Page 13 of Enforce This

I heard his bottle scrape against something solid and I forced myself not to immediately look his way. When the silence answered me rather than his words, curiosity won over. My gaze climbed from his black boots, up the crisp pant legs. He had a plain belt, no fancy buckle. A dark, thin shirt, and a leather jacket were beneath his kutte.

His jaw was perfect—relaxed, and stubbled with that well-groomed beard. My trained eyes took him in like a nursing assessment until I realized that those dark daggers of his were still holding me captive, studying me, digesting what I had said and the way I was taking him in.

“That’s a pretty loaded, and yet open question,” he mused once I allowed myself to look into his eyes again.

“You were perfect,” I whispered, unable to wrap my mind around it. I flinched the moment I realized I had said it out loud. This day was seriously messing with my filter. “I mean… You were a soldier! You were dressed to perfection and on the perfect path to get out of Maryette County. You had your ticket out of here, Eric… What happened? You left and saw the world and what? Traded it all in for…”

I waved my hand at his patch and looked around the shack.

His eyes widened for a split second before he regained control of his features and smiled.

What was I thinking? This poor man. He probably thought I was a psycho. He was probably wondering why I was so invested in his future. I blushed all over again.

Maybe I was a psycho?

“Yeah.” He stressed the word and did one of those midwestern mouth things that meant everything and nothing. “Yeah, it turns out that what I do best is fuck shit up. I fucked up with the marines. So, now, instead of making promises that I can’t keep, I just promise to fuck up whatever the club tells me to… And they pay me for it.”

I stared at him in disbelief. He’d gone from protecting and serving, to being one of my father’s tools?

“I see.”

“Mhm,” he throatily mumbled,

His sexy tone wasn’t enough to stop me from quipping, “So, you’re Mark’s dog…. And here, all this time, I thought bitches rode on the back of bikes.”

Every cord in his body tensed, but he didn’t move. His eyes darkened and he nodded in a way that gave me chills.

“Watch your mouth, Little Girl.”

“I might be a little girl to some, but you’re biker trash to just about anybody with a grain of decency left in them.”

“You’re right. I am biker trash, and you’re a spoiled, little twat who is incapable of gratitude. You can’t even appreciate that your father is doing everything he can from a hospital bed to save your ass.” He growled, jutting a finger in my direction. “You’re a daughter, alright. A daughter who couldn’t even be bothered to see him between country club sessions, the yoga meets, and whatever else you fuckers do in your gated communities.”

“We don’t have a gate,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper as the tears began to burn behind my eyes.

When I didn’t trust myself not to shed them, I darted toward the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.

Chapter Seven

Eric

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why does she get under my skin, and why did I just insert myself into Mark and Janice’s bullshit? Whatever the reason for her absence in Mark and Mak’s lives, she was a child most of that time, it wasn’t her job to facilitate a relationship with her old man.

I was a bastard for pointing out how fucked-up their shit was while she was still reeling from so much loss and violence, but as crazy as it sounds, I couldn’t stop myself. At least a dozen people had probably called me biker trash and that was before high school, so why did I give a damn if the President’s daughter chose to use such a term?

Maybe Anthony and the guys were right, I did need to get laid.

I took a deep breath and released it on a sigh before marching to the bathroom door. She was a fucking college girl. I could manage this.

One girl. One job.

I raised my hand and paused, suddenly hyperaware of how aggressive I might come off to a helpless, grieving, young woman. I took another sturdy breath and forced myself to be gentle, knocking as timidly as I could manage.

“Listen, Fel… Trista,” I began, but before I could utter another word, she turned on the shower.

I knew from experience you couldn’t hear anything short of shouting over the damn thing, so, my expression instantly fell. For a moment, I had to fight the urge to kick the door in and throttle her. Maybe if Mark had been around to spank her ass a time or two when she was younger, I might not be dealing with all this attitude now.

I closed my eyes and parked my tongue against the back of my teeth, but it didn’t stop a growl of annoyance from escaping me.

---