Page 47 of Bullet

“Good.” His hand was on me again. “Jazzy is the only one getting a good look at his weapon.”

Outside, he steered me toward his bike. Before he started the engine, he opened the saddlebag, grabbed a pair of gloves, and handed them to me. “Do you want a helmet?”

“Why don’t you wear one?”

“Personal choice. I figure I’ll die doing what I love if the road takes me.”

“That’s morbid.”

“Nah, it’s living today because shit could go sideways tomorrow. Your choice,” he said.

I gave him a cautious shake of my head, and he climbed onto the bike and held the Harley steady while I climbed on behind him. This time I didn’t hesitate in winding my arms around his waist and bracing my feet against the rear pegs. “Don’t crash.”

He chuckled.

The gate of the MC slid open. As soon as he turned onto the road, he rolled the throttle. I tightened my hold as the vibration caused a fluttering deep in my core. His abdominals tightened beneath my fingertips. I brought my chin to his shoulder, feeling the wind on my face.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded, and he covered my hand with his. We left the city and hit the highway. The sun set low on the horizon. When the road curved, I leaned with him. The rush of adrenaline matched the blur of the asphalt beneath my feet.

With my eyes closed, I rested my face against his cut. His hand glided along my outer thigh. For this moment, I was going to pretend I was his, and that he was mine. In the encroaching darkness, it was just the two of us.

My fingers curled into his T-shirt. I felt him and the bike everywhere. In the hardening of my nipples, the quivers in my stomach, and in the heat of my pussy. In a final burst of speed, he passed a vehicle. I clenched my jaw to keep from moaning as my thighs bracketed his hips.

The bike slowed as we exited and turned into a roadside taco stand. He parked the motorcycle, but Iheld him a moment longer. My heart raced, and my body still hummed from the vibrations.

He pivoted, and I loosened my hold on him.

After getting off the bike, we walked to the stand. Faded pictures of menu options wallpapered the front of the taco stand. I couldn’t decide because everything looked good.

“I’m so hungry.” I tilted my head to look up at Bullet. “What are you getting?”

He closed the space between us, the warmth of his chest seeping into my back and pointed out his favorites. “I’m getting the tacos de barbacoa.”

“I’ll have the chicken tacos.”

An older woman poked her head out of the window. She smiled at Bullet. “Listo para ordenar?Ready to order?”

“Sí.” He held up two fingers and pointed to pictures on the board. “Con arroz y frijoles, por favor.”

She nodded and hollered to someone in the back. Bullet paid for the food and two bottles of water, then cupping my hip, he led me to a small, weathered, bistro table on the left. He set the drinks down, then pulled a cigarette from his pack and clamped it between his lips. The flame on his lighter danced in the warm evening breeze as he inhaled.

“I wouldn’t know this place was even here,” I said, to fill the awkward silence between us. I’d gone from going to ice cream shops with my friends during high school, to getting involved with a wealthy criminal.

Emerson had standing reservations every Thursday night at eight at Tuscany in the city. He’dnever eat from a place where half the menu had been faded by the sun. He required valet parking, a bottle of Marcassion Chardonnay, and a wait staff to impress.

Bullet faced me and rested his forearms on the table. “Rogue and I used to ride out here a couple times a month.” He took a drag off his cigarette. “After that night in the warehouse, his priorities changed.”

I waited for him to elaborate.

“If Jazzy hadn’t been there, Rogue wouldn’t have made it out.” Bullet squinted into the night and flicked ash from his cigarette.

“What happened after you closed the door on the truck?” I remembered the hollering, the gunfire, and the stench of sulfur.

“We couldn’t leave witnesses.”

“But you did.”

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