Ride Dirty

by Laura Kaye

  “Good evening, young lady,” came a man’s voice. “What can I get you to drink?”

  She looked up into the smiling brown face of an older man whose nametag read “Dutch.”

  “Hi,” she said, returning the smile. The man had a welcoming quality about him that put her at ease. No mean feat given the way her stomach had been doing loop-the-loops in anticipation of asking a stranger about a guy she’d met. “Chocolate milkshake and a water, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  She watched him as he moved from scooping the ice cream to pouring the milk and chocolate sauce in to sliding the metal cup onto an old-time-looking blender. He poured the shake into a glass cup and topped it with a swirl of whipped cream, and then brought both containers over to her.

  Emma grinned. “I love when you get the extra in the mixing container.”

  “Me, too,” he said with a wink. “When I opened this place thirty-seven years ago, that was one touch I absolutely knew I’d be doing. Know what you’ll be having?”

  She ordered a turkey club and then ignored the butterflies in her belly to ask, “Is Haven working tonight?”

  The smile he gave her spoke of an affection for the woman. “She’s in the back putting the finishing touches on a few cakes. I’ll let her know you were asking for her.”

  “Thank you,” she said as he made his way down the counter. She took a long pull on the straw, and the chocolate was cold and rich on her tongue. Oddly, she preferred ice cream in the winter time, even though it meant her hands were probably going to be cold for the rest of the night.

  The bell over the front door jingled, and Emma did a double take. Two men wearing Raven Riders jackets came through the door, one with longish dark brown hair and a harsh-looking face, even when he smiled. The other had shorter, wavy brown hair. They slid onto two stools a few down from her and grabbed menus as they talked animatedly about something having to do with cars.

  Despite the ice cream in her mouth and the chilled air that had poured in with the bikers, heat filled Emma’s face. Because how in the world was she supposed to ask Haven about Caine…with two other members of his club sitting right there?

  It took everything she had to not flee. But then a pretty woman with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail came out through the swinging door carrying a cake platter in each hand, and her gaze landed on Emma. This had to be Haven. Which pretty much meant, crap, there was no escape for her now.

  No regrets, Em.

  Right.

  The conversation from the Ravens at the counter fell away as both men focused on the woman. She put down the heavy-looking platters and smiled at them in return.

  “Aw, Haven, you shouldn’t have,” the man with the wavy hair said.

  “I’d make you a cake any old day, Jagger Locke. Just name it.” She gave his hand an affectionate pat. And then she moved down to the other man. “Hi.”

  Just that one word communicated so much pleasure that Emma couldn’t look away even though she was fully aware that she was staring. And then the way he looked at her should’ve come with a warning label. Caution: Hot.

  “Hi, pretty girl.” He pushed up from his seat and leaned his upper body across the counter. His hand cupped the back of her neck as he kissed her. Just one thorough kiss.

  Wow. That…that was the sweetest, hottest thing Emma had seen in a long time. She forced her gaze back to her milkshake and took another long drink.

  The woman took their order and entered it into a touch screen, and then she made her way to Emma just as Dutch brought out her oversized sandwich and fries. “Hi, I’m Haven. Dutch said you asked for me.”

  Emma was one hundred percent aware that both bikers had just looked her way, and she thought it was entirely possible that she might swallow her tongue. So she started with something that was both true and easy. “Hi, I’m Emma. I was raving about the peanut butter cookies to a friend of mine, and he mentioned you’re the new baker here. So I wanted you to know how amazing I think they are. I’m, like, never going to try to make peanut butter cookies of my own again.”

  Haven laughed and gave a little nod. “Why, thank you.”

  Dutch bumped his shoulder against Haven’s. “Hiring this woman was the smartest thing I’ve done in a long time. See? Even old dogs can learn new tricks.”

  “You’re not old, Dutch. You’re distinguished,” Haven said, grinning up at the older man whose black hair was shot through with gray. A family came through the door and made for one of the booths.

  Laughing, Dutch moved to greet the new arrivals. “Tell that to my hip.”

  Emma smiled as she ate and watched the banter that shot back and forth between Dutch, the Raven Riders, and Haven. When she was about halfway finished, Emma began debating from which of those cakes she was taking a slice home for later.

  Haven came by again. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “A box for the rest of my sandwich, please. And can you tell me about those cakes? Despite my milkshake, I think I need some dessert to go.”

  Haven grinned. “The white one is an eggnog cake, which is basically a rum-soaked butter layer cake with a spiced meringue buttercream.”

  Emma blinked. “That sounds…amazing.”

  “The chocolate one is a chocolate peppermint crunch cake. And then there’s also a more traditional triple chocolate layer cake and a gingerbread layer cake. What can I tempt you with?”

  “How do people even choose?”

  “There’s only one answer here,” the wavy-haired Raven said, pulling Emma’s attention back to the bikers. “One of each.”

  Haven put her hands on her hips. “I mean, I can’t disagree.”

  Chuckling, Emma nodded. “Except then I’d slip into a sugar coma and no one would ever hear from me again. How about the eggnog cake?”

  “Good choice,” Haven said. She cut and boxed a thick slice, then put both of Emma’s boxes into a bag. “By the way, who told you I was the new baker here?”

  The question caught her off guard, but only because she’d been trying to think how she might work in asking about Caine—in front of his freaking club members—in a way that sounded totally casual. And here Haven had gone and done it for her. “Oh, uh, Caine?”

  Haven frowned. “Caine McKannon?”

  Caine McKannon. If that was his name, it was as much rough sex on a stick as he was. A thought that threatened to infuse her face with even more heat.

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t know his last name. But he’s, um, also a Raven Rider.” She could feel the men’s gazes on her without even looking. But then she did look, and sure enough, they were studying her. The one she now knew was Dare, the club’s president, wore an expression like she was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Her face felt like it was on fire. “Anyway, yeah.”

  “Wow, okay,” Haven said, giving a little chuckle and exchanging a glance with Dare. “Well, that’s him, all right. How did he come to mention that I work here?”

  Why did they all seem so…surprised that Caine might’ve talked to her? “It’s kind of a long story.” She stirred what was left of her milkshake just to have something to do with her hands. “That started with him chasing off a man who was mugging me and ended with him telling the locksmith I called what kind of additional security my house needed. In the middle, we ate cookies, and I had some of your peanut butters. When I said I got them here, he mentioned knowing you.”

  They were all still looking at her. Totally confused.

  Emma gulped down some water.

  Then Haven’s expression went soft. “Aw, that’s actually…well, that’s a Raven for you.”

  If they hadn’t had an audience, Emma would’ve asked the woman to explain what she meant. But she at least had an inkling, especially after what Catalin had said at dinner the other night. The Ravens offered protective services. Which Caine had absolutely done for her. And it was also clear that Haven thought the world of the men in this club—and that those feelings weren�
��t just for her fiancé, Dare. Emma thought about the affectionate way Haven had interacted with the man she’d called Jagger and how appreciative her tone had been just then about what Caine had done. And it was clear that the woman thought all these men were good, decent guys.

  Even though Caine could be intimidating and gruff, it was the same conclusion that Emma had ultimately made about him after they’d spent hours together.

  Emma paid her bill and slipped into her coat. And then she finally womaned up to do what it was she’d wanted to do since she first arrived at the restaurant. “So, do you know how I can reach Caine? I didn’t get his number, and I wanted to thank him for everything he did for me.” She didn’t direct her question to Haven alone, because clearly all three of these people knew Caine.

  Dare shifted on his stool, the others clearly deferring to him. “He’s kind of a private person. But if you’d like me to pass on your number, I can do that.”

  Kind of a private person… Yeah, Emma could see that. “Oh, of course.” She approached the man and rattled off her cell phone number when he gave her the signal.

  Dark, serious eyes searched her face, then Dare nodded. “Got it. And I’m glad Caine was able to help you.”

  “Me, too.” For a second, she was unsure how to extricate herself, and then she finally nodded and made a move for the door. “Merry Christmas,” she managed. Out on the sidewalk, she felt like she could breathe again. What was it about the members of the Raven Riders that made them so freaking intense to talk to?

  She’d only made it a few buildings down when a man’s voice called her name.

  “Emma?”

  She turned to find Dare leaning out the door of Dutch’s. “Yes?”

  “Are you walking? Do you need a ride somewhere?” he asked.

  It took her brain a second to compute what he’d just offered her, and then a flood of warmth spilled through her chest. The same kind of warmth that Caine arranging to get her medicine had unleashed that night they’d met. Who were these guys?

  “No, I drove.” She pointed down the block. “I’m just a few doors further down. But thank you for asking.”

  A single nod. “Be safe.” He ducked back inside.

  Emma stood there kinda stunned. And in the wake of Dare’s kindness, her desire to see Caine again was even stronger than before she’d arrived.

  That made her belly fall, though, because everything was in his court. Dropping by her house. Calling. Everything.

  All she could do was wait.

  * * * *

  Three pairs of eyes swung Caine’s way as he stepped inside Dutch’s. Dare and Jagger sat at the bar, ogling him like he had three heads. And Haven’s whole face lit up.

  “What?” he asked, wary as he made for the open stool next to Jagger.

  Haven grinned excitedly at him, which was fucking weird. No one reacted to him entering a room that way. “What can I get you, Caine?”

  “Black coffee. Thanks.” He peered to his left, where his brothers were still all about the three heads. “What the hell is up with you two?”

  “We met someone you know,” Dare said matter-of-factly.

  Haven brought his coffee, and he took a long sip, then shrugged. “Okay?”

  “A very cute blond someone,” Jagger said, trying to school his expression. Trying and fucking failing.

  Caine gave a bored sigh. And even though he knew exactly who they were talking about—hell, he could almost feel the echo of her energy in here now—he played it cool. “That doesn’t narrow it down very fucking much, now, does it.”

  Jagger smirked.

  “You want something to eat?” Haven asked, eyeballing him like she knew he was playing dumb.

  Which of course he was. “You got chicken noodle tonight?”

  She nodded. “That’s all?”

  “Yeah,” he said. Not that he usually had much of an appetite, but his asshole friends ambushing him with their knowledge of Emma had chased away his ache for food.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fished it out and unlocked the home screen. The text was from Dare. He frowned at the guy sitting four feet from him and then opened the message.

  Emma’s number is 301-555-1851. She asked to get in touch with you.

  His gut squeezed, and the question was out of his mouth before he’d meant to say it. “Is she okay?”

  “Ohhh. Which she would that be again?” Jagger asked, his expression full of mirth. Even though that was irritating as shit, Caine couldn’t hold it against the guy. For months now, Jagger had been uncharacteristically serious—his old easy-going manner dimmed somehow, ever since he’d been released from jail back in November. He’d served almost four months for a crime he hadn’t committed. And even though he’d been exonerated, the experience had marked him in a way that they all saw.

  So, fine, Caine wasn’t going to flip his shit. This time. “Yeah, yeah. D?”

  Dare nodded. “She’s fine. Just feeling grateful.” He arched a dark brow that communicated everything Caine needed to know—namely that she’d told them what he’d done. And not done. “Anyway, sounds like you did good.”

  Caine’s gaze cut to Dare’s harsh face. “The fucker got away. Nothing good about that.”

  Haven delivered his soup and a big stack of salty crackers, just like she knew he liked. And that little personal touch… It wasn’t something he was used to receiving, because there weren’t many people who had any reason to know his likes and dislikes that well. “It sounds like you stood up for her, Caine,” she said in a quiet voice, “and that all by itself can mean a lot to a person if it’s not something anyone’s done for them before.”

  Her words hit him in places he didn’t like to think too much about.

  “You always look out for me…”

  Caine swallowed hard against the memory of Grace’s voice. And Haven helped pull him back to the present when she placed a square white pastry box on the counter next to him.

  “What’s that?” he managed.

  “A little something for Emma. It sounds like she’s a fan of my peanut butter cookies. I baked these fresh, and I was thinking you could deliver some to her. You know, for me.”

  Caine blinked. Then his gaze narrowed. First on the box, then on his brothers, who were watching him like he might be a bomb about to detonate, and then, finally, on the petite woman standing in front of him. Her expression as innocent as a fucking newborn babe.

  He was being played here.

  He knew he was.

  But he wasn’t giving them the satisfaction of a reaction. So he shrugged one shoulder and dug back into his soup. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Which translated in McKannonese to when hell freezes over. The others just didn’t realize it.

  “Okay,” Haven said, excitement plain in her tone.

  So fucking played.

  He gulped the soup down, pocketed the crackers, and paid his bill. Then, just barely swallowing back a groan, he took the fucking box of cookies, too.

  Not once did he let himself examine why their little ploy made him feel like a layer of his skin had been flayed off, exposing all his nerves to the slightest excruciating touch. And no way was he actually going to Emma’s. Instead, he went home. Worked on his bike for a few hours, blaring rock music drowning out the voices in his head. Then he fell into the couch with the TV playing, knowing there was every likelihood he’d end up sleeping right there—for however long his brain would actually allow him to shut down.

  Which turned out not to be very long. Because that cookie box was sitting on his coffee table. Taunting him. Tormenting him. Tempting him.

  Problem was? Caine wasn’t a very strong man. And the things someone good and wholesome and, just, normal like Emma Kerry might tempt him with were the kinds of things that would break him if he ever let himself imagine—for even one second—he could actually have them.

  Caine knew that in his gut, in his long dead heart, and in his memories. Jesus, he could hear the so
und of the breaking even now. The sick wet crunch of it.

  So he turned over and faced the back of the couch. And ignored that box like a motherfucker. It was safer that way.

  Chapter 7

  Caine spent nearly all day on Friday helping Jagger handle a maintenance issue at the club’s racetrack. Green Valley brought in the biggest part of the Raven Riders’ revenue—through avenues both legal and less so—and they all pitched in to help Jagger, their Race Captain—whenever he asked.

  Today, Caine had appreciated the distraction.

  From the fact that he’d slept like shit. And from the fact that he knew exactly what had kept him staring up at the dark ceiling all night.

  Those damn cookies. Or, more specifically, the thought of taking those damn cookies to a certain pretty blonde.

  Riding home after a long day’s work out in the cold, Caine forced his thoughts to focus on more immediate concerns. A hot shower. Maybe some food, because the saltines he’d eaten for lunch weren’t really cutting it. Yeah, he’d have one of his protein shakes, at least.

  Suddenly his phone started blowing up, judging by the constant vibrations in his pocket.

  As soon as he parked in the gravel drive in front of his trailer, he checked his cell.

  His gut started a slow fall. He should’ve known he’d only be able to outrun this situation for so long. Though, when Jagger hadn’t teased him at all about it, a part of him thought he might’ve skirted the issue for today. No such luck.

  Haven wants to know if Emma enjoyed the cookies, Dare had written about eight minutes before. Making it clear there would be no skirting.

  A minute later: Did you take them?

  Two minutes after that: Tell me you took them.

  And one more, from just a minute ago: Dude.

  Caine dismounted his bike and made his way inside, his fingers moving as he typed and deleted and typed again. Finally, he replied, Not yet.

  Dare’s response was immediate. When? I know you’re not thinking about wasting those fucking cookies, right?