Page 2 of Outlaws’ Runaway

He grins. “Got room for three?”

Oh right. This is planet earth. I'm at work. Just not doing a very good job of it. I don't trust my voice to come out as more than a squeak, so I nod and gesture towards a booth by the window.

“Table, if you don’t mind.” He plucks a menu out of my hand and heads towards an empty spot.

Once he looks away, my heartbeat settles for a moment.

And then speeds right back up.

Two more men walk in, wearing the same kind of leather vest. The first is a giant, with a thick beard and a shaved head. Thick brows emphasize his deep blue eyes, and he grins when he sees me staring. I can’t look at him without wondering what it would be like to have those big, strong arms around me, and to rest my head on the center of his broad chest. Would it be smooth? Fuzzy? Covered in tattoos? He's pure bulk. His gray T-shirt is straining at the seams, and his jeans are so tight over his thighs that I can make out how his corded muscles move as he walks. He could take three of me and juggle us without breaking a sweat.

He reaches out and takes a menu from my frozen hand. Naked bodies writhe together in a colorful tattoo sleeve that starts at his left wrist and vanishes into his shirt. I can’t look away, shocked to see just about every sex position I can imagine and some I couldn't until just now. It's like a big knotwork puzzle, except it's all porn. Expertly drawn, but porn. My face glows hot, and I don't know if I'm embarrassed, scandalized, or just plain turned on.

“Thank you, honey.” He grins, and his smile is just as big and broad as the rest of him. Where the heck did these guys comefrom? We've had plenty of bikers through here in the few days I've been around, and some have been cute, but none have been like this.

I gesture the way his friend went, I guess in case he didn’t notice? Maybe they didn’t want a booth because he wouldn’t fit. Oh my God, my subconscious is obsessed. I shake my head to clear it.

The third biker cocks his head and watches me like he can hear every mortifying thought. His thick dark hair is long, hanging free on either side of his handsome face. He’s the youngest of the three, lean and strong with cheekbones that could cut glass. His full lips are way too sexy and kissable for his own good. At first glance, he doesn’t have the same overwhelming aura of danger, but when our eyes meet, everything changes. His beauty transforms into a deadly trap. A beautiful panther, showing off soft fur and hoping I don’t notice the sharp teeth and blood-tipped claws until it’s too late. With only a whisper of a smile, he strips my clothes off one by one until I'm left naked and exposed to him.

I clutch the last menu to my chest like I can hide behind it.

“Easy. We don't bite. Much.” He runs a finger over the back of my hand and takes the menu, sliding it from my numb grasp. His arms are bare, but there’s a hint of a black tattoo peeking out from his t-shirt collar and running up his neck.

I’m a strong, independent woman, raised to stand up for myself and not shrink away and hide. If Mom was here, she would laugh and say, “Pull yourself together, Paige. Feed them enough beans and they’ll fart like the rest of us.” Now, she used to say that about people who thought they were better than us, not stupidly hot bikers, but I think the lesson still stands. People are people,no matter how good looking. And yet, here I am, struggling to get a word out.

He chuckles under his breath as he joins his friends. On the back of all three of their jackets is the same big skull logo with some machine parts crossed behind it, almost like a pirate flag, and in curved text over it reads, “Outlaw Sons.”

Oooooh, crap. These aren’t just hot guys with motorcycles. They’re bad news in tempting packages, even if my gut is telling me to roll over and let them pet my tummy.

“Hi. I'm Pai—Sarah, can I get you anything to start with while you look at the menu?” God, I almost gave them my real name. They've got my head completely spun around.

“Nice to meet you…Sarah,” the green eyed man says, watching me closely. My mistake didn't slip by him. “I'm Savage, the big boy's Crank and that there's Poe.”

“Um… nice to meet you, too.” I'm not used to customers introducing themselves right back at me.

“Hey! We're fucking starving over here. And we need more beer!” someone shouts from the big table.

I try to keep my expression neutral, but I can’t stop the flinch.

“They giving you trouble?” Savage swings his gaze their way, and everything about him goes from sexy to terrifying in zero seconds flat. “Just say the word and we’ll go take care of them for you. No charge.”

I can just imagine what would happen if these two tables clashed. We’d be lucky if the diner was still standing at the end, and then they’d drive away with a great story while the rest of us patched our lives back together. Even at six to three, I’d put mymoney on the bikers. I shake my head. “No, they're just a little tipsy. And it’s a big group so they’ve been waiting a while. Why don't you look over the menu while I check on their order? I'll be right back with water and you can tell me what you want.”

“They’re grown fucking men, not toddlers. Don’t make excuses for them,” Crank growls.

No kidding, but if I’m the one that points that out, I’m out of a job, not him. “It’s fine, honest. I'll be back in a sec. Please, um, don't start a fight or anything?” I make a point of nodding my head at the other table.

Poe looks their way, disgust on his face. “They don't start trouble, then we don't start trouble. But if they do, we're sure as hell gonna finish it. I don’t fucking care who you are, they don’t get to act like assholes just because they can.”

Who I am? A waitress? Maybe this guy isn’t much better than the others. “Be right back.”

“Counting on it,” Savage says softly.

When I check with the kitchen, the orders are already starting to come out. Good thing, because my day will get a lot better when they finish up and get out of here. The last thing I want is a bunch of half-drunk bullies making their bad attitudes everyone’s problem. I serve them as quickly as I can, smiling through comments I know they want to see me react to. If the plates hit the table a little hard and they don’t get my usual charm, that's on them.

I think I’m finally done and clear when my left butt cheek explodes in pain. One of them pinched me, hard. I yelp and jump away, right into one of his friends. A hand clamps around my arm like a manacle. I struggle to get free, only managing itbecause he lets me. Real fear courses through my veins, and all they do is laugh. The guy who grabbed me raises his hands like he’s apologizing, but when I follow his gaze, it’s not to me, it’s to the biker table, where Savage is standing by his chair looking ready to do murder.

Why do I suddenly feel like a bone between two angry dogs?

---