “You hate doing laundry.”
She turned, barely missing my nose with her own and narrowed her eyes. “How’d you know that? Did you break into my house or something too?”
“No.” I ran my hand up her bare arm, from wrist to shoulder. Her breath shook and the fine hairs on her forearm rose. Her chest heaved but she didn’t pull away.
At least I wasn’t the only one affected by this magnetism between us. By this chemistry and this . . . want. Touching her pushed my control to the edge, so before it broke, I flicked the material on her tank top and moved away. “It says so on your shirt.”
She flinched, looking down at the words on her gray tank. The color in her cheeks flushed brighter as she scooted away an inch, pretending that my touch hadn’t just scorched us both.
I’d come up with a plan as I’d worked on the Mustang today.
My intimidation tactics weren’t working on Bryce and never would. She didn’t care that I had money. She didn’t care that I had power. She didn’t care that I had enough pull in this town to ruin her precious newspaper.
Because she was different. She wasn’t going to respond in the same way as a man. So instead of treating her like I would a man, I had to treat her like the gorgeous woman she was.
I couldn’t threaten her into silence, but maybe I could seduce her onto my side instead.
The plan had seemed brilliant an hour ago. Now that I’d touched her, maybe it was as goddamn stupid as it seemed.
How was I supposed to seduce a woman who made it impossible to think about anything other than stripping off those leggings?
I took another long drink of my beer and cleared my throat. “Paper comes out on Sunday. Anything you want to throw in my face before then?”
“Not at the moment,” she said quietly as I studied her profile.
Her nose was straight except for a small bump at the end. Her lips were plump, the bottom slightly wet from the beer. She even had a nice chin. I don’t know if I’d ever noticed the shape of a woman’s chin before but hers was tapered to a soft point. I couldn’t think of a nicer chin in the world.
“You’re staring.”
I blinked. “Yep.”
She twisted her neck to meet my gaze. “At the risk of being repetitive, you haven’t answered my question. Why are you on my porch? Because if it’s to intimidate me by telling me you’ve been following me around or to threaten—”
I slammed my mouth down on hers. Oh, hell. I never made the first move on a woman. My seduction technique was shit. But I couldn’t resist that mouth, and I had to taste it. I slid my hand up her face, my thumb resting on that perfect chin.
Bryce sat frozen. I’d already swallowed the little gasp she’d let out as my lips had crushed hers. She didn’t pull away. I waited for it, mentally counting the seconds before her beer bottle would smash into my temple. I’d need stitches for sure.
Except it never came.
Instead, she melted.
My tongue darted out and licked her bottom lip, tasting her own sweetness with the bitter beer. She parted for me and angled her head, giving me permission to sink in and get wet. And God—I moaned down her throat—she tasted good.
She slid her tongue into my mouth, but before we could get serious, she yanked her face away, her cheeks flushed and her eyes full of that familiar angry fire. Bryce stood, swiping up her beer to march to the front door. The keys rattled in her hand and the door pushed open, but before she disappeared inside, she shot me a snarl over her shoulder.
“Drunk or not, get the hell off my porch.”
Yeah. That was a damn good idea.
Chapter Eight
Bryce
My fingers drifted from the steering wheel to my lips. Since Dash’s kiss on Friday evening, I couldn’t stop touching them. All weekend long, I’d caught myself staring blankly into space with my fingers to my lips. No matter how much I rubbed them clean, no matter the many coats of lip gloss I applied, his touch was there like an invisible tattoo.
Why had I let him kiss me? Why had I kissed him back? Exercise, that’s why. I was blaming all of this on exercise.
I’d worked my ass off at the gym on Friday, running three miles on the treadmill followed by twenty minutes on the stair climber, then ten burpees. I’d pushed myself hard, trying to get my head on straight. Trying to get my mind off Dash and burn off some sexual frustration.
My workout had been so intense, I’d felt like a puddle as I’d driven home. Normally, puddle was a good state of being. Puddle meant a long, hot shower and a sound, dreamless sleep.
Fucking puddle. Exercise was no longer a sanctioned activity, not until I had my head screwed on straight where Dash was concerned. Not when he showed up and caught me unprepared.
Forcing my fingers back to the wheel, I pulled into the parking lot at the paper. I had a busy week ahead and starting off Monday without focus was not an option. Yesterday’s Sunday edition of the Tribune had gone out the door without a hitch, and it was time to focus on my articles for Wednesday.
I didn’t have time to worry about Dash Slater. I didn’t have time to think about how his tongue had tasted like cinnamon and beer. Or how close I’d been to dragging him inside my house to the bedroom on Friday.
My core quivered. Hell.
“Good morning, Art,” I said as I came into the building, hoping my smile didn’t seem as forced as it felt.
“Morning.” He smiled. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” I lied. “It’s going to be a great day. I can feel it.”
He chuckled. “You and your feelings.”
Feelings. I wish I could make sense of them where a hot biker was concerned. Why did he kiss me? Why? I didn’t have time for this kind of distraction.
I left Art hard at work adding yesterday’s paper to our electronic archive system and went to my desk. Plopping down in the chair, I stowed my purse and glanced around the empty room, taking a deep inhale.
The newspaper smell wasn’t bringing me much comfort today. Dash’s smell was to
o fresh in my mind, wind and cologne and a hint of oil.
The bastard was even stealing smells from me.
Well, I wasn’t going to let him take my focus from this story. Draven was going down for murder and I’d be there every step of the way. Once he was serving life in prison, I was going to find out why the Tin Gypsies had broken apart their club.
Yesterday, I’d written another feature on the murder. Timing had been on my side and the police had released some new information to the media, including a few details from Amina’s autopsy. I’d printed her name along with cause of death.
I hadn’t included the sexual evidence. True to my word with Mike, I’d keep that to myself until the chief deemed it newsworthy. Eventually, Draven and Amina’s sexual escapade would come to light. For now, I was content having that knowledge to use as I did my own investigating.
A clang from the pressroom caught my attention and I stood, pushing through the door. Dad was at the back by the Goss.
I’d gone for a pair of Birkenstocks today with my black skinny jeans and T-shirt, wanting to feel comfortable on the outside while my insides were all twisted in a knot, so my footsteps were nearly silent as I crossed the pressroom.
“Hey, Dad.”
He jumped, spinning around. “Hey, yourself. You startled me.”
“Sorry.” I smiled, but it fell when my eyes landed on a pair of legs hanging out from beneath the printer. “Is that BK?”
To my knowledge, BK didn’t wear black motorcycle boots. BK’s thighs weren’t firm and the jeans he wore didn’t mold around them perfectly. BK didn’t have narrow hips or a flat stomach.
My heart dropped. I knew that black belt. I’d had vivid fantasies of unbuckling it all weekend.
Before I could turn tail and sprint for the door, Dash slid out from beneath the machine. He had a wrench in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. His fingers were smudged with grease.