Page 23 of Her Possessive Bikers

She laughs, the sound hitting me right in the chest. "Fine, rain check it is. But I'm holding you to that, Wilson."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Cooper."

The Chevelle's door creaks open and she slides in, those cutoffs riding up just enough to make my mouth go dry. Christ, the things I'd like to hold her to. The steering wheel, the hood of that car, my?—

The phone buzzes again. Right. Club business.

"See you around, troublemaker," she calls through the open window.

I kick my bike to life, drowning out whatever response my brain might've cooked up. Better that way. Some lines weren't meant to be crossed, no matter how damn tempting they might be.

The rumble of my pipes echoes off the shelter walls as I pull out, and I definitely don't watch her in my mirrors until she disappears around the corner. Definitely don't imagine what that laugh would sound like first thing in the morning, or how those fingers might feel twisted in my sheets instead of drumming on her steering wheel.

Club business. Focus on club business.

13

TRES

The rumble of our bikes cuts through the evening air as we pull into the gravel lot of The Rusty Nail, one of the local bars on our payroll. Some of our eyes out on the streets informed us that a couple cronies from Dos Banditos, our rival gang, has been snooping around our bar, trying to start shit. My boots crunch on loose stones as I dismount, scanning the weathered building. Music and shouting spill from the open windows.

"Three bikes out back match the description," Kyler says, adjusting his kutte. "Green and black paint jobs."

"Well boys, shall we go introduce ourselves?" Jacoby cracks his knuckles, that wild grin spreading across his face.

I take point as we enter, the smell of stale beer and cigarettes hitting me like a wall. Through the haze, I spot our targets immediately - three men in leather jackets embellished with green snakes, crowding around the pool table, getting handsy with Misty, one of the regular waitresses. Fucking Dos Bandito's. The scum of the damn earth.

"Hey sugar pie, where you running off to?" One of them grabs her wrist as she tries to slip past.

"Let her go." My voice carries across the bar, turning heads. The music seems to dim.

A new guy I don't recognize holding Misty looks up, his glazed eyes narrowing. "Well look who it is boys - the new king and his court jesters."

"Last chance," I say, keeping my tone even as Misty wrenches free and scurries behind the bar. "Walk out now, or crawl out later."

"You hear that?" The man laughs, grabbing a pool cue. "Old man thinks he can take us."

Jacoby steps up beside me, rolling his shoulders. "Three against three seems fair to me."

"Four actually." A fourth guy, that goes by Emerald, I believe, emerges from the bathroom, brass knuckles glinting.

"Math was never my strong suit," Kyler mutters, but I catch the way his hands curl into fists.

I walk up to the asshole. Towering over the little leprechaun looking fuck, despite him trying his best to look intimidating.

"Last warning," I murmur. "Or I'll make sure all your old ladies are thrown into the rotation with all the whores that come through the clubhouse.

The first punch comes fast - a wild swing that I dodge easily. Years of bar fights have taught me to move efficiently, no wasted motion. I drive my knee into the attacker's gut as Jacoby and Kyler engage the others.

Glass shatters somewhere behind me. A pool cue splinters. The regular patrons clear out fast, leaving us room to work.

"That all you got, old man?" The ringleader spits blood, circling me.

I crack my neck. "I'm just getting started."

His face meets my fist with a satisfying crunch. Behind me, more glass explodes as someone crashes through a table. Damnit, going to have to put in an order for a new one. Jacoby'sgot two of them pinned, working them over with practiced efficiency.

Through the chaos, I spot Kyler ducking a wild haymaker before countering with a precise shot to the kidney. Kid's got skills when he lets his instincts take over.

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