Page 6 of Claimed By the Rebel

At this point, I know I’m just lying to myself. This isn’t for the club. It’s selfish and dangerous and all for me.

Still, I wasn’t going to talk to her, let alone touch her. Now that I have…

“Can you go two minutes without hurting yourself?” I grunt as I help the mysterious woman stand up on her own two feet. The second the words fall from my lips, I wish I could rip them out of the air and swallow them back down.

Her shoulders drop, her entire posture changing so she’s folded in on herself. I never want to be the cause of this reaction ever again. She looks ashamed to even take up space, which is so different from the woman I’ve come to know over the last week of not-spying on her.

I open my mouth to apologize, but my voice won’t work. Can’t remember the last time I said sorry unless it was sarcastic or insincere. With this precious woman, however, I truly hate myself for making her feel less than.

"I know I'm a bit clumsy," she says, straightening her spine and rolling her shoulders back. "I mean, that's kind of the whole reason we met." Her voice is back to its normal, cheery tone like nothing ever happened.

Her words have my stomach tying itself into knots. She has no idea how we really met and I hope she never finds out. I get the sense she doesn’t trust easily. Hell, anyone who has been in an MC on the wrong side of the law doesn’t trust easily, if at all.

She peers up at me, a smile plastered on her face despite the way I just snapped at her. I don’t want to think about how many times she’s been yelled at and harassed at the Serpents’ clubhouse and she’s had to smile her way through just to survive.

I want all of her smiles, but I want them to be genuine. I want… I want to make her happy. Happy, safe, and fulfilled.

What is wrong with me? Where are these thoughts coming from?

“Anyway,” she says, looping her arm around mine once more. “Don’t make it weird. I’m just buying you coffee for saving my life. No big deal.”

“Seems like a fair trade,” I say for some reason.

The curvy little lady looks at me over her shoulder, those hazel eyes sparkling with playfulness. God, what that does to me. I’d play with her. Fuck, I’d love to dive into her sweet body and find all the things that make her tremble and scream out in pleasure.

So goddamn inappropriate.

“Did you just make a joke?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

I stare blankly at her and shrug. This makes her throw her head back in laughter, the rich sound filling the air as I breathe it in. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, but I manage to resist it. Barely. When was the last time I felt like smiling?

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone you have a sense of humor,” she whispers before giving me a wink.

I let her continue to lead me down the sidewalk until we reach a coffee shop at the end of the block. Once inside, she skips right up to the counter and greets the barista with a friendly smile. How she can be that enthusiastic about anything is beyond me. The energy required to give a shit about anything other than the MC left me years ago. Watching the blonde woman who has captured my attention, however, I think I may just have found a reason to start caring again.

“...And I’m paying for whatever he’s getting, too. Whatever he orders, make it a large. Oh, and a cinnamon roll.” She looks over her shoulder at me, and I’m caught up once again in her beauty. “You like cinnamon rolls, right?” Before I get a chance to speak, she answers her own question. “Of course, you do. Everyone loves cinnamon rolls.”

Truthfully, I’ve always been neutral on cinnamon rolls and all pastries, for that matter. But now my favorite food is cinnamon rolls.

I order my drink - coffee, black - and stand off to the side to wait for whatever presumably outlandish coffee beverage she ordered.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence. “I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Aurora.” She holds out her hand for me to shake and I stare at it, not sure it’s a good idea to touch her again.

In the end, I clasp my hand around hers, my large, rough fingers wrapping around her delicate skin. Of course, she has a name like Aurora. Beautiful and ethereal, like the woman herself. I think it’s also the name of a Disney princess. A rugged, jaded, old biker like myself has no right to dirty up a princess like Aurora, which only makes her all the more tempting.

“This is the part where you tell me your name,” Aurora whispers as if I forgot my line on stage during a play. How is she so adorable? And shit, did I just think the word adorable?

“Razor,” I choke out. Her eyes widen and she looks down at the counter, then across the seating area in the cafe. I realize she’s looking for an actual razor, which is pretty… adorable. “My name is Razor,” I clarify.

Aurora’s cheeks glow the slightest shade of pink and I get the insane urge to kiss them.

Our drinks are called out, and yup, I was right about Aurora’s beverage. It’s piled high with whipped cream, caramel drizzle, and mini chocolate chips. Her eyes light up when she sees it, and I vow here and now to get her this drink as often as she wants if it makes her this happy.

Aurora weaves around a few tables until we arrive at a booth tucked away in the corner. I appreciate the privacy. I don’t make a habit of coming to coffee shops or really any activity where I have to mingle with the public. For this woman, though, I have a feeling I’ll do pretty much anything she asks of me.

She takes a seat and I join her, glad to have my coffee cup in hand so I have something to fidget with. “Is Razor your real name?” Aurora asks, her eyes tinted blue under these lights. Her expression is filled with genuine curiosity and a part of me softens toward her. She truly must not get out much. The entire time I’ve been observing her, Aurora hasn’t left the compound until today.

“Razor has been my name longer than it hasn’t,” I reply.

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