by Nicole James
“I’m not stupid.” Thank God my hiccups have stopped.
“That remains to be seen.”
“Screw you!” I hit the button to end the call and stick my tongue out at my phone.
The girl in front of me stares and asks, “Boyfriend?”
I roll my eyes. “He wishes.”
Gypsy—
I roar into the parking lot of the strip mall wondering why the fuck I’m getting involved with this girl. She’s not my problem. But it doesn’t matter; I’m in this now, and she’s sucking me in deeper every time I see her.
I roll through the aisles. Voodoo Lounge takes up the two large units on the end. The lot is packed. I coast up the handicapped ramp at the end and stop on the covered walkway.
There’s a bouncer sitting on a barstool at the door. He lifts his chin at me. “Buddy, you can’t park there. Fire regulations.”
I drop the kickstand and climb off, pulling my helmet free. “I’ll only be five minutes. Just picking someone up. She’s had too much to drink and shouldn’t drive.”
His eyes drop to my vest, and he nods. “Yeah, okay.”
“What’s the cover?”
He waves his hand. “Long as you're back out in five minutes, I won’t charge you.”
“Thanks, man.” I walk inside.
There’s a U-shaped bar in the middle of the cavernous room with half a dozen pool tables to the left and a stage and tables on the right. The place is loud with its polished concrete floor and high industrial ceiling. Not the best acoustics, but I’m sure it wasn’t built with live music in mind. In fact, I’ve driven past this place enough times in the ten years I’ve lived here to know it’s been at least a dozen different businesses. Years ago it was a Mexican restaurant; last time I was here it was a biker bar. Now it’s morphed into this hipster place with live music.
I wander through the crowd, scanning for Tess. There’s a small space in front of the stage and some girls are up there dancing to the song the lead singer is currently belting out. He’s not half bad and his vocals have range. The guitar riffs echo unforgivingly off the metal rafters and exposed ductwork, bouncing around the place like a bucket of bolts in a trashcan.
The lead guitarist steps forward to do a solo. That’s when I catch sight of Tess.
My eyes skate down over her outfit. Low-cut jeans and a rock n’ roll tank top tied up high, exposing the curves of her waist and her belly button. Seeing that much skin brings back a flood of memories of the night we spent together.
She lifts the weight of her long hair off her sweat-sheen neck as she dances to the music, her body undulating.
My dick gets hard just watching her.
Standing here unnoticed in the crowd, I have a chance to observe her, and I can’t deny I like what I see. The rest of the place fades into a blur, and I only have eyes for her. I watch her every move. She smiles when a potent riff of the song is played and shakes her fist in the air, nodding along with the beat.
I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from pulling up at her exuberance. It’s good to see her enjoying herself, especially after the trip to the prison. She won’t admit it, but I know it drains the life out of her every time she has to go inside that place.
Here, now, with this music, she’s revitalized, and I’m glad.
She’s forgetting all her problems, and I know when I walk up I’ll be a reminder of them.
I stand and allow myself one more minute before I approach. Suddenly, out of the crowd, a guy pushes up against her back and grabs her bare waist. She twists, jerking out of his hold and shoves him. It’s clear she doesn’t want his attention. She moves away and heads off toward the hall that leads to the bathrooms. I see Romeo follow her, and I push through the crowd to the hall.
It’s a dark, wide hall that runs the length of the back of the club, one entrance from the poolroom and one from the stage side. Back when it was a biker bar, this hall was like a gauntlet with guys lined up trying to hit on the girls as they walked by. I’ve seen more than one couple pressed against the wall making out.
Tonight, the only two back here are Tess and this guy. By the time I come around the corner, he’s got her by the arm and backed to the wall.
I have to give it to her; she’s not a shrinking violet. She tries to jerk free and attempts to knee him in the balls. Unfortunately, he twists just in time and whirls her around.
“Fucking bitch,” I hear him mutter two seconds before I yank him off her and slam him face-first into the wall. Blood splatters from his broken nose all over the poster advertising next week’s bands.
I jerk him back and growl low in his ear, “You got ten seconds to get the fuck out of here. I see your face again, I’ll break more than just your nose. Understand?”
He nods like a bobble head doll and flees out the back door.
When I’m sure he’s gone, I return my gaze to Tess. She’s shaking and rubbing her upper arm, but her eyes are on my Devil Kings cut, looking at me like I’m a stranger. I soften my voice. “You okay, babe?”
“Yes. Thanks for that.”
“No problem. Guy was a dick.” When she doesn’t say anything, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
She stares at my cut. “Just seeing you in that…”
“Yeah?”
“Reminds me why I need to have nothing to do with you.”
I straighten a little taller; her jibe hits harder than I expected. “I’m the same guy from earlier today, Tess.”
“Are you? What you just did—“
“What I just did was pull that guy off you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes, but you didn’t have to break his nose.”
“Didn’t I? He learned a fucking lesson. Won’t be bothering you again, and hopefully he’ll think twice before pulling that shit with another girl.” She looks away, and I know she knows I’m right. “What are you doing hanging out with douchebags like that anyway?”
“I wasn’t hanging out with him. I just met him. He’s a friend of my roommate’s brother.”
It’s then I notice she’s swaying on her feet. “How many have you had?”
“What are you, my mother now?”
“Hardly. Where’s your BFF? She as drunk as you?”
“What do you care?”
“Just wondering if she’s gonna need a ride home, too.”
“She’s dating the drummer, so she probably won’t want to leave any time soon.”
“You ready to go?”
“Go where?”
“I’m givin’ you a ride home.”
She hooks a finger in my cut. “Do you know how much I hate this thing?”
“You’ve told me.”
“But I have to say, it looks fucking good on you.” Her eyes skate down my body and back.
“Like what you see?”
She pops the finger she had hooked in my cut. “You’re hot, and you know it. That’s the trouble with your type.”
“My type?”
“You DKs think you own the world and every woman you see is going to drop at your feet.”
This is not a conversation I feel like having right now. I take her arm. “Let’s go.”
I don’t give her time to argue. I pull her along behind me and, surprisingly, she stays pressed close to my back as we walk through the crowd and out the doors.
The bouncer nods as we walk past toward my bike.
Tess pulls on my hand. “Hayley will wonder where I am.”
“Your girl probably won’t even notice you’re gone, as packed as that fucking place is getting. But if you’re worried, you can text her.”
“I should call.”
“Babe, she’s not gonna hear her phone. It’s loud as hell in there.”
“True.”
I pull a helmet from my saddlebag and buckle it on her head. “Ever ridden?”
She frowns down at the bike, like she’s just now realizing we’re taking it. “Years ago, when I was a kid. My dad rode me down the street and back.”
I
swing my leg over and lift it off the stand, firing the engine. It roars to life as I twist the throttle. “Climb on.”
She doesn’t hesitate. I feel her hands on my hips and then one lifts to stroke over the patch on my back. I twist my head to look at her. Her eyes are on it. “You ready?”
Those baby blues connect with mine, and she nods. I roll us off the sidewalk, drop it in gear, and roar off. She presses against my back and wraps her arms tightly around me. It feels fucking good. It feels more than good—it feels right, and I know that should scare the hell out of me.
Having a chick riding bitch is something I rarely do. I can’t even recall the last time I had a girl on my bike.
Ten minutes later, we pull up in front of her place. I shut the bike off, and she climbs off and stands next to it.
“You still going to take me to Rutledge next weekend?”
Her voice is soft when she asks, and she sounds vulnerable, like she’s not used to being able to depend on people. I don’t want to be one of the ones who’ve let her down. The corner of my mouth tugs up, and I can’t help teasing her. “If you’re nice.”
She pierces me with her gaze. “I’m always nice.” Then she looks across the quiet yard. “That’s a lie. I’m not always nice.”
My grin widens because I know she’s drunk, and I wonder how much talking she’ll do before she passes out. “No one is, darlin’.”
“Some people are. Hayley is super nice.”
“Super nice?” I chuckle.
“No, really, she is. She’s the one I called when…”
Her voice trails off, and I frown. “When what?”
She bites her lip and runs a hand through her gorgeous hair. It’s gleaming with streaks of spun gold in the streetlights. I long to sink my hand in it and feel its silken strands glide over my fingers.
“When I needed a ride home from your place. She didn’t hesitate to drag herself out of bed at dawn and drive across town to get me.”
“I’d have driven you home, babe. All you had to do was ask.”
She looks at her hands, her fingers playing with the rings she wears.
My hand hangs over the top of the grip of my handlebar. I study her. “Never figured you for a coward, Tess.”
Her gaze flashes to mine. “I’m no coward.”
“Then talk to me. You don’t have to be afraid of me, angel.”
“I’m not afraid of you. It’s that damn cut you wear.”
“Look, I don’t know what you remember from back in the day, but things are different now. The way the club was when you were a kid?” I shake my head. “It’s not that way anymore.”
She gives me half a smile. “Sure it’s not.”
I climb from the bike and move toward her. I take her hand, threading our fingers, and walk her up to the door of the small house she rents. I don’t usually provide drunken girls taxi rides home, and I sure as hell don’t escort them to their doors. But she’s been drinking, and I want to make sure she gets inside safely. I’m not sure where all these manners are suddenly coming from, but I can’t deny the protective way I feel about her, and I’m sure it’s only partly because she used to be the club princess. Whether she wants that title or not, it’s how I’ll always think of her.
But it’s more than some duty I feel, I won’t even try to kid myself into believing otherwise. This girl is getting under my skin. Maybe she’s been there since that first night we spent together three years ago. Maybe she burrowed in and never left.
We stop at the door, and I turn to her, studying her in the silvery-blue moonlight. Her hair gleams with an ethereal sheen. I can’t help lifting my hand to touch a long curl and twisting it around my finger. Before my brain kicks in and I talk myself out of it, I tug her forward. She comes easily, willingly, and my blood surges. Her palms land on my leather cut even as my other hand drops to the small of her back and pulls her closer. I stare down into her angel face, knowing this is a big mistake. Right now, my dick doesn’t give a damn.
I can see the desire in her eyes. She’s not fighting this; she wants my kiss as much as I want hers. I drop my mouth and drink my fill, pressing soft gentle brushes along her satin lips. I tease her until we both want more, then I sweep my tongue inside and deepen the kiss.
She tastes like Fireball Cinnamon Whisky, and I can’t get enough. I take her head in both of my large palms and hold her still as I kiss her endlessly. Fuck, I want this girl. The urgent desire surging through me is stronger than I’ve felt in years. Three years to be exact. Hard as I tried to replace her and wipe those memories from my mind, no woman has been able to hold a candle to the fire we had.
I twist and press her against the door, my hips pushing against hers, and I’m sure she feels my bulging erection.
When I finally lift my mouth from hers, she puts her hand back to steady herself against the wooden door, and I have to remind myself she’s had too much to drink to consent to anything. I may not be a knight in shining armor, but I sure as hell won’t take a woman that way.
“Unlock your door. I want to make sure you get inside before I go.”
“You’re going?” Her hand lands on my chest.
I nod, and it takes all my willpower to step out of her reach. I lift my chin to the door. “Go on.”
She digs out her key, fumbling a bit, and then manages to get the door open. She pauses to look back at me before closing it. “Thanks for the ride, Gypsy.”
I just lift my chin again. “See ya, kid.”
The door closes, and I walk back to my bike, wondering how the hell I got myself in this situation. She’s as tempting as Eve with that damned apple, and I fully understand why Adam took a bite.
Fuck, I’m in so far over my head with this girl, I’m drowning.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tess—
I wait at the table when Growler shuffles into the visitation room. I don’t have anything to tell him about Sturgis yet. I’m kind of hoping he’ll tell me Gypsy was approved for his visitors list.
He sits and immediately devours the snacks I bought him. He’s on his second beef jerky before he grunts out, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“You got anything to tell me?”
I lift my brow. “Yeah. Mom never got a letter.”
“Must take a while. Guess they got a lot of mail to go over.” He waggles his brows. “They gotta make sure us prisoners aren’t plannin’ our escape or some shit.”
“Don’t bullshit me. Did you really write it?”
“Swear to God.”
I exhale, fed up with him. “Just tell me where the key is, so we can quit this charade.”
“Who said it’s a charade?”
“I don’t want to be here, and you don’t want me here. So just tell me where the key is.”
He grins, downing the end of the Mountain Dew and burping. “It’s closer than you think.”
I bite my lip, deciding it’s got to be in the house, but we’ve torn it apart and come up with nothing. Where the hell could he have stashed it? I glare at him. “Give me a hint.”
He chuckles softly. “Just like your mother. Like a dog with a bone. Won’t let it go.”
Anger surges through me, and I want to sweep the snacks and cans from the table in one violent swat. I actually visualize myself doing it and what the look of surprise on his face would be. I take a breath. He wants to play this game; I can play, too. “So, Mom’s thinking about moving out, and she’s got someone else on the line to move into our house—”
I don’t even have to finish the sentence. I can see him turn a shade lighter as he lowers the jerky from his mouth. His chewing slows. “What?”
“Yup. She can’t afford the place.”
“When’s this happening?”
I shrug.
A guard walks over and spoils my fun. He jerks his chin at my father.
“You have another visitor. You want to wrap this up?”
Growler nods as I frown, wondering who would be visi
ting my father.
“Who’s visiting, Dad?”
He gives me back a shrug, like the taunting one I’d just given him. “I’m a popular guy.”
The guard motions his hand at me. “Come on. I’ll sign you out and escort you back.”
I surge to my feet, ready to be done with Growler and this fucking place.
Minutes later, I’m walking down the long sterile hallway, glad to be getting the hell out of here but dying to know who my father’s visitor could be. At the end of the long hall I see another guard escorting someone toward the visitation room. As we get closer I see it’s a woman. We pass each other like ships in the night, both turning to watch the other. She’s got dyed red hair, and I see some ink peeking out from under her shirt. She’s dressed appropriately enough, with jeans and a button-up shirt. My eyes drop to her feet and widen. She’s wearing biker boots. All my instincts are screaming this woman has something to do with the Devil Kings.
There’s no mistaking she looks like a biker chick. What the fuck?
I sign out, retrieve my cell phone from the locker I stored it in, and I call Gypsy.
“I’m ready.”
“That was quick. Be there in five minutes.”
I walk to the lobby windows and stare out. Rain pelts against the glass, and a huge crack of lightning flashes a splintered bolt across the sky. I jerk at the boom of thunder that almost immediately follows.
A few minutes later, I see two headlights coming up the road. They’re barely visible through the pouring rain and mist. I recognize Gypsy’s pickup as it stops at the curb, and I dash out. It’s about twenty yards to the curb, so I’m soaked by the time I jump in the truck.
He holds out a flannel shirt. “Here, put this on.”
I take it and dry my face with it. He turns the vehicle toward the exit. As he pulls down the long drive, I struggle out of my wet shirt and slip on the warm flannel. I catch Gypsy’s eyes dart over to my bra-covered breasts. “Eyes on the road, mister.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Speaking of roads, they’re flooding everywhere, and they’ve closed the interstate.”
My fingers fumble with the buttons. “Oh no.”
