Page 3 of Nevada

“You a pool shark?” I toss back.

He smirks wider. He’s also got a pretty mouth, but I’d be betting he’s not a day over twenty-five. A quick scan of his body tells me he’s also a biker; he’s wearing a cut-off motorcycle jacket with the emblem on the front; a dirty patch reads: Tail Gunner.

His arms are completely covered in tattoos and when he sees me looking, his mouth turns up at the side.

I’ve been around long enough to know what one of those is. He sits at the back of the pack on a run with the club, protecting the flock. He’s young, so he must be trusted to be given a position like that.

He rubs his chin and all I can think about is how that would feel between my legs. “Maybe.”

I give him a chin lift. “Looking for some people. Brew and Haze.”

Unlike the unhelpful bartender, this guy's eyebrows shoot up. “And you might be?”

There’s no point beating around the bush. “Star, this is Halo.”

My best friend holds out her hand as his eyes dip to it. I could facepalm myself. She always brings her manners. “Hello.”

I glance at her quickly. Why does she always have to sound so cheerful?

Unbelievably, he reaches out his hand and shakes hers. “Haven’t seen either of you around these parts,” he begins, leaning on his pool cue looking down my body. “I would’ve remembered.”

“Really?” I cock my head. “That’s the line we’re going with?”

He glances back at me, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Wouldn’t be polite of me to ask you to get down on your knees before you’ve even had your first drink now, would it?” Goddamn asshole.

“You wish,” I mutter.

“What Star means is, have you heard of Brew or Haze? We urgently need to talk to?——”

“Hey, I know where—” Another man walks toward us. He’s also covered in tattoos, but he doesn’t even get to finish his sentence.

Blue Eyes punches him in the stomach, making him cough and sputter. “Don’t mind him. You were sayin’?”

“Brew. Haze. We don’t have all night,” I spit.

“I’m Brew.”

I take a closer look. “Really?”

“Uh, huh. Though, I’ll be anythin’ you want me to be, Estelle,” he draws out my name. “Why don’t you use your real name?”

Wait. My real name?

How does this meathead know Latin?

“The name’s Star, knucklehead.”

“I’m also good with constellations.” He gives me a wink.

The guy he punched shoves him in the side. Glancing at us, he does a double take at my bestie. Judging by the way he checks her out from head to toe, followed by the low whistle between his teeth, he likes what he sees.

So bikers really are all misogynistic assholes just like in the movies. Shocker.

“Ma’am?” the bartender calls and I glance his way. Tossing a twenty down on the bar, I turn back to the two idiots in front of me.

“Stop wasting my time, Pretty Boy. I need to know where they are.”

Blue Eyes holds his hands up, palms facing me. “What you gonna do if I don’t comply, Mama? Arrest me?”

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