Page 8 of Royal

I hear the bike before I see him.

Holy shit, he is here on his bike.

My mouth dries at seeing him pulling into my ratty trailer park that has seen better days. Hell, I’m not sure if it ever looked nice.

He swings his massive leg over the bike and looks around the park, meanwhile I hide behind the blinds so he doesn’t see me snooping.

My hands are shaking.

Royal knocks on the door, and even though I expected him to do that, I laugh at myself under my breath because I’m being ridiculous.

I wait a few seconds so I don’t seem so eager, and then I open the door. He looks me up and down, and my lips twist as I study his body the same way.

It should be a crime for someone to look as good as him. My nerves just shot up a hundred times over.

He lifts his hands for me to take, and I step out onto my tiny deck, the wood moving under my feet. I hold my breath, waiting for it to fall through. It’s a fear every time I walk on it.

The landlords of this trailer park are just shit.

The faucet leaks, things are falling apart, and the heat is just sucky in the winter, but it’s a place to keep my son safe, which is what matters most to me.

“Ever rode on the back of a bike before?” he asks as he helps me down the stairs, his hands never leaving mine when we reach the bottom.

His bike is beautiful. All dark, shiny, and black. It gleams. Knowing the bike purrs under you, I want to run my hand down the sides. I never had an interest in bikes before, but when a man like Royal is on one, you can’t help but take notice.

“Pull your leg over and rest your foot right here,” he explains and points to the peg on the side of the bike.

I’m sitting on the bike, with Royal standing on the side looking at me. He opens the side of the bike where a saddle is. Reaching inside, he pulls out a leather jacket.

“Slip this on, darling,” he tells me, and I lift my arms as he slides it on me. “Don’t want you to get road rash if we go down.” It is sweet that he thought of me like that.

Next, he pulls out a helmet and straps it on me. I smile fully at that.

He taps me under my chin, and I giggle slightly at the attention he is giving me. He then swings his leg over and gets on in front of me.

Royal looks back and takes my hands, settling them on his stomach under his cut. All I can feel under my hands are stiff muscles. In between every finger is an ab.

I never knew that abs like these were real and just like bodybuilders’. His arms are straining against his long-sleeved shirt with his cut on top.

I called it vests once in the diner to Miss Marie, and she thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world because it’s called a cut.

Royal starts the bike, and the vibration causes me to tremble all the way from my toes to the top of my head. I can feel it in my heart. “Lean when I do, darlin’,” he tells me, before taking off out of the trailer park.

The farther out we get, the better the trailers look. It’s a trick, so everyone thinks the place is nice, but once you turn the curve, you’re in for a huge surprise.

Before we pull out into the road that leads to the highway, I can feel eyes on me. I peek over my shoulder to see some of the drug dealers in the park watching us leave. I turn back around, used to it. Sometimes, I look out my window at night to check the area and see shadows walking through the park and by my trailer. It took me a long time to even let my son sleep alone in his bedroom because I feared someone might break in through his window. I put alarms on the window in his room, so it will blare if someone walks within a few feet of the trailer. I even have massive locks on the door and a barrier so it can’t be kicked in. It just makes me feel and sleep better at night.

The town lights come into view. It gets darker earlier since it’s now fall, and the weather is chillier at night, so this leather jacket is perfect.

I expect Royal to keep on in the direction of town, but he turns off toward the city where the MC is located.

I hold on to him a little tighter when we start hitting some traffic. Being so open and close to moving vehicles is a wild feeling.

When we reach a red light, Royal puts his massive legs on the ground to keep us from tipping over. “How do you feel?” he asks me.

I smile at him, looking over his shoulder to see his face. “I love it! It’s way better than I ever imagined.”

He smiles at that, and I swear I almost tip over the side of the bike because that smile should be a crime.

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