Page 11 of Her Possessive Bikers

A real smile breaks across her face. "Let me guess - you had to start with oil changes?"

"For three fucking months straight. Every single bike that came through."

She laughs, a sound that hits me deep in the gut. "He used to make me help him change the oil in that Chevelle before he'd take me for ice cream." She glances toward the door, where theclassic car sits among the bikes. "I hated getting my hands dirty, but... now I kind of miss it."

I take another sip of my beer, studying the way she looks at that urn. "So what's your plan for his bikes? He had that sweet Ruby Red Chieftain and the custom chopper."

"Haven't figured that out yet." She runs a finger down the condensation on her bottle. "Got a meeting with his lawyer on Monday to sort through everything."

"Both of them are in excellent condition. He kept really good care of them."

"Maybe I'll keep one." Her eyes light up with something I recognize - that same spark Brick used to get before doing something crazy. "Always wanted to learn how to ride. Dad promised to teach me, but..." She shrugs, letting the words fade.

The thought of her on a bike sends my mind places it probably shouldn't go. I clear my throat. "Well, when you're ready to learn, you know where to find me. I'd be happy to teach you."

"Yeah?" Those doe eyes lock onto mine. "You sure you want to take on that responsibility? I've been told I'm a handful."

I'm this close to telling her, "a handful I'd like to get ahold of," but I use my better judgement and decide against it.

"Darlin', I've taught half these prospects how to ride without killing themselves. Pretty sure I can handle one stubborn paramedic."

She laughs, and damn if it doesn't hit me right in the chest. "Who says I'm stubborn?"

"You've got Brick's blood. Being stubborn comes with the territory."

"Fair point." She raises her bottle. "To stubborn genes?"

I clink my beer against hers. "And the poor bastards who have to deal with them."

The heavy tread of boots behind me signals Tres's return. I catch his reflection in the mirror behind the bar - he's got that look, the one that says he's about to remind everyone who's in charge.

"All good, boss?" I drain the last of my beer, already sliding off the stool. No point in making this awkward.

"Just club business." Tres's eyes flick between me and Indy. "Nothing that can't wait."

"Well, I should get back to work anyway." I turn to Indy. "Those bikes aren't gonna fix themselves."

"Thanks for the stories about Dad." She tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, revealing a small constellation of silver earrings. "It's nice hearing about the side of him I didn't get to see much."

"Anytime, darlin'. Offer stands about those riding lessons." I tap the bar twice and nod to Tres. "Boss."

As I head toward the garage, I catch Indy's voice behind me: "He seems nice."

Tres's response is too low to hear, but I can imagine what he's thinking. VP or not, some lines aren't meant to be crossed. And Brick's daughter? That's a whole highway of lines I probably shouldn't even be looking at.

Still, can't help but glance back one more time before I push through the door. She's laughing at something Tres said, and damn if that sound doesn't follow me all the way to the garage.

7

KYLER

The smoke curls from my cigarette, dancing away in the Texas heat. My hands shake slightly as I take another drag, trying to steady the storm of emotions threatening to spill over. Brick would've given me shit for hiding out here, probably would've dragged my ass inside with that bear-like grip of his.

The heavy metal door creaks behind me. I don't turn right away, not wanting anyone to see the redness in my eyes. But curiosity wins out, and I glance over my shoulder.

She steps out into the sunlight clutching his urn, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. Brick's stories didn't do her justice. His daughter carries herself with a quiet grace that seems at odds with the rock chick exterior – all black leather and combat boots. But those eyes – damn, they're his eyes exactly. The same shade of hazel that could see right through your bullshit.

I stub out my cigarette, watching as she hugs herself, looking lost in thought. The leather of her jacket catches the sun, and I notice the small tattoo peeking out from her collar. Something delicate, like her, despite the tough exterior.

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