Page 2 of His Road Dog

It wouldn't do to have one of the officers grow curious about the activities that went on within Tarkio. As president, he had too much at stake to let down his guard.

He strolled in the shadow of the building. The scent of skunk hung lightly in the air, but it wafted out from inside the building and not from the woman. She swayed side to side, holding the sides of her dress out, still dancing from the beat of the music wafting outside.

Women who hung around the club when there was an open party never came alone. That made her different.

And a threat to Tarkio Motorcycle Club.

Her body turned, and her eyes smiled, beckoning him. "Dance with me."

He leaned against the building, at least ten feet from her. "I don't dance."

She twirled, hiding her face. But the seductive power of her dark, brown eyes stayed with him.

While every other woman in the clubhouse decked themselves out in black, the woman in front of him wore white. Yet, everything else about her was dark. Her eyes. Her long curly hair.

She was mysterious and sexy. Most of all, independent—unafraid to be outside by herself, entertaining herself. He liked that.

Women who threw themselves at him were only good for an hours' worth of time. They were all the same, only had different bodies. Each one of them seeking a biker to pay them the slightest attention to feel better about themselves.

"What's your name?" He pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

The music inside stopped. Turning around to face him, she shoved her fingers into her hair and lifted the mass of curls off her back.

"What's yours?" She walked closer, stopping just out of reach.

He took a drag off his smoke. "Priest."

She hummed and tilted her head. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

"What have you done, girl, with no name?"

"Hm." Her sultry gaze warmed in amusement. "I'm afraid even you couldn't wash my body clean."

His gaze traveled lower to the hips that swayed, even when her feet had stopped moving. He'd like to try to wash her body clean of her sins. It'd been a long time since a woman interested him beyond having a pussy to sink his dick in to get a little relief.

"President, huh?" She laughed softly, gazing at his vest. "I learned what a priest was from watching television, but I don't think I know what the president of a motorcycle club does."

He lifted her chin and looked at her. Not many people walked through the doors of the clubhouse without knowing who he was.

"You know my name." He lifted his cigarette to his mouth, inhaled deeply, and blew the smoke out. "You know who I am, and yet, I still don't know your name."

"You can call me anything you want." She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "What names do you like?"

"Whatever your name is would be the one that interests me tonight."

She laughed softly. "It almost sounds like you're flirting with me."

"I don't have time to chase what I want." He tossed the cigarette and slid his hand into his front pocket. His fingers curled around the silver dollar he'd carried on him since he was sixteen years old.

"You must be unhappy." Her breasts rose. "Always settling for what's easy and unimportant."

She looked behind her. Her comeback hit a little close to the truth. He took any woman in the clubhouse who he knew would please him. To chase or fight for what he could readily take distracted him from the business at hand.

He'd given up long ago on his dreams; he couldn't even fucking remember them.

The front door of the clubhouse opened. He looked in the other direction, catching Rick going inside.

"Why did you come here tonight?" He looked back at the woman. "To dance? The clubhouse isn't exactly a place known for their music or their dancing. Most of what's here comes from a boombox and a couple of hundred drunken men."

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