by Zoey Parker
“Where you going?” Kit asked.
“Back to L.A.,” he said. “Leaving soon.”
“Well, we can handle this,” Kit said, looking at Dipper. “He’ll come in, we’ll file a report, and then…” Her voice faltered. “He’ll still know where I live and sleep.”
Dipper tutted, nodding toward Bastard. “You got any room on that bike for Kit?”
Bastard relaxed his fists. Wasn’t such a bad idea, really. “I got enough, yeah. I can make her fit.”
Kit, however, looked indignant. “What, you’re sending me away? With a biker dude?”
“Hey, biker dudes aren’t all bad,” Bastard retorted. “Unless they wanna be.”
Dipper snorted. “Exactly. Anyway, he’s your ride out of town, is all I’m saying. You can go stay with Andi. Make a little getaway of it. And I’ll handle this guy in the meantime.”
Kit’s mouth thinned, her gaze moving between both men. “And both of you think this is a good idea?”
“I think it’s smart to get away from an idiot who’s already stalking you,” Bastard said, “and drugging you.”
“See?” Dipper pointed at Bastard. “He’s got street smarts.”
“As long as you take care of it while we’re gone,” Bastard went on, searing Dipper with a look. The plan wouldn’t work unless there was follow-up on the creep. And Bastard certainly wouldn’t complain about a little extra time with Kit. Even if it meant not repeating what happened last night. Regret licked at him as he replayed some of the hotter memories from their time in the motel. She was drugged. You took advantage of her without even knowing it.
“Trust me. It will be handled.”
“But what about the shows? The band?” Kit crossed her arms over her chest.
“Honey, they will understand. Postponing the gigs for a few nights while we get you safe is worth it.” Dipper returned the cocky look she sent him. “I’ll talk to them. Don’t worry.”
Bastard turned to Kit, lifting a brow. “So, you in for a little road trip to L.A.?”
Kit laughed softly. “I guess so. Majority rule, right?”
“And look, your bag is already packed,” Dipper said.
Kit snorted. “Right. Hardly with useful stuff for a road trip.”
“It’s all right. You don’t need anything anyway. Can’t fit on the bike.” Bastard stood, jerking his head toward the door. “I gotta hit the road. You ready?”
Kit sighed, grabbing her duffel bag while Dipper approached him with a serious look. “If anything happens to her, I will enlist every biker badass I know to bring you down.”
Bastard fought a grin. At least she had a good friend on her side. Too many people in life couldn’t even say that. Bastard had at least a handful, and felt lucky for it. They were all club brothers, too. “Trust me, I have shit to do, places to be. No foul play here.”
“Your name is Bastard, so you can’t be that hard to track down,” Dipper went on.
“Well I’m not in the phone book, that’s for sure,” he cracked.
Dipper sent him a flat look. “I need your number, and wherever your clubhouse is in L.A. Just in case anything happens.”
Bastard made a display of acquiescing, bowing slightly as he rummaged for his phone inside the pocket of his cut. He tapped out a quick message to Dipper after he relayed his number, and then everyone waited for the telltale ping. Bastard gave him the club address in L.A. next while Kit watched the two of them, looking amused.
“Okay, Dad. I think that’s enough now.” She shooed at Bastard. “If we’re gonna hit the road, we gotta do it now. I’m about starving.”
“Drive safely,” Dipper called out behind them. “Kit, fucking text or call me, okay?”
Kit nodded, blowing him a kiss as they headed toward the front door. Bastard waved to Dipper before he pushed out of the bar, the bright midday sun blinding him momentarily.
“Okay. So are we really doing this?” Kit looked up at him, her face betraying uncertainty. He wished he could wipe it off, or make her understand that she could trust him. But can she? If she knew the truth about him, about his past, she probably wouldn’t trust him. Probably would never want to be in the same room as him again if she knew what was in his DNA, much less get on the back of his bike.
“Only if you want to.” Bastard led the way to his bike, which leaned against the curb a few feet away. “I’m heading back to L.A. anyway, might as well take up the free ride.”
She nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. You’re both right.” She swung her duffel bag over her shoulder, sliding her sunglasses down onto her nose. “And now that I got my hard-earned money back, lunch is on me.”
Bastard smiled back at her. “So did you hate me for a little bit this morning?”
“Yeah. Until you showed up and tried to pay me off like a hooker.” She smirked, waiting as he opened up the saddlebags on his bike.
“I don’t make guests pay,” he said. “It was my idea, anyway.”
She nodded slowly, confusion clouding her face. “Okay. I was wondering about that.”
Fuck. She doesn’t remember a damn thing. He’d taken advantage of her, pure and simple. “Well, you were tired. I thought it would be poor form to ask you where you lived. Thought you might be weirded out by it.”
She shoved her duffel bag inside the leather satchel, and then peered up at him. His own refection stared back at him in the glinting lens of her glasses, and he saw the sincerity in his face. It surprised even him.
“Yeah, I woulda been. And then it turns out, someone else showed up uninvited anyway.” She shook her head as he eased onto the bike.
“You ever ridden before?”
“Not one like this.”
Bastard nodded. “Get on first, then I’ll start it.”
Kit approached nervously, sliding hesitantly onto the back seat. She clutched at the sides of his cut, crinkling it in her fists. “Okay.”
“Closer.” He jerked his head forward. “Don’t want you falling off.”
She cleared her throat, scooting closer until their bodies touched. The heat of her legs around his back warmed him, made desire zip under his skin. “Okay, ready.”
He shook his head. “Wrap your arms around me.”
She did as she was told just as he started the bike, the engine roaring to life. She inhaled sharply, her grip automatically tightening. Her body formed a seal against his.
“Now don’t let go,” he said over the guttural engine. “What do you wanna eat?”
Kit grinned devilishly, like a kid with a secret. Her face from this close made his chest tighten. She was gorgeous, that much was plain. But more than that, something about her made him desperate for more. Being inches away from her sated as much as it provoked. Made him want to kiss those lips again, feel the velvety tightness of her pussy wrapped around him.
“I want waffles,” she said, jarring him out of his reverie. “You down for that?”
He shrugged. He’d take her anywhere she wanted. Hell, he’d even choke down shit he didn’t like if that’s what she decided to eat. “I’m game.”
He backed the bike up a bit, liking the way her thighs locked around him. When he revved the bike and took off down the tree-shaded street, she let a little squeal that rippled through him.
He’d been on plenty of road trips in his life, but already he knew this was gonna be the most interesting one yet.
CHAPTER FIVE
Bastard drove until nightfall, stopping whenever Kit yanked at his cut for a pee or snack break. It seemed the man could ride forever—like the wind and open sky were the only fuel he needed to move forward. He seemed to not remember food until she brought up a growling stomach, which made her curious: was he just anxious to get there, or was he some sort of sexy robot who didn’t need to eat?
After being pressed against the firm wall of his back for five hours, she could attest that the man felt made of metal. He was solid and strong, but way too warm to be made only of steel. Catching his scent on the breeze brought ba
ck snippets of their night together, the sloppy kisses they’d shared while he was buried deep like drilling for oil. The memory seared through her, only a flash, like the moment itself had branded her brain matter. Even drugs couldn’t erase it.
Bastard was that memorable.
Sometime after eleven p.m. he pulled off the highway. All she knew was they were deep into Oregon. He navigated to a little motel off the highway and when the bike shuddered to a stop, she blinked against the loss of wind and air.
“We home?”
Bastard jerked his head into a nod. “For tonight, at least. This good?”
“Luxury,” she said, sliding off the bike. Her legs went weak for a second so she grabbed onto Bastard’s arm for support. He steadied her without a moment’s hesitation.
“Bike legs,” he clarified.
“Like sea legs, I imagine?” She leaned into him, feeling the hot bite of his breath near her ear.
“Mmhmm.” His voice came out gravelly, making her thighs clench. She drew a deep breath, smoothing her shirt down, trying to pull herself back together. “I’ll go get us checked in.”
She nodded as he walked away, staring after his cool saunter, the squareness of his shoulders. Once the door shut behind him into the reception area, she allowed the darkness of the night to press around her, the hum from the highway traffic the only noise.
What are you doing here?
She crossed her arms over her chest, scuffing a slow circle around the bike while he was inside. Heading to L.A. for a little bit was a good idea. Helluva lot safer than staying at her apartment now that Creepy Andrew knew her information. But this…the trip with Bastard…felt like something more than just a quick getaway to let things cool off with an overzealous fan.
When Dipper had suggested it, she swore she’d seen a glint in his eye. Normally Dipper was the protective older brother figure she’d never had, but something about Bastard must have struck him the same way it did her. Sure, he was a biker. Probably got into all sorts of stuff they’d be better off not knowing about. But something about him screamed safe.
And damnit, she wanted to curl into his arms…and then stretch out long and let him take her any way he wanted…
When Bastard returned a few minutes later, she struggled to erase the image she’d concocted of his dick. She didn’t remember it, just recalled the feel of him inside her.
“Why you blushing?” he asked
“I’m not,” she said, digging her duffel bag out of the side of his bike. “Why are you blushing?”
He smirked, flicking a plastic key card against the tips of his fingers. “All right, princess. Let’s go find our room.”
Her mouth parted and she made a small noise of indignation. “Princess? Really? Is that my nickname now?”
“Sure is.” He looked pleased with himself as he inserted the key into a room a few doors down from where they’d parked. Except for them, the place looked deserted. “Princess.”
She scoffed, irritation prickling through her. “Is it because I had to pee like, twice during the trip? Well I’ll have you know, that is completely regular. Just because you’re some sort of human catheter doesn’t mean I’m high maintenance or a princess.”
He watched her with an amused look on his face. “Human catheter?”
“Yeah. Or robot. Whatever you are.” She flicked her wrist at him, breezing into the room once he held the door open. She flipped the lights, finding two queen beds in the cramped room. Disappointment shivered through her.
“I’m definitely not a robot,” he said, his boots clunking against the floor as he entered after her. She turned, finding his bulky frame filling the doorway. She swallowed hard.
“Well normal people need to stop and eat sometimes,” she said, sitting on the bed. The mattress creaked beneath her. “Like now.”
He cracked a grin. “Princess is hungry?”
She groaned, flopping back on the bed. “Don’t call me that. I swear to god, Bastard.”
The mattress creaked as he sat on the other bed opposite her. Silence settled in the room, and her skin buzzed like maybe he was looking her up and down. She propped herself up on her elbows, finding his gaze waiting for her.
“You know why I started calling you Princess?” he asked.
“I can only imagine,” she said.
“Because you’re like Princess Peach. You needed to be rescued. Now we’re goin’ on a journey to get you safe.”
She blinked, hardly able to believe it. “That was a Super Mario reference.”
“Sure was.”
She let an incredulous laugh slip out. “So why not ‘Peach’, then?”
His gaze traveled over her, leaving a scorching path in its wake. “Fine. I’ll call you Peach if you want.”
“Well, it’s not that I want you to call me Peach,” she began, but couldn’t finish the sentence. It was cute. She liked it. There was no denying it.
He winked at her, setting his small bag down beside him. “Okay. Got that settled then. Now, next order of business.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Peach. Do you remember what happened last night?”
Her cheeks lit up and she willed herself not to break his gaze. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” His tongue found the corner of his mouth, his moss green eyes steady on her.
She cleared her throat. “Are you asking what I remember?
“Sure.”
“Well, I was getting tired, so you took me to a motel room.” She couldn’t remember how, exactly. “And then, I remember…well, not all the details, but enough of the details of what followed.”
He blinked. “So you remember we fucked?”
She bit back a grin. “Yes.”
A breath whooshed out of him. “Jesus. Okay. That’s all I needed to know.”
Silence buzzed between them, her mind reeling from the topic. She rolled her lips inward, wondering how appropriate it would be to suggest they resume fucking ASAP.
“I didn’t know you were drugged,” Bastard said, scrubbing at his jaw with his palm. “That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah. All the more reason to get away from that guy.” She sighed, pushing to standing. “I guess when I get back I’ll have to change apartments. Is that a sign that I’ve made it big? My first stalker?”
Bastard’s smile looked wan. “Shouldn’t be, but maybe.”
She opened her duffel bag, rummaging for the few things she needed to get ready for bed. Might as well call it a night.
“You hungry?” Bastard called over the rushing of water as she washed her face.
She smirked, face dripping over the sink. Of course he’d ask now that she chewed him out for it. “Nah. Let’s just get a big breakfast in the morning.”
As she patted down her face and brushed her teeth, she caught glimpses of Bastard through the mirror in the room behind her: toeing off his boots, loosening his belt, setting his cut on the chair in the corner carefully, like it needed delicate handling. She tried not to watch as he tugged off his t-shirt, revealing a white wife beater beneath. When she turned to head to the bed closest to her, Bastard was laying back on the bed, his biceps bulging as he propped his head on his forearm. His jaw squared as he clicked the remote, eyes set on the TV.
“You the type of guy who falls asleep with the TV on?” She toed off her shoes, calculating what, exactly, she’d wear to bed now that the two of them were locked inside this room together.
“Nah. But nothing beats shitty motel TV,” he said, his gaze flicking her way. She shimmied out of her jeans, tossing them aside, trying to feign nonchalance even though her heart thumped against her ribs.
“I’ll take a good nineties movie if there are any on,” she said, tugging off her t-shirt to reveal a tank top straining over her bra. She undid the bra without removing her tank top, slipping it out and tossing it with her jeans. She looked up in time to see Bastard watching before he jerked his eyes back to the television.
&nbs
p; “Noted,” he said, clearing his throat. She settled back on her bed, puffing up the pillows behind her. Let him ogle all he wanted. She’d ratchet up the sexual tension until there was no mistaking what she wanted.
“Or a porno,” she blurted. “You know, classic Skinamax.”
He smirked, his gaze fastened to the murmuring news channel. “You want soft core?”
“Some of that stuff is far more entertaining than regular tv,” she said.
“Entertaining,” he repeated. “Sure. If you like plastic dolls moaning for no good reason.”
