BAD BOY'S KISS: A Dark Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Naomi West

  He wanted to be that someone.

  He stood, sliding his chair back. “Gentlemen. Watch and learn.”

  He grinned with a confidence he didn’t quite feel and strode up to the bar, heart still pounding. Katrin was sitting now, talking animatedly with Rex, the bartender. Pistol leaned into the space beside her, placing his forearms on the bar.

  She didn’t even glance at him. Just kept talking to Rex.

  Huh?

  He waited patiently, like a good boy. When Rex finally turned to him, shooting him a dirty look, he ordered a beer and threw Katrin a smile. She offered a brief smile back, but didn’t drop her gaze to his chest or his crotch. Didn’t eye his tattoos or admire his muscled arms. She just turned her attention to the TV behind the bar.

  Well, this was new.

  “You need another beer?” he asked.

  “No thanks,” she said, without looking at him. Even her voice was hot. Low, a little smoky. Like she ought to be speaking to him over a long, silver cigarette holder.

  He noticed her little … purse? Was it still a purse if it was that tiny? She was a Reds fan, apparently. “You from Cincinnati?”

  “I was born there.”

  He edged in a little closer. “Yeah? Is Ohio as bad as they say?”

  “Who’s they?”

  He accepted his beer from Rex. “You know.They. They say you should get eight hours of sleep a night. They say eat your veggies. They say alcohol’s bad for you.”

  She finally turned to him. “Dothey also say you shouldn’t bother someone who’s trying to watch the game?” It wasn’t a cold rebuke, though. She sounded amused.

  Touché.

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure they say live with no regrets.” He took a swig of beer. “And I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t come talk to you.”

  She rolled her eyes, but laughed. “What a charmer.” He couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or not.

  “So who’s winning?” Baseball was the most boring-ass sport of all time, but he could pretend to be interested.

  She checked the screen again. “Orioles.”

  “You don’t sound happy about that.”

  She faced him and his stomach did a dive at the sparkle in those hazel eyes. “I don’t care much for either team.”

  “So why are you watching?”

  “To avoid talking to you.”

  He gave a surprised bark of laughter. “Why do you want to avoid talking to me?” He was aware of Rex still giving him the side-eye.

  “Because you look like trouble.” That sparkle again. She might be a quiet one, but she had a sense of humor. Good.

  “Haven’t seen you around before.”

  “I just moved here yesterday.”

  “Seriously?” he feigned surprise.

  “Seriously.”

  “How’s Rialto treating you so far?”

  She shrugged. “Not too bad.”

  He slid onto the stool next to her. “What do you do?”

  “For work or for pleasure?”

  “Both. Either.”

  “I’m here for school.” She glanced slightly to the side when she said it, and a hint of sadness came over her expression. Or maybe Pistol imagined it. Shit, he wasn’t great at emotional stuff. “I graduated from a pre-med program last spring. Now I’m gonna start a nursing program.”

  “Up at the University?”

  “Yeah. Classes start in a month. Crazy, right? Haven’t even unpacked our boxes, and he’s already set up shop, and I’m enrolled in school.”

  “You must be tired.”Looking for a little stress relief? He bit his tongue before he actually said it. She wasn’t the kind of girl he could go full throttle with, not right away.

  “I’m all right.”

  You’re more than all right.

  He glanced round as the bar door opened — Kong was leaving. It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. The prez rarely hung out drinking with the whippersnappers for long. Except that a quick glance back at his table conformed Kong had barely touched his beer. Ford and Deion were laughing at something on Ford’s phone. They didn’t seem concerned. Pistol let it go.

  Katrin asked, “Are your friends missing you?”

  His attention snapped back to her. He grinned and purposely shifted so that the arm closest to her flexed. “You tryin’ to get rid of me?”

  “Maybe.” She gentled the tease with another smile.

  Damn. A man might do just about anything for that smile. “Most people find me charming, you know.”

  She took a good look at him for the first time. “I’ll bet they do.”

  He could feel something between them, something electric and crackling. Could smell her shampoo, the slightest hint of perfume, and something else, something indefinable that made him lust in a way he never had before.

  She took a sip of her drink and leaned a little closer. God, he wanted to bury a hand in that thick, dark hair, kiss the crook of her pale shoulder until her head tipped back and she sighed. A predatory feeling rose within him. He had no interest in forcing her or wearing her down. But he wanted toseduce her. Wanted to see those hazel eyes lit with pure pleasure, wanted to see those full lips part to let out a helpless moan. Wanted to see that perfectly smooth skin shining with sweat, those flawlessly arched eyebrows knitting together as she whimpered his name and begged him to go deeper, harder, faster.

  Shit. He had it worse than bad for this girl.

  “That your bike out there?” she asked, with a nod toward the door. The front tire of Pistol’s Cruiser was just visible through the glass.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It looks big, loud, and dirty.”

  “Like me?”

  “Like you,” she confirmed. Her gaze fell on the tattoo on his right bicep. A skeleton, trailing fire from its skull, riding a flaming motorcycle through a cavernous heart. A curling banner draped across the heart read: BROTHERHOOD. She looked suddenly less sure of herself. The smile was gone.

  He shifted. “I ain’t so bad when you get to know me.”

  “I never said big, loud, and dirty was bad.” She offered another smile, this one closed-lipped, demure. His chest clenched.

  “You like bikes?” he asked, feeling dumber than a cow patty.

  “I do, actually.”

  “You ride?”

  She shook her head, a little wistful. “My dad won’t let me.”

  “Won’tletyou? How oldare you?” One look at her expression and he knew he’d fucked up. “Sorry. Just…”

  “I’m twenty-three,” she said, tone suddenly cool, almost defensive. “But my dad and I are close. We’ve had to rely on each other ever since…” She trailed off, shaking her head. Clearly, she didn’t want to get into it. “I respect him,” she finished firmly.

  “Sure.” Pistol nodded. “Me and my old man were close too.”Before he went and drank himself stupid and put his truck through a guardrail and left me alone with the raving bitch from hell. No point in coming out with the whole sob story now. This was already way too deep for a barstool conversation with a chick he was hoping to bang.

  She seemed to warm again. “Does your family live around here?”

  “Been here for generations.”

  She looked at him with those penetrating hazel eyes, and he was reminded once more that she wasn’t just any girl. He got the feeling she was looking right into his soul, if he had one.

  “So if you could ride,” he said. “You would?”

  She gazed evenly at him, her chin tilted slightly. “You’re damn right I would.”

  That electricity between them grew unbearably hot and forceful. He could almost feel her soft lips brushing his, hear her moan as he teased her with his tongue, kissing her harder and deeper until they were both fucking lost in it. He tensed, his dick hardening.

  He was just about to go for it — just about to ask if she wanted to go riding, when suddenly Deion was at his side.

  “Pistol?”

/>   Jesus Fucking Christ. Cockblock much?

  Except Deion wouldn’t be here, speaking in that low, urgent tone, unless it was … urgent.

  “What is it?” Pistol tried to keep the irritation from his tone.

  Deion dropped his voice so low Pistol could barely hear it. “Kong’s got a mission for us.”

  “What?”

  “Unsanctioned drug deal outside of town. Near the border. He wants us to stake it out. Run ’em off.”

  “Aw hell.”

  “He’s already back at the clubhouse. We gotta go now.”

  Pistol glanced at Katrin, who was watching him sharply, as if the appearance of this new tattooed biker confirmed what she’d suspected all along — that Pistol was bad news, and she was better off not getting involved.

  Hell. This little assignment of Kong’s sounded easy enough. Maybe he’d be back in time to make an actual pass at Katrin.

  “Sorry,” he told her, forcing a grin. “Gotta run.” He wanted to ask if she planned on sticking around awhile, but he didn’t want to sound too desperate.

  Katrin simply nodded. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

  That was it?

  What’d I expect? We’ve known each other all of ten minutes.

  She glanced back at the screen. Pistol followed her gaze, watched the Orioles score a run. Damn, she was a tough nut to crack. He’d definitely stop in again later, see if she was still here.

  For now, he said, “Yeah, you too,” and headed back to the table to grab his leather jacket.

  Chapter Three

  “I’m home!” Katrin called as she entered the one-story stucco house. Their home was deceptively modest; looked almost small on the outside. But inside it was furnished elegantly and expensively — natural wood furniture, stainless steel appliances. It had a very different feel from their condo in Ohio, but Katrin thought that, given time, she could learn to love it.

  She was a little nervous about school. The nursing program at UR was rigorous, but she’d made a couple of friends on Facebook who were going to be in her program. And, naïve as it might sound, she believed she was doing worthy work. Her mother’s nurses at the Cleveland Clinic had been wonderful — the only people capable of reassuring Katrin without it sounding false or overly optimistic. And they’d brought Jess Smith so many thoughtful little things that had made her more comfortable — puzzles, magazines, extra blankets, books. Katrin wanted to help people. Make them more comfortable. Get them on the road to wellness or else ease their transition from this world into the next.

  “Hello?” she called, checking the kitchen. Usually her father called a greeting as soon as he heard her come in.

  The house felt empty. She rapped softly on his bedroom door. No answer.

  He must not be home.

  She went back to the kitchen, made herself some tea, and slumped at the table, waiting for the tea to cool. Her mind wandered to the man she’d met at the bar. Pistol, his friend had called him. She shook her head, smiling slightly. She knew the type — overgrown boy, obsessed with his big, loud toys. Probably saw Katrin — demure, buttoned-up Katrin — as a challenge. Had probably slept with every woman in Rialto.

  She didn’t need to waste time with a guy like that.

  Except…

  God, he’d been hot. And honestly, she’d never really had a chance to explore her sexuality. Never had a one night stand, had never done anything even remotely kinky…

  She made a face.Explore her sexuality. That sounded like something from some sex-ed video. She’d just … there’d been one guy when she was eighteen — a handsome but bland poly-sci major. Shortly after that, her mother had been diagnosed, and Katrin had thought of nothing but caring for her for the next four years. She’d spent those years in and out of school, driving four hours up to Cleveland every weekend when her mom was at the clinic.

  She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about that right now. She wanted to think about Pistol. Those bulging, tattooed arms. Faded jeans, worn almost thread thin at the creases near his groin. His cocky grin, the smile lines around his blue-grey eyes … okay, so he’d sort of been an arrogant, entitled asshole, but she’d dealt with worse. And she couldn’t deny that one look at him had made her pussy clench, had gotten her dripping wet.

  And the fact that he had a bike…

  God, she wanted to ride.

  What she’d told him was true: Her dad wouldn’t approve of his daughter on a motorcycle. Too dangerous. To loud, too … improper. Her father did have some mildly old-fashioned notions about gender roles. He was far from a perfect man, but particularly after Jess’s death, Katrin had needed him. And he’d needed her.

  She glanced at her phone. A text from Jenna, one of the Facebook friends. Katrin had promised to go out with her sometime once she got to town.You doing anything tonight?

  She wished she’d gotten Pistol’s number. Then she’d be doing something tonight, that was for sure. Riding that big, gruff biker like the machine he was. What had all that stuff been at the end there? When his friend had come over and said something that had made Pistol hightail it out of there? She knew she hadn’t imagined that current in the air between him. She genuinely believed he’d wanted to stay, wanted to take things further with her.

  But the brotherhood had called. She rolled her eyes. She didn’t know much about biker gangs, except that some of them could be damned scary.

  Think I’ll just stay in, she texted back.I’m pretty beat.

  Okay. A bunch of us are going out dancing if you wanna come.

  Not tonight. She’d already taken Rex from the bar up on his offer for a welcome-to-town drink. And she’d already survived a chat up from Pistol. That was enough socializing for one day. Besides, she couldn’t dance; she just flapped around like a chicken. And people made extra fun of her, because, as her best friend Maddy back in Ohio put it, “someone as elegant as you shouldn’t look like a one of those inflatable thingies outside car dealerships when you dance.”

  Ah, well. People surprised you.

  Maybe, if she’d gotten Pistol’s number. If she’d spent the evening with him, he’d have surprised her.

  She jerked as the back door opened. Her dad walked in.

  “God, you scared me!” she cried.

  Leonard Smith was carrying a stack of empty cardboard boxes. He grinned when he saw her. “My girl! How’d it go today?” He set the boxes down, nudged the backdoor shut with the toe of his worn cowboy boot, and came over to the table to hug her.

  “Pretty good,” Katrin said into his shoulder.

  He straightened. “What’d you get up to?”

  She shrugged. “Went to Hammer and Nailed to take Rex up on that welcome to town drink.”

  She didn’t miss her father’s slight frown. He didn’t mind her going to bars, exactly, but he’d been less than thrilled when Rex had told Katrin yesterday to stop by sometime for a drink. Rex was an old acquaintance of her dad’s — he had come to visit a couple of times in Ohio when Katrin was little. Katrin had always gotten the impression her father didn’t like her interacting with Rex, which was strange, since she’d simply been trying to be polite to her dad’s friend.

  Her dad quickly replaced the frown with a grin. “Rex didn’t try to put the moves on you, did he?”

  “Put the moves on me? Seriously? What decade are you from?”

  “Sorry, sorry. But your old dad likes to know.” Leonard went to the cabinet to grab a glass and filled it with water from the tap. “I gotta look after my gal. Keep you safe.”

  He’d been this way for nearly a year, ever since Katrin’s mother had passed.You’re all I’ve got left. I’d die if anything happened to you. Take care of yourself. Stay with me. Stay with me, even though you’re a fully-grown woman, even though you have plans and dreams of your own. Stay with me — let me protect you even if you don’t want to be protected.

  “Rex didn’t put the moves on me.” She hesitated, wondering if she should divulge this or not. “But
someone did.”

  “Oh?” Leonard raised his brows, grinning over the top of his glass. “And who was this?” He drained the rest of the water.

  “I didn’t get his name. But his friend called him Pistol.”Pistol. She wasn’t sure if the nickname gave her a thrill or made her want to roll her eyes.

  That frown was back on her dad’s face. “Pistol?” He set the glass by the sink “You mean Jax Wilson?”