Page 17 of Her Possessive Bikers

Tank snorts. "Right. And I'm secretly Elvis."

"Mark my words, man." I point my wrench at him. "That woman's gonna be trouble - the good kind."

"Better not let Tres hear you talking like that." Tank shifts his load. "He's been watching her like a hawk since she showed her face here."

"Please." I roll my eyes. "Tres is old enough to be her-" I pause, doing quick math. "Well, maybe not her dad, but definitely her weird uncle."

"Your funeral, brother." Tank shakes his head and continues on his way. "Just remember - Brick might be gone, but his ghost'll probably come back to kick your ass if you mess with his little girl."

I can't argue about that.

10

TRES

Irub my temples, staring at the endless stack of paperwork before me. Running a club isn't all bikes and brotherhood - there's bills, permits, and enough red tape to strangle a man. My phone buzzes for the hundredth time today.

"What now?" I growl into the receiver, listening to another supplier's excuses.

The door creaks open and Candy slinks in, wearing what barely passes for clothing. Great. Just what I need right now.

"You look tense, baby," she purrs, strutting toward my desk. "Let me help you relax."

I hold up a finger, focusing on the call. "Listen, I don't care about your distribution issues. Fix it, or we'll find someone who can."

Candy's already under my desk, her hands sliding up my thighs.

"Not now," I mutter, covering the phone.

"Come on, daddy," she whispers. "You work too hard."

Her persistence isn't surprising, but it's irritating. I focus back on the call, the supplier still rambling excuses.

"Look, just get it done," I snap and hang up. My eyes drop to Candy, who's busy undoing my belt.

"Really? Right now?" I ask, but my mind wanders to Indy. She's been a constant presence in my thoughts since the funeral. That 5'7" smoke show with those fuck me eyes...

Candy looks up, misinterpreting my pause as encouragement. She smiles, and before I know it, she's working my zipper down.

I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes. Maybe imagining it's Indy down there will take the edge off. Candy is the most seasoned whore's at the club house. I know her hands and mouth are skilled, but maybe I'll picture Indy's touch instead – her tattoos brushing against my skin, her long black hair cascading around us.

A sharp knock cuts through my thoughts, and Benji's head pops through the door. "Boss, Brick’'s daughter's here to see you."

My eyes snap open. "What?"

"She's waiting outside. Says it's about?—"

"Jesus Christ, get up," I growl, pushing my chair back. Candy's perfectly lined lips twist into a pout.

"But baby, we just started?—"

"Get the fuck up." I zip myself back up and tighten my belt. The mere thought of Indy waiting outside while I'm in here with this, nobody, makes my skin crawl.

"You've never turned me down before." Candy stands, crossing her arms under her barely-covered chest. "What's so special about the little princess? Got a few less miles than us?"

"Watch your mouth." The warning in my voice makes her step back. "Show some respect for Brick."

"Whatever." She snatches her purse from my desk. "When you're done playing gentleman with the princess, you know where to find me."

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