Page 8 of Gunner

That was my father’s dream for me, to see me safe and settled, but it was never mine.

That bodyguard is obviously an outlaw with his own creed. It’s not the allure of the bad boy, a man who could protect and also do the filthiest things to my body, that attracts me. For the most part, I can keep myself safe.

It’s the promise of understanding.

Twin flames.

A man like that wouldn’t care what my father does. He wouldn’t care about my past. He wouldn’t fear me or who I am. He’d probably think it was good that I’m tough, know my way around a gun, and can handle a knife in a pinch. He’d be my match in every way.

I choke back a heartless, sad laugh.

If a man like that wanted a woman and a family, he wouldn’t be a member of an outlaw biker gang. I’ve heard about the one in Hart. You can’t live here and not know who’s running the town. Satan’s Angels. How very original. Apparently, they’ve run most of the riffraff and small-time drug dealers out of Hart over the years. Cleaned the city up. That must make them popular with the police. People don’t speak of them with fear, they probably think of them as heroes.

How does no one understand that the most dangerous men get that way because they put their competition in the ground?

“Ma’am, can I help you find anything?”

My head whips around to see a young, twenty-something athletic looking blond guy all in black with a nametag. Chris. He studies me eagerly, his eyes roving up. I was wearing a knee-length vintage fifties dress with a fitted bodice. His gaze stops right on my breasts.

“I’m good, thanks.”

His face falls, but he’s not deterred. “Can I tell you about some of the sales we have today?”

I glance over at the register, where a teenage girl with bright pink hair is ringing up Penny’s shoes while the little girl bounces with excitement. I wish she was the one monitoring the floor.

“I think I’m okay. I just came in for a pair of flats,” I respond politely, but my body is stiff.

Chris doesn’t take the hint. “In that case, we have so many to choose from. If you want to follow me…”

I don’t move. My annoyance builds, which triggers an immediate self-defense response. I silently debate the merits of kicking Chris in the nuts or stabbing him in the thigh with the pen I have in my messenger bag at my hip. To be fair, he’s annoying and he ogled my breasts, but that’s not exactly a crime and certainly not worthy of bodily harm. He hasn’t hit creep level yet. I suck in a deep breath and remind myself that he’s only doing his job. He wants the commission, not a date.

I hobble down the row of women’s shoes, stacked floor to ceiling in neat little rectangular boxes. Chris’ smile is smarmy and makes my stomach churn, but only because I wish that it wasn’t always my first instinct to want to resort to violence. Technically, just because I can break a guy’s neck or toss him over my shoulder certainly doesn’t mean I ever should.

“I think you’d look great in a pair of yellow wedges.” Chris produces the box. I’m ready to grab it out of his hands, just so that I can get the hell out of here. “They’d match your dress. A size… seven?” he guesses after tracing my legs with his burning eyes.

They settle on my feet and ankles, which are both starting to feel the strain of being so unlevel. We might be reaching creep level now.

“Eight and a half,” I mutter. Spotting a box of black flats to my right in a size nine, which will certainly do in a pinch, I snatch them off the shelf. “Actually, these will work. Thanks.”

Chris literally jumps into my path. “Those are just display. Let me get you a pair from the back.”

Yeah. Not how it works, buddy. Not in a store like this.

“I’ll get these ones. Thank you for your time.”

“No, really.” Chris’ hands cover mine and I wonder if he’s about to make a move or try and wrestle the box away from me, all while he flashes me his playboy grin. “Let me get you a new pair.”

“Take your fucking hands off those shoes!”

The thunderous, gravelly voice behind me freezes both of us. Chris apparently does have a sense of self-preservation after all. He immediately lifts up his hands and jumps back half a foot. I don’t turn around, but I can feel the heat ofhimat my back. Unless someone else who looked like the lovechild of a grim reaper and a Viking warrior from the wrong century walked in, it’s the guy from the door. Penny’s bodyguard. She must be the daughter of someone important to that club.

I had men guarding me like this when I was a child. I was never afraid of them. I knew they’d give their lives for me and that only ever made me feel safe. Maybe that’s why an electric thrill shoots through me now, exploding between my legs in a way that is just straight up wrong.

I don’t have a sense of self-preservation.

That rough, raw, obvious menace makes me shiver with raw desire of my own.

Chris runs off, rounding the corner with unnatural speed. I slowly turn, box in hand. I’m not going to thank this man. I had it covered. My eyes do a quick scan because I just can’t help myself. His worn jeans cling to thick, muscular thighs and hang low on his hips where a giant metal skull belt buckle flashes in the light.

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