Running Hot (Hell Ryders MC Book 2)

by J. L. Sheppard

  Without losing sight of her gaze, he jerked his head side to side. “Not happening.”

  She pushed at his chest but got nowhere. His arm around her waist holding her tight, and he wasn’t budging. “Well then, too bad, biker.”

  Eyes hardening, through gritted teeth, he asked, “Why does it matter?”

  “Why does it matter what he said to me?”

  “’Cause I wanna know if I should find him and kick his ass.”

  She lifted a brow. “You’re going to kick his ass because he said something that offended me? Really, Thomas, why do you care? Do you think anything he said could’ve hurt more than you shutting me out?”

  He flinched. “You said you forgave me.”

  “It doesn’t mean I’m going to forget what you did. It doesn’t mean we pick up where we left off. It especially doesn’t mean I tell you everything.”

  His jaw went hard. “Tiff, you’re pissing me off.”

  He wasn’t letting it go, and he wouldn’t. The battle would ensue until she relented. In this, he reminded her of a boyfriend she had in high school, one Thomas met once, one she didn’t consider a “real” boyfriend since they dated for three short months, and it never went further than kissing.

  Although it annoyed her, it didn’t infuriate her because he wasn’t her ex. He was Thomas. Thomas acted the way he did to protect her, not control her, and it made her feel safe. Realizing this angered her, so without thinking, she said something she regretted instantly. “You’re acting like Brad.”

  Unfair to compare him to one of her exes, an ex she despised, when Thomas had done so much for her. She was out of line, but her anger forced the words out. Maybe he wouldn’t remember Brad.

  His brows furrowed. Eyes, holding so much pain, held hers for a long moment before he dropped his head and exhaled.

  She never wanted that, never wanted to hurt him. “I’m…sorry…I shouldn’t have—”

  He lifted his head and met her gaze. “Why do I remind you of him?”

  “I’m sorry…I—”

  His face flamed. “Answer the fuckin’ question.”

  She looked away. “He’d insist and insist until I did what he wanted.”

  “Like what?” Voice tight, forcing her to look his way.

  “Not what you’re thinking.”

  “Why the hell do you put up with me then?”

  She shrugged. “Most of the time, I don’t mind when you do it.”

  Some of the tension in his shoulders dissolved. Then he smiled.

  Still, she felt guilty and because she did, she admitted part of it. “We had a difference of opinion.”

  He quirked a brow. She could tell he wanted to ask but made the herculean effort not to, probably because of what she’d said.

  “About bikers.”

  His eyes widened. “He saw you wave.”

  She nodded. “Then he said something not so nice about bikers. I disagreed.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “He said something about bikers or about me?”

  She expelled a breath. “Will you promise not to kick his ass?”

  His gaze flew behind her, brows furrowed, thinking. This, he did for a while before he looked at her and nodded.

  “About you.”

  He grinned. “And you stuck up for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even after I’d…”

  She knew what he meant to say, so she finished the sentence. “Shut me out?”

  Eyes darkening, he tore his gaze from hers and swallowed.

  “Yes, Thomas. I still stuck up for you.”

  Thomas smiled wide. He didn’t say anything else. He just stared at her, and the longer he did, the more she became uncomfortable. Close, too close, she on his lap, one of his hands on her hip, the other arm snaked around her back.

  “Are you going to let me go, so I can sit on the couch instead of on you?”

  His eyes alight, a teasing glint to them, he released her. “You act like we’ve never been this close before.”

  Her eyes widened. What? “When?”

  He chuckled. “Almost every night we’ve watched a movie.”

  Her jaw dropped. “W-what?”

  He laughed, a deep, rich, beautiful laugh that echoed around the walls and vibrated inside her. “Baby girl, we watch movies. You fall asleep every time. You lay your head on me then you cuddle on my side. Sometimes you shift until your head’s on my lap. Sometimes I lay behind you, so I can finish watching the movie. Then I carry you to bed.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “W-what?”

  “I get tired, too.”

  But they watched movies all the time! How could she not realize this had been going on? She knew he carried her to bed. When they watched movies and she fell asleep on the couch, she woke up in bed. No one else would’ve moved her but him. But she had no idea they cuddled. Worse, from what he said, she initiated it. All she needed—to be attracted to him even in her sleep.

  Damn.

  He leaned into her, snaking his arm around her waist pressing her chest to his. “It’s okay, baby girl. You can stay on my lap. I don’t mind one bit.”

  It snapped her out of her haze. Flushing a brighter shade, she moved off his lap.

  He laughed the entire time.

  Chapter Nine

  Tiffany’s doorbell rang, odd since no one besides Thomas showed-up uninvited. And it wasn’t Thomas. Thomas never rang the doorbell. He knocked.

  She headed for it. Looking through the peephole, her mother and father stood at the other side. This was odd too. Her parents always called before coming over. She parted the door, her gaze slid from her mother to her father. No smiles, no warm greeting, an unplanned visit, they had something on their minds, something they needed to talk to her about, immediately. This unsettled her because it could be anything.

  She broke the silence. “Um…hi.”

  “May we come in?” Her mother, always polite, growing up from wealth, she’d been taught to be. She also always dressed the part of a wealthy businessman’s wife. Today, she wore an olive green dress with a fitted bodice and heels.

  Many people said Tiffany looked just like her, a replica, short, small frame, and thin with long, dark hair. Except for her eyes, Tiffany inherited the green color from her father.

  Her father was tall, fit for his age, and dressed well. A green polo and gray slacks, not exactly casual, but more suited for a Saturday visit to his daughter.

  “Of course.” She stood aside and allowed them in.

  Once they stepped inside, she closed the door behind them and headed for her small dining room table instead of the living room couch. Her parents took seats, and the silence stretched.

  She frowned. Forgetting her manners, namely asking whether they wanted anything to drink, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

  Her father met her stare. “Benjamin phoned us last night.”

  Benjamin? The forlorn expressions were about Benjamin? It hadn’t worked out with the judgmental Benjamin, so what? Seriously, they couldn’t assume because she agreed to go on a date with him something more would come of them. She understood their need to push bachelors her way. They wanted her settled and happy. She wanted that too, but at twenty-one, she had plenty of time to meet someone.

  Steeling herself, she took a seat on the chair opposite her father, her mother to her right, and waited patiently for him to continue.

  Her mother met her gaze. “He told us you’ve become friends with a…biker.”

  Okay, so Benjamin told her parents about Thomas. And?

  It hit her then. Their expressions, the unplanned visit… She should’ve picked up on it sooner considering the way her mother said “biker” like it was foul.

  Bile rose in the back of her throat. She swallowed it down. “He’s not just a biker, and I’ve known him for years. Both of you have, too. It’s Thomas.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Remember Thomas Layne? We went to high school together. He was there the night…
”

  She swallowed. “The night I had my first date, the night…”

  The night she’d never forget…

  Her first date, a date with Miles Murphy, quarterback of their high school football team, a senior to her sophomore. She didn’t want to go on that date, not with Miles anyway. Her friends insisted she go. After all, Miles Murphy, football player, handsome, and popular, came from a respectable family, meaning the moment she told her mother, her mother bought her a new dress. Her father had been less thrilled, partly because his only daughter, only child, would date even though he approved of Miles. Miles being exactly the type of guy she should be interested in, she hoped despite the fact she’d been crushing on another guy for two years, once she grew to know Miles better, she’d like him. Still, never in her wildest dreams did she think the date, her very first, would end the way it did.

  Closing her eyes, the memory flooded her.

  Miles took her to the drive-in theater, barely saying a word and parked at the very end, secluded from other cars. This bothered her, but it was her first date. Inexperienced, she pushed the worry aside. The previews started. He began getting close, too close. She shifted in her seat, unease crawling up her spine. When the movie started, she released a breath. Finally, concentrating on the movie would put an end to the uncomfortable silence, take her mind off the fact he kept inching closer.

  Just as she thought that, he threw his arm over her shoulders, encroaching her space. If she knew him better, if she liked him, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but she didn’t know him. She knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was, but she’d only spoken to him at school once, when he asked her out.

  Every second he leaned closer, she clutched her purse tighter, tilting away. Didn’t work, he shifted closer. Then he angled his face toward her, allowing her to feel his breaths at her cheek. She tried to ignore this, ignore that with every second her heart pounded louder, harder, faster. After several minutes, during which she couldn’t focus on the movie, she summoned the courage to tell him to move away. She slanted her face to his but didn’t get the chance.

  He grasped the back of her head, hauled her toward him then his lips hit hers. Panic clawing her, she placed both hands on his chest and shoved, hard. Didn’t help.

  He leaned toward her, over her until her upper back lay flat against the passenger side door. His body covering hers, one hand grasped her hip tightly, the other still at the back of her head.

  She pushed harder, again and again. No matter how hard she shoved, he didn’t let up. He needed to. She needed to make him because she couldn’t breathe.

  Turning her face, she gasped for breath. “Stop! Please…stop!”

  She didn’t recognize the sound of her voice, shaky, terrified, desperate, and still, he didn’t stop, didn’t let her go. His fingers dug into her hip painfully. Then his hand trailed up her stomach and settled on her breast. He squeezed her roughly, yanked the fabric of her dress down, exposing her bra.

  Her heart beat faster, harder, thundering in her chest. She struggled, pushing harder, as hard as she could. “Please, stop! Miles! Please…”

  The car door swung open. The breath whooshed out of her, she closed her eyes tightly, letting out a small, startled gasp. Falling back, she braced to hit the ground. A pair of arms caught her around the back and waist.

  She parted her lids and met a set of eyes, a striking sapphire blue in color, a color she knew so well.

  Thomas.

  His arms tightened around her upper back and waist before he dragged her out of the car and set her on her feet. He did this so fast, she wobbled. He turned, reached into the SUV, grabbed Miles by the shirt, yanked him out through the passenger side door, and dropped him on the ground. A thud echoed. Eyes widening, she reared back, taking several steps away.

  “What the fuck?” Miles shouted.

  Thomas didn’t respond with words. He pulled his arm back. Miles lifted his hands to block the punch then groaned when struck. Thomas punched him again, then again. Each blow struck Miles’ face. Each time Thomas lifted his fist, more blood.

  Thomas, eyes hard, gaze narrowed, straightened, hovering over Miles. Then she noticed it, how his body pulsed. Rage so strong, it seemed to radiate out of him.

  “Do you know what stop means?” Voice deep, filled with fury.

  When Miles didn’t respond, he kicked him. Miles wrapped his arms around his stomach and groaned, blood leaking out of his nose and mouth.

  “It means you stop. It means she doesn’t want you touching her. You fuckin’ piece of shit.”

  Then Thomas took a deep breath and straightened. His chest rising and falling at a furious pace, he turned and met her gaze. In an instant, all that anger, rage, fury seeped out of his body.

  A chill shot through her. She didn’t say anything, couldn’t even if she’d tried, but she wasn’t afraid. Not anymore, not staring into Thomas’s sapphire eyes, eyes that softened the moment they met hers, so all she felt—safe, safe and relieved beyond words.

  She shivered.

  His brows furrowed, face softened. He removed his jacket, held it out to her, and took a hesitant step toward her. “Are you okay, Tiffany?” His voice so soft, tender even.

  Her mother grabbed her shoulder, shook her then released her. “Are you listening, Tiffany?”

  Good, God. Just like that, she relived it. No, she hadn’t been listening. She shook her head, forcing the memory to fade, hating it was still so vivid in her mind. Parting her eyes, she looked down at her hands. Shaking. She folded them into each other and turned her gaze to her father.

  He released a loaded breath. “We know who he is.”

  “You’re a woman of privilege. He’s a biker. He’s…”

  Her jaw dropped. Wow. Really? This was the gratitude her parents gave the man who was arrested for saving her? The parents who knew what Thomas did for her all those years ago? The same parents who hired him to take care of her stalker?

  Her mother extended her hand and placed it over her arm softly. “He’s…not a man you should be friends with, darling.”

  She drew away. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Her mother blanched. She would, considering Tiffany had never raised her voice at her mother nor her father. He didn’t have the same reaction. His jaw clamped tight. She did not let this stop her from speaking her mind.

  “Because he’s a biker, he’s not a man I should be friends with even after what he did for me years ago? Even after you paid him, and his biker friends to fly to LA and deal with my problem?”

  Her mother frowned, slanted her head, and looked at her father.

  Wow. He hadn’t told her mother? Maybe he never thought she’d find out. Maybe he never thought Thomas would tell her.

  Her eyes widened. “You never told her?”

  Ever the perfect and polite wife, her mother waited until her father addressed her.

  Her father looked at her mother. “There was no need to tell you, sweetheart. I paid the biker club to deal with—”

  “You’re leaving out you went to Thomas directly.”

  He turned his head, gaze pinned her and flared. “Tiffany, I’ll ask you to treat us with respect.”

  “With all due respect, Dad, you aren’t showing me any respect coming to my home uninvited telling me who I should and shouldn’t be friends with.”

  He slammed his hand on the table. A deep thud resonated and echoed around the room. “Tiffany Hamilton, you will treat us with respect. We are your parents, and we are concerned.”

  “What exactly are you concerned about? That I’m friends with a man who’s saved me on multiple occasions?”

  “He stepped in once, an honorable thing he did. But he landed himself in jail. No one told him to beat up that boy. Bailing him out was the decent thing to do considering what he did for you. But that’s it.”

  No, Thomas hadn’t landed himself in jail. The fact her father believed that angered her because her first date could’ve gone much, much worse
. Miles deserved what he got.

  She gritted her teeth, trying to keep her cool.

  “The second, I paid him to do it. He didn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart.”

  Right, well, her parents didn’t know about the spiked drink incident, and this wasn’t the time to tell them. “He didn’t take any of your money.”

  “I paid the club more than two million dollars. You think he didn’t get his cut?”

  Two million dollars? God, her father must’ve been worried out of his mind to pay that kind of money. Proof how much he loved her.

  The tension lining her shoulders, body melted. “What exactly did you pay him to do?” Her voice softer now.

  “Take care of your stalker.”

  Her father hadn’t paid him to stay with her and watch her in LA. Thomas hadn’t lied. It explained why he stayed out of sight during her graduation, why she thought he hadn’t shown.

  She couldn’t be sure whether Thomas took his cut. She only had his word. The more she thought about it, the more certain she became Thomas didn’t take the money. He wouldn’t lie to her, had no reason to anyway.

  Even if he had taken the money, what difference did it make? Her father paid the club for a service, a service Thomas provided. He had every right to his cut. It didn’t diminish or tarnish the friendship they’d built since.

  “He did that, so even if he took the money, it doesn’t make a difference. We’re friends.”

  “You’re confusing hero-worship for friendship—”

  Hero-worship. A word her therapist had often used. After her disastrous first date, her father and mother insisted she go to counseling. Tiffany agreed and went weekly for a year. She didn’t just talk about the incident. She talked about a lot of things, including Thomas. Therapy and all, it took longer to accept another date.

  “He’s my friend. We talk, and we laugh and—”

  “You’re a privileged woman,” her mother whispered, staring at her hands clasped and resting on the table.

  They weren’t listening, not even a tiny bit. Infuriating, but she kept her cool, not raising her voice as she said, “What you mean is that my parents are multi-millionaires, and his aren’t.”