Tempt My Trouble (Knights of Mayhem Book 1)

by K. A. Ware

  “Yes, I know what it says,” he snapped.

  I slid my eyes to his and raised a brow. It was subtle, but a warning nonetheless, old man needed to tread lightly. “So, what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that I came in to get an exhaust leak fixed and she’s telling me I need to rebuild my damn motor!” he shouted, gesturing wildly with his hands.

  Okay, maybe he didn’t understand subtlety.

  “Sometimes things are worse than you initially think, I’m still not understanding the issue.” I knew exactly what his problem was, but I wanted him to actually say the words out loud so he could hear how fucking stupid they sounded.

  “Excuse me if I don’t want to drop a mint because a deaf girl tells me what I was hearing was wrong,” Gary said, spittle flying from his lips.

  “Is your problem that she’s deaf or that she’s a woman?” I asked, relishing in his stunned silence.

  My gaze slid to Risa knowing full well she was reading our lips and following the conversation just fine. She stood with her arms crossed but her scowl was beginning to turn up at the corners. It was incredibly unprofessional, but also entirely justified.

  The older man threw his hands in the air. “Will, you just take a look?”

  I was going to enjoy the hell out of this.

  “Nope.”

  He blinked, his face screwing up like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. “What? Why?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not half the mechanic she is, and quite frankly, I don’t have the time.”

  Gary’s face was starting to turn red, from heat or frustration, I wasn’t sure. “Well, then I’m sure there’s someone else that can take a look.”

  I nodded as I scanned the preliminary invoice Risa had drawn up. “I’m sure there is…at another shop. If Risa says you need to rebuild your motor, then that’s what needs to happen. So, either sign the paperwork and let her do what she does, or we’ll pull your ride off the lift and send you on your way.”

  “Wha—”

  “Before you decide though,” I interrupted. “I should mention that a good motor rebuild on a ’72 Nova is gonna run you upwards of thirteen-fourteen grand at any other shop; we’d charge ten. At least, if it stayed here. There’s no tellin’ how much more damage driving it off the lot would cause.”

  He looked from me to Risa and back, clearly weighing his options. “Fine,” he said with a curt nod.

  Just then, Jester came stomping out of the clubhouse.

  “Great, sign here,” I said, handing Gary the clipboard and pen. “Risa will take your credit card information so she can get started.”

  You owe me dinner, I signed to Risa as I walked backward toward the line of bikes. She flipped me off in answer and disappeared back into the garage.

  “Everything good?” Jester asked, glaring at the old man still standing in front of the garage bay.

  “Yeah, just another idiot who thinks he knows best.”

  Shaking his head, Jester swung a leg over his bike. “We’ve got one of the best reputations in town, and these fuckers still want to bitch about a woman working on their ride.”

  “Doesn’t help that he brought it in because of a noise.” I couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that spread across my face. It didn’t matter that she’d been deaf since birth, my sister had surpassed my mechanical abilities by the time she was thirteen. She was the best damn mechanic I’d ever seen, and there wasn’t a single brother who would balk at letting her near their sled.

  Jester snorted and pulled on his helmet. “Should’ve waited for me, I’m in the mood to teach a fucker a lesson.”

  “Save it. Gonna need some of that today,” I said, kicking my Harley to life.

  “I thought we were going to see Johnny?” Jester yelled over the roar of our engines.

  “We are, but I need to make a pit stop first.”

  He nodded and slid his sunglasses in place. I lifted a hand to Risa, who’d come back out to finish the paperwork with Gary, as I passed on my way out of the forecourt.

  I was keyed up as I wove in and out of traffic, Jester following close behind. I’d tagged the asshole who’d laid hands on Finley as he jumped in his truck last night and managed to snap a picture of his license plate before he took off. After church, I handed it over to Frogger, and he worked his magic. Apparently, according to our resident genius, the DMV database was incredibly easy to hack, and by the time I woke up this morning I had the cocksucker’s picture, name, and home address. Kurt Douglas was about to learn what happened to motherfuckers who touched what was mine.

  We turned off Powell, and I slowed down as we made our way through the dilapidated neighborhood. If Portland had an ass crack, where we were—an area known only as Southeast, would be it. At least we wouldn’t have to worry about anyone calling the cops. Between the low-income housing, tweakers, and homeless population, there was a lot more for the residents to worry about than a couple of bikers teaching a scumbag a lesson.

  The house was easy enough to find, a simple brown ranch with a rusted mailbox out front. I signaled to Jester that we’d found what we were looking for and we circled the block before parking our bikes down the street.

  “Want to tell me what we’re doing?” Jester asked as we slowly crept up the driveway.

  “He got rough with a friend, gonna make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Jester froze, his entire body tensing. “Harley?”

  “What? No.”

  His shoulders visibly relaxed, and I had to fight the urge to smack him upside the head. If it was Harley, the guy would’ve been going to ground. For as much as Harley and Jester butted heads, he was ridiculously overprotective of her, in fact, it bordered on obsessive. If he wasn’t careful, someone might get the wrong idea.

  “It was Rabbit, she was at the club last night,” I offered, knowing I was about to catch hell.

  Jester’s face went blank for a second before he connected the dots and a creepy ass smirk formed behind his beard. “No shit? You actually found her? Wait, is she the reason you took off and weren’t answering your phone?”

  “She needed a ride,” I hedged, growing impatient with his line of questioning.

  He scoffed. “I bet.”

  Ignoring the jab, I continued up the driveway. I didn’t have time to explain why I’d done what I had. Nothing made sense when it came to the redhead. All I knew was that I wanted her.

  Thankfully, Jester didn’t press for details, at least not yet. He’d give me hell eventually, after all, he’d spent the last three years hopping from strip club to strip club with me looking for her—not that I’d ever admit that’s what we were doing. Without a name, I hadn’t had much else to go on other than her occupation and even that hadn’t garnered any results until last night.

  When we got to the front door, I covered the peephole with one gloved hand and knocked with the other.

  “Who is it?” a voice called out.

  Instead of answering, I pounded on the door again.

  The deadbolt audibly slid open, and I nodded for Jester to get ready.

  “What?” Kurt barked as he jerked open the door. As soon as he saw our cuts, the attitude slid right off his face. “Oh shit!” he yelled and turned tail.

  I lunged, catching the fucker by the arm and launching him to the side. Something fell to the floor, but I ignored it. Wrenching his arm behind his back, I pinned the asshole’s face to the wall. “Where’s the fire, Kurt? We just wanna talk.”

  For such a big guy, he didn’t struggle much. “I didn’t mean it, I swear!”

  Jester and I shared a glance behind his back. “What didn’t you mean?”

  “I was just running my mouth, trying to impress a girl. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you pussies!” The sad sack was starting to hyperventilate and we’d barely even begun.

  “You think I’m a pussy?” Jester asked, getting right up in his face.

  “No, no, I don’t!”

  “You sure? Look rea
l hard, do I look like a pussy?” he deadpanned.

  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, Jester was laying it on thick, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take before I lost it.

  He cringed away from Jester’s stare. “No! I swear. I’m, I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Our fragile biker ego isn’t why we’re here,” I said, releasing his arm.

  Kurt seemed to deflate. “It’s not?”

  With a hand on his shoulder, I turned him around, and Jester closed in, so we had him caged. “No, I’m here about Finley.”

  His eyes got wide, and he tried to bolt again, but the idiot just ran right into Jester’s outstretched arm.

  I clucked my tongue and flicked him between the eyes. “Come on. I thought we already covered this. You’re not getting away so stop fucking trying. Otherwise, you might piss off my friend here.”

  Jester cracked his knuckles, and I had to look up at the ceiling to keep a straight face. We didn’t usually fuck around like this, but the jackass was making it too damn easy.

  “Okay, okay, please, just please don’t hurt me!” he pleaded, his entire body shaking.

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Better. Now—”

  “I’m sorry I tried to take your gun, that was stupid,” he blurted, his shoulders curling in as he tried to shield his body for the beating that hadn’t even started yet.

  Holy shit, this asshole is more of an idiot than I thought.

  Jester shot me a dark look.

  “Will you shut the fuck up?” I snapped. If he kept running his mouth I might actually be tempted to kill the bastard.

  “I, I’m sorry! Fuck, please don’t kill me.”

  Sick of his fucking mouth, I pulled back and let my fist fly. The satisfying crunch of cartilage busting apart as I made contact eased my frustration, at least a little.

  Kurt fell to the floor, groaning through his hands as he tried to catch the blood pouring from his nose. Jester reached down and pulled the pathetic excuse for a man from the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, the words garbled through the steady stream of blood falling down his face.

  “Jesus fucking Christ! Do you not know what shut the fuck up means?”

  Kurt whimpered but didn’t say anything else.

  Fucking finally.

  “I saw you grab Finley last night. I didn’t fuckin’ like it. We stopped by today to make sure you don’t make that mistake again.”

  “I won’t touch her again, promise,” he choked, gently touching his broken nose.

  I smiled as he grimaced at the pain. “Oh, I know you won’t, because you’re never going to see her again. I don’t want to have to come back, understand?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Got it. No problem.”

  “Good,” I said, stepping back. Jester eyed me warily, but followed suit, backing up and giving Kurt some room.

  “Thank God, I promise you won’t have to come back. I’ll delete her number as soon as you leave.”

  I laughed, it was incredible how dense this guy was. “Oh, we’re not leaving yet.”

  “You’re not?” he asked, still trying to cup the blood pouring from his nose in his hand.

  Flashing him with a smile that was all teeth, I shook my head. “Nah, we’re just getting started.”

  Eight

  FINLEY

  My phone buzzed for the umpteenth time since I sat down to study an hour ago. Sighing, I pick up the phone, scrolling through the messages from Baz I’d successfully ignored up until this point.

  Baz: Hey

  Baz: What are you doing?

  Baz: Stop pretending like you can wait me out. I know you want to respond.

  Groaning, I tossed the phone onto the couch beside me and pushed the heavy textbook from my lap, ready for a much-needed break. There were only so many times I could quiz myself on the difference between the gestalt and humanistic approaches to psychology before I started pulling my hair out. Not to mention the knowledge that the two finals I was studying for accounted for thirty percent of my grade in each class and could quite easily tank my GPA.

  If I were honest with myself, knowing the material wasn’t the issue, I’d always been a crap test taker. No matter how prepared I was, sitting in a classroom with nothing but the sounds of pencils scratching against paper set my teeth on edge and made it impossible to focus.

  I needed music, a TV in the background, someone screaming in the other room, something—anything, as long as it was noise. Silence always made me itchy. Charese wasn’t exactly considerate when I studied at home growing up, and I’d spent many a weekend cramming for tests in the Satan’s Sinners clubhouse among a cast of rowdy bikers. I was a product of chaos; it was the only way I knew how to operate.

  Wandering into the kitchen, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and stared longingly at the empty shelves. I’d been so wrapped up with studying this week I hadn’t had a chance to go grocery shopping.

  “You got a message, who’s Baz?”

  Fuck!

  “Oh ah, just a guy from class,” I said, booking it into the living room. Stella quirked an eyebrow at me as my sock-clad feet slid on the hardwoods with my momentum. I was so lost in thought I hadn’t even heard her come downstairs.

  Tossing my phone back on the couch, she gave me a look that told me she thought I was full of shit, which I was, but thankfully she didn’t call me on it. “Yeah, okay. Anyways, I’m gonna order a pizza, pepperoni and pineapple okay?”

  “Sounds good,” I said, making my way back to my nest of textbooks and notecards on the couch.

  Getting comfortable, I willed myself not to check my phone until Stella was entirely out of view.

  Baz: If you don’t answer I’m just going to come over.

  Goddamnit. I didn’t know Baz very well, but I was fairly certain he wasn’t the bluffing type.

  Me: I’m busy.

  Baz: Doing what?

  Me: Studying for finals, now stop texting me.

  Baz: You don’t take breaks?

  Me: No time, it’s my last full day to study before the test.

  Just when I thought he’d finally given up on destroying my concentration, my phone buzzed with an incoming call, Baz’s name flashing on the screen.

  “What?” I snapped as soon as I brought the phone to my ear.

  “You know, studies show that taking frequent breaks helps you retain information.”

  How is it possible that his voice can be both gravelly and smooth as honey at the same time? It’s not fucking fair.

  “Do you make a habit of reading academic studies?” I asked, unable to rein in the sass.

  I wasn’t pissed at him as much as I was pissed at my reaction to him. I promised myself that I was done with that life, but something about the cocky green-eyed man made me want to reassess my stance on bikers.

  He responded with a throaty laugh that sent chills down my spine and a pulse of heat between my legs. “Nah, I just made that up, but it sounded good, huh? C’mon, you still need to eat, right?”

  “Just ordered pizza, so I’m all set. Honestly, I need to get back to studying. This final is important,” I said, switching up my tactic. I hoped appealing to his reasonable side would help sway him. I was wrong.

  “What kind of pizza?”

  I considered throwing my phone across the room, but the price tag for a replacement stayed my hand. “If I tell you, will you leave me the fuck alone?” I gritted out, trying my best to keep my voice even and failing miserably.

  “Maybe.” I could practically hear the smile in his voice. The fucker was getting off on riling me up.

  Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm my growing frustration. “Pepperoni and pineapple.”

  “That’s fucking disgusting! Why would you fuck up a perfectly good pizza by putting fruit on it?”

  “Baz,” I growled.

  “Rabbit,” he mimicked.

  Jesus take the motherfucking wheel. I’m going to murder this man.

  �
��If I promise to let you know when I’m done studying will you please for the love of all that is holy stop texting and calling me?”

  He laughed. Not a chuckle, not a scoff, an actual honest to God laugh, and it made me want to scream. How was it possible for a man to be both sexy and obnoxious at the same time?

  “Yes. See? That wasn’t so hard was it?”

  “Goodbye, Baz,” I said, ending the call. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of any more banter—he enjoyed it too much, and I wasn’t in a charitable mood.

  I spent the next twenty minutes trying and failing to focus on the flashcards in front of me. My mind kept drifting back to the previous weekend and the way he’d blown my mind up against the side of a warehouse. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his fingers felt wrapped around my neck and the way he cursed when he came.

  Five days. Five days of fantasizing about him and five nights of putting some serious miles on my vibrator, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. More of his cock, more of the feeling I got when I was in his orbit, more of him.

  No! He’s a biker, a criminal. There’s no future there, so stop it.

  The doorbell rang, interrupting my internal battle. “I got it!” I shouted, knowing Stella probably had her headphones on and couldn’t hear it anyway.

  In a feat that would rival the best circus clown, I juggled my purse on my forearm, opened the front door while simultaneously digging for a few singles in my wallet. “Sorry, I’m just getting your tip, give me just a sec,” I muttered, silently cursing myself for not cleaning out my receipts.

  “I know I’m good, but you don’t have to pay me.”

  Slowly, ever so slowly, I lifted my head. Scuffed black boots, dark wash jeans that hugged muscular thighs, plain white T-shirt under a black leather cut, strong arms that made me drool, and finally brilliant green eyes that had my heart beating double time.

  “The fuck?” I glanced over his shoulder to the driveway where his bike was parked, chrome gleaming in the spring sunshine.