She shakes her head, looking every bit the part of an innocent Southern belle. I want to eat her up—all of her. I’m not so sure she’d survive me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t at least try.
“Think around twenty thousand or so…five or ten more, if I walk away with the brand-new model and no miles on it.”
Her perfect, pouty lips part as she gasps with surprise. “Twenty to twenty-five or thirty thousand dollars?”
Nodding, I latch my stare onto the two bills in her hand and say, “You’d be paying me for years, beautiful. I don’t want to take your money.”
“Why not? What’s wrong with my money?”
My lips tilt into their signature smile as I remark, “Not a damn thing, but I’d like something more.” Her feistiness gives me hope that she wouldn’t wither under my touch. I wonder if she’s ever had it rough. Nah, fuck that, I don’t want to think of her with anyone else.
She inhales a deep breath, anticipation filling her as she waits for my request. This girl is all nerves, and she has no reason to be. Could it be possible that she doesn’t grasp entirely just how alluring she is to a man like me? It’d be my lucky day if that’s the case. She’s way out of my league, no doubt, but I’m not one to back away from something I want. Here and now, that’s her.
“I’m not trying to pimp you out. It’s far simpler than that.” Her shoulders drop with my chuckle and reassurance. I continue. “Each time you want to bring me money, we have lunch together instead. Hell, we can just chat if you’re not hungry.” Not only am I doing this to secure time with her, but my guess is that she doesn’t have money to go out with. This way, I don’t have to eat alone or with my brothers every damn day, and I know she’s fed as well. Not to mention the perks of breaking down her walls and eventually fucking her. I’m a man. Pussy is always on my mind, even if I attempt to push it toward the back to be respectful. I was already caught up with her last week on the side of the road, but seeing her like this, I’m pretty much enraptured.
“Why would you want to have lunch with me?” Her hands go to her hips. I have no doubt in my mind that this bitch is used to being independent, and with her questions, it tells me she’s used to being the only one taking care of herself. Little spitfire just grows spicier by the moment.
I shrug, moving a step closer. My finger lightly presses under her chin, tipping her head up. She’s fucking magnificent, a breath of fresh air around here. “If I tell you it’s because I’m a man and you’re a beautiful woman, would it be enough? Or would it have you turning heel and running as far from me as possible?”
Her hazel orbs take in my features, studying my face, for what, I haven’t the faintest idea. Lord knows it’s not the face of an honest man. My request and internal thoughts aren’t good intentioned or pure. It’s quite the opposite. I want her naked, bared to me, and sweaty in my bed, screaming my name while I bury my face between her thighs. If I have to come up with a way to eventually break down her walls and get her there, then so be it. I’ll do what I have to. I always have.
She gives in after damn near making me break a sweat in anticipation. “Okay, I can do that. It’s the least I owe you after everything.”
Right. I’ll let her believe she’s obligated to me for as long as possible if it means I get a chance with her. It’s fucked up, I know. It was my fault that my light wasn’t working on that black night. The stupid headlamp had been messing up for the longest time, yet she thinks her car being in the road is the reason for my crash. I like having her in my debt; or, at least, believing she is.
My thumb lightly trails along her chin. I step back, putting much-needed distance between us before I do something stupid, like attempt to kiss her already. That’d definitely scare her off. The skittish thing doesn’t seem to be used to men like me. I can’t believe she had the guts to show up for me around a bunch of unruly bikers at the club in the first place. And dressed like that, to boot. She may come off as a bit naïve, but there’s obviously some courage and strong will in her somewhere, leading her wherever she sees fit. Knowing that makes her even more enticing.
Fuck, I’m going to be in over my head with this one. I can already tell.
“So, what’re we having for lunch then?” I murmur, and she scrambles a bit.
“Right now?”
I nod. “You brought money, and I’m not about to allow you to waste a dress like that.”
Her lips tilt into a surprised smile. She allows a glimpse of her white teeth to show before she manages to tuck that extra bit of sweetness away.
Yep, I see you.
Grabbing her hand, I give it a light tug in the direction of mine and my brothers’ bikes.
“Where are you taking me?”
“For a ride, Sweet Pea. I’m testing this new motorcycle out, and I have a feeling it’d help me decide to keep it or not if you were on it with me. We can stop and eat on the way…”
I don’t give a fuck about food right now, to be honest. I want her curvy little body pressed against mine, and her arms wrapped tightly around me. I want to hear her scream while the wind is in her hair, and make her feel like she’s flying. I wonder if she’s ever been with a man as free as me. Fuck, there I go again! The last thing I need to think about is another man touching her. Hell, if I don’t stop, I may end up pulling over and finger fucking her until she begs for my cock. That’s not the impression I’m going for today, although I wouldn’t fight it if she were to ask for it.
I turn on some Tom Petty and crank the engine once Savannah’s exactly where I want her, pushed up against my back. The petite, luscious woman wraps her arms around me, tightly holding on as I toe the kickstand up. The breeze allows me to catch hints of her scent, and whatever she’s got on has me gritting my teeth. The angel smells so fucking good, like sunshine and tight, clean pussy. My cock pulses in response, but it’s no use. The prick won’t get anything but my hand or a piece of sweetbutt ass and neither sound appealing when I have this perfect creature up against me.
I make my way out of the MC lot, but it’s not lost on me that I have the attention of every brother. Amusement fills their stares as I hit the gas, and Savannah’s dress goes flying. I guess I should’ve warned her about that happening, but I conveniently forgot. She squeals in surprise, and my laugh grows deeper. The moves combine, and my ribs scream in pain with them. I try to ignore it, to act like I’m fine, but it fucking hurts. Riding alone is painful, but adding in these antics only increases the pain level.
I roll slow for a beat, giving her a chance to tuck the fabric under her thighs. Once her other hand is back in place on my abs, I gun it again. I’d bet good money this is the first time she’s been on the back of a bike, and the knowledge has my alpha silently beating his chest. I need to make sure she never forgets it—or me, for that matter.
Three
A wise girl knows her limits, a smart girl knows she has none. - Marilyn Monroe
Bash is crazy. The man seriously loves speed, and while I was terrified riding on the back of his fancy new motorcycle, I was also completely enthralled. I can certainly see the allure of why these men ride around like fanatics and love their motorcycles so much.
We stopped off on the side of the road, and he asked if I like barbecue. I replied by asking him if the pope was Catholic, and I watched his smile blossom. It was one of the best times I’ve had in a while, and we didn’t even talk much. I had no idea what to say to him, and I didn’t want to risk sounding like a fool. I kept wanting to apologize for the accident, but something inside told me that’s not what he wanted to hear. It was great being at a random place, too, because there weren’t many people around.
We sat at a picnic table and ate a tasty meal, feeling each other out a bit by staying on easy subjects. I talked a little about work and the humidity, and Bash was polite enough to not pressure me for more. I was already on edge being alone with him, as I haven’t dated since before my father was killed. Bash sat back and followed my lead on the conversation, so I
ended up enjoying myself more than I’d anticipated. Once we were stuffed full of delicious, tender barbecue, he brought me back to my car without hesitation. The lunch date was short, yet kinda perfect. Was it a date? Is that what I’m considering it? Maybe.
Bash even offered to check my car and tightened my battery cable in place again. Now I’m stuck at work filled with thoughts of him from yesterday, and I don’t really know jack squat about this guy. However, one thing’s for certain…he’s caught my attention. There’s no use trying to deny it when I can’t stop myself from thinking of seeing him again—as soon as possible, preferably.
“Hey, Mary Ellen?”
“Yeah, sweetie?” The older waitress replies, turning to me as she marries ketchups. She’s got fluffy, short hair, the kind that sticks up a good three inches off her scalp, and you can sort of see through it. I couldn’t imagine her with any other style, however. She’s got kind, deep brown eyes and one heck of a Southern drawl. She may as well be made of honey with how slow her words are, and ginormous boobs. She was no doubt part of the Dolly Parton era of women who wear bright pink lipstick religiously.
I continue to wipe down the sticky Coke machine, leaving the little nozzles on until closing. I’ll have to unscrew them and pop them in a pitcher of warm water later to soak. “Do you know anything about the Kings of Carnage MC?”
Her hand flutters to her chest, the other gripping the ketchup bottle tightly. We still have the old-fashioned glass bottles rather than the smooth plastic squeezable kind. “I’ve heard stories. None of them appealing, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Have you ever met any of them, though? They seem fairly young for guys devoted to a club like that.”
“I’ve served a couple of them coffee before, but I don’t actually know them. The older members—years back—weren’t the kindest of men. They terrorized one of the local mechanics, drove him straight out of town. There have also been rumors that they’d kidnap and sell young girls. They were into all sorts of horrendous things. Supposedly, the son has taken over, and there hasn’t been much said about them since then. Probably why they look young to you. That boy should be in his late twenties or somewhere around there. I’d bet the rest of them aren’t far off from there.”
“Oh, wow, younger than I thought.”
“Yep.” She nods, her brow pinched with worry. “You haven’t had a run-in with them, have you? Nice girl like you; it wouldn’t do you any favors, if so.”
I shrug, no longer wanting to talk about Bash. He’s confident and intimidating, sure, but I couldn’t imagine him being ugly enough to someone it’d make them leave town. Or even worse, being involved with human trafficking. He seemed the opposite, actually; thoughtful and willing to lend a helping hand on both occasions I was around him. I have a feeling Mary Ellen likes her gossip a little too much to weave out the truth in hearsay.
“What happened, Savannah? Did one of those bikers harass you, honey?”
“Oh, no, nothing exciting like that. I had lunch with one of them yesterday, and he was really nice. That’s all. I was just wondering if you knew anything more about him. I’m not too concerned, though. Like I said, he was decent.”
She bursts out, “Oh, dear, thank heavens he didn’t hurt you, honey! I’m afraid no one will go up against that club…not even the law. They have a rough reputation. I’m not so sure dating one of them would be a smart idea. I’d hate to see something happen to you. Who knows if they could make you disappear or not. Bad enough they’re affiliated with the strip club. You know, the one that sells all that liquor? God can’t be happy over that place full of sinners. Last I heard, Margret Thatcher was going to bring over some brochures from the church, hoping to reach some of those women.”
“Disappear?” I repeat, my heart skipping a beat as I get stuck on that one word.
“Wouldn’t put it past them,” she says quietly and goes back to pouring ketchup from one bottle to fill the other. I can still hear her mumbling to herself. She’s reciting some sort of prayer as she works.
“I’ll be careful,” I whisper and head for the bathroom.
I need a moment to myself to process what she’s implied and decide if I think I can handle it. This wouldn’t be my first run-in with a bad batch of men. My father was murdered for heaven’s sake. While human trafficking is at the top of the list, the guys who killed my dad would be high up on there as well. The worst part of all is, I don’t know why my father was murdered in the first place. One day he was here, and the next day he was gone—forever. In the beginning, I couldn’t believe he was dead. It felt surreal. Eventually, the reality sank in, and the grief came crashing down along with it. My dad was an amazing guy, and his loss completely devastated me.
I hadn’t given much thought to dating anyone. I’ve been so caught up in my own head, that no one has captured my interest. Until now, anyhow. Bash certainly made a lasting impression on me. I guess meeting over a traumatic experience will do that to you, though, where you instantly forge a type of bond. Maybe that’s why I feel so comfortable around the man. Well, I’m nervous, but he doesn’t intimidate me as, I’m assuming, he does to most. If the club and the guys in it are terrible like my coworker implied, then Bash has to be pretty twisted, I’d imagine, to hold the spot of vice president. I took in his patches closely yesterday, trying to figure out what half of them could mean. I didn’t ask, and I won’t…until we know each other better. But now, my curiosity is skyrocketing.
I’d almost eagerly made a deal with Bash that we’d have lunch together instead of me paying him. I plan to stick with my word. I told him I’d find a way to prove to him that it means something. I completely ruined his expensive motorcycle, and eating lunch with him is the least I can do—whether he’s scary to some people or not. I don’t think he is, but rather, he’s handsome and a bit flirty. Lord knows I can’t spend years attempting to pay him back at this rate, and I’m not so sure he’d be too keen on that scenario either. Maybe this all happened for some odd reason that I can’t explain right now like it was fate. This man came into my life unexpectedly, and I have to find out why. I just hope it’s not to end up selling me to some sex trafficker.
“Savannah Mae?” My name’s called through the bathroom door, and I shut the water off. It’d been running the entire time I stood there staring in the mirror thinking of Bash. I meant to wash my hands and face, something to break up the thoughts of Bash, but I ended up getting sucked further into them. Somehow that doesn’t surprise me, I’m sure it’s easy getting drawn into all things that have to do with the sexy outlaw MC member.
I clear my throat, replying stronger than before. “Sorry, Mary Ellen, I’ll be right out.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Speaking of those bikers, you were just asking me about…”
I crack the door, peeking at her through the few inches of space. “Yes, ma’am?”
She leans in and whispers conspiratorially. “One of them just came in, asking for a to-go order.”
My eyes widen, and I inhale deeply. I step out into the tiny hallway that leads from the restrooms back into the small diner. I can’t help but wonder, or to hope, “W-was it Bash?”
“Says his name is Sly. I didn’t ask for anything else. Not trying to have trouble pointed in my direction if you know what I mean.”
Swallowing, I nod. “All right, then. Let’s get out there before he thinks anything of us being back here for too long.”
She follows along, and as we step out of the hallway, I see the man she’d mentioned. It’d be hard not to miss him. Not only is he the only guy in here, but he’s gorgeous. He’s got short hair and a closely-cut beard to match; both are dark. His scruff reminds me of Bash’s. That’s not what sticks out the most, though…it’s the ink on his neck and left arm. The artwork is beautiful. Mary Ellen and I go behind the counter to our station, and the biker glances up. I briefly meet his light green stare, the color reminding me of a Granny Smith apple and offer a friendly smile.
“Do you
need to-go silverware or any extra sauces with your order?” I ask as Mary Ellen skedaddles back over to her condiments, keeping to herself. She’s probably thrilled I’ve questioned the biker if he needs anything, so she doesn’t have to extend that courtesy.
“Mayo and ketchup. Can’t keep either around with the brothers always eating my shit.” He’s not rude or grouchy. Sly’s the opposite, actually, and I find myself smiling wider. Is it just a coincidence that I’d never see any of these bikers in here, and the day after I have lunch with Bash, another just happens to walk into the diner I work at?
“Not a problem. I’ll make sure to put some in with your food order.”
“Appreciate that.” He nods.
“You want something to drink while you wait?”
“I’m fine,” he replies.
I step closer to the food window. Grabbing the order ticket Mary Ellen wrote up, I check it over and notice that this isn’t just Sly’s food. I quickly place the ticket back in its spot—the cook gets pissed if we move them. It looks like several of Bash’s brothers put in an order for food as well. Could Bash have been the one to send Sly in for food? It’d have to be him, right? Noticing how many meals he’s taking back, I grab an empty bag and fill it half full of ketchup and mayo packets, along with some napkins. I’ve seen plenty of men eat before. They manage to get messy even if it’s just an order of french fries on their plate.
“Orders up!” Sam calls loudly, and I head back to the window. There’re about twelve to-go boxes stacked up next to each other in the small area.
“Thanks, Sam,” I say and take the Styrofoam containers down to place in multiple plastic bags. Sly’s already paid, so I set the seven bags down on the counter in front of him. “Would you like some help carrying all this to your vehicle?” I’m hoping he didn’t ride his motorcycle. That’d be a little awkward trying to get all this food to stay in one place and warm. Just the fact he’s picking up their own food has me a bit stunned. Door Dash has pretty much taken over the bulk of to-go orders, even out here away from the city.
Bash Page 3
