Page 23 of Bullet

The scent of leather, cigarettes, and spice would have me remembering the feel of my hands on his shoulders and my open thighs aligned with his hips. I couldn’t think about how it would feel to taste him, to hear him whisper to me the way he did to Bristol, when he begged to be inside her.

“And she’s speechless.” His dark chuckle pulled me from following my thoughts, where I’d beon my knees, desperate for his attention, knowing I’d never be the only one.

“I have plenty to say. Most of it you wouldn’t like to hear,” I said. “I recall your conversation with Bristol. Since I’ll never be screaming for you, bitching is all you get.”

His sexy smile pissed me off. “Ah, kitten—”

“I’m not your kitten.” He’d called Bristol kitten. He’d used soft seductive notes, but he’d fucked her hard and dirty. Bullet—and his big dick—were catnip for pussies, but I was never going to be one of his kittens.

He opened the door to the last room in the hall. As I stepped past him, he closed his hand around my arm.

His touch was fire, warm and intoxicating. I stomped on the butterflies in my belly, crushing them before they could make me stupid. Because he was Bristol’s and this was temporary, just until I could run without getting caught by Emerson.

Bullet’s breath was warm against my face as he whispered to me, “Some kittens, like Bristol, purr. She’s a pet.” His calloused fingertips grazed along my arm.

I lifted my gaze to his. “Some kittens are feral, willing to scratch and fight to survive.”

He was arrogant, and that made him even more charming. So much rizz. Like he enjoyed my bitching. Not that I wanted to constantly bitch at him. For some reason, reasons I didn’t want to acknowledge, I couldn’t help but snap at him. I’d built up a fantasy in my head. I’d been in a relationship with that fantasyfor the last four months. He had to go and ruin it by being my only friend’s biker-boyfriend-pimp.

He smiled, a slight dimple creased his cheek.

“Don’t say anything else,” I warned, especially not something that would breathe life into the butterflies I’d already obliterated.

“Fuck, but I like that you have attitude.”

“I don’t want you to like me, Bullet.” I pulled free of his touch. “I need your help, and you won’t be able to help me if I have to stab you with my knife.”

He laughed as I stepped into the small room. He followed me in and closed the door. “I know it’s not much. No bathroom. But there is a fridge, coffeemaker, and a microwave behind the bar.”

A stripped, stained mattress on a metal frame, a scarred wooden dresser with a mirror, and a window. In the corner, there was an old box fan with missing and broken pieces of plastic. I was guessing that was the only air conditioning. That was the extent of the room.

Actually, it was perfect for one person hiding in plain sight. The bed was a double, which was only slightly bigger than a twin.

My nose wrinkled at the faint scent of stale cigarettes. Gray walls seemed freshly painted, but the plushness of the brown carpet was flat and matted. A hundred and fifty a week might seem expensive if I hadn’t been living in a meth motel.

Aged-stained yellow curtains covered the small window facing the rear of the church property. Not that it mattered, I couldn’t see past the tall, drying grasses and weeds that had confiscated any once landscaped flowerbeds and shrubs.

I sat on the edge of the worn bed as Bullet checked the empty drawers in the dresser. “I’ll get your stuff from Bristol.”

My gaze connected with Bullet’s in the reflection of the mirror on the dresser. “Thank you.”

He straightened, turned toward me, and leaned his muscular ass against the edge of the dresser. “The bathroom is across the hall. The MC is communal. If you want to grab a shower, there’ll be shampoo and conditioner. Just don’t expect a lot of water pressure.”

I nodded.

He straightened. “If you need anything, ask Romeo. He’ll be here until I get back.” He opened the door.

“Shit.” The pregnant girl had one hand poised to knock and in the other she held bed sheets. “Wait.” She held up her hand and froze. After ten seconds, she smiled. “Yay. I didn’t pee.” She handed the sheets to Bullet, and he tossed them on the bed. “I have an extra blanket if you need it.”

“I’ll have one of the girls bring over whatever we need.”

Ugh, one of his girls. Maybe I could just get him to take me to Walmart. I could afford a pillow and a blanket if it meant I wouldn’t have to meet the rest of the kittens from his litter.

“Stormy hasn’t had breakfast.” He put his hand on my back, the pressure of his touch reaching inside me, twisting my tummy into knots and making my heart rabbit. He was so close, his hand slid to my hip as he propelled me through the door. “Are you hungry?” he asked her as we passed.

“Always.” She rubbed her baby bump. “The bean is happy with anything as long as it has bacon on it. Your name is Stormy?” she asked me.

I snapped my gaze to Bullet. Did I tell her the truth or lie to her? How much did Bullet want these people to know about me? I wasn’t going to be here long enough to make friends. “Stormy is sort of a nickname,” I said.

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