Page 52 of Unwrapping Deviance

Fucker’s been torturing me all morning. He can suffer not knowing.

CHAPTER TEN

CHRISTIAN

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I stay with the pair the rest of the time in the grocery store. Not because I’m worried someone might kidnap me but because Mira stole the last pack of triple stuffedOreos,and I like the way she looks walking ahead of me. Hips swaying. Hair a shiny wave down her back. I definitely enjoy the view when she bends over to grab anything from a lower shelf; that skirt isn’t designed for bending unless it’s for the wearer to get fucked from behind.

I’m not the only one who notices. A few men have nearly walked into shelves doing a double take. One guy circled the aisle twice. Didn’t grab a thing either time but took several long glances at Mira before hurrying off.

Daniel and I exchange glances every time it happens, sharing a grin behind Mira’s back.

We’re both possessive, obsessive and jealous assholes, but as long as they don’t touch her, they can look all the hell they want. Mira’s fucking gorgeous. I don’t blame them. I can hardly take my eyes off her.

In line, while Daniel empties our cart onto the leather belt, Mira grabs a fall recipe magazine and flips through it. She doesn’t notice the glances we’re thrown. The hushed whispers are a little harder to miss, but she seems preoccupied by some parsley soup concoction that she turns to show me.

“Would you eat this?”

It takes a lot of effort to keep my voice even, my face neutral as two bitches in the line over point at Mira and whisper to each other behind their hands.

“Sure, sweetheart,” I tell her, slipping my arm around her middle and dragging her into my chest as if that might protect her.

“They don’t bother me,” she whispers, head still bent over the glossy pages. Her face tips back to meet my gaze when I don’t answer. “Does it bother you?”

I give my head a slight shake. “Fuck’em.”

Her smile is breathtaking, stealing every other thought from my brain. “Exactly.”

I hang on to her even as Daniel pays and returns the paper bags back into the cart. My arm stays securely around her middle all the way to the car. I yank open her door and help her up before moving to the truck bed to unload the groceries with Daniel.

“Hate this fucking place,” he mutters when I join him. “We need to figure this house thing out and get the fuck out of here before one of us actually kills someone.”

I haul a bag out and pass it to him. “Agreed.”

Stan Motor’s Junkyard and Impound sits isolated from the town by almost twenty minutes down the highway. Technically, it doesn’t belong to Jefferson. It’s just on the border, but since there isn’t another town for miles, Jefferson adopted the place.

Currently, it’s the prison where my baby is being held hostage. It’s been hours since she was taken from me and I’m terrified of the things they might have done to her. My gut is an anxious pit of snakes as Stan — a beefy bulk of a man with a beer belly to make any pregnant woman envious, and a scowl that could curdle milk — hobbles out from behind the cluttered desk with my keys in his meaty fist and stalks out of the office.

I follow hot on his heels as he makes his way around back and through a jungle of crushed, rusted, and abandoned vehicles. Some were no more than metal frames, abandoned skeletons of what used to be while others were crushed cubes. I pray for thesafety of my baby as we round a bend to the designated impound area and I finally breathe a sigh of relief.

The late afternoon sun glints along the chrome and fiberglass frame, shines off the handles.

My baby.

It’s disgraceful how she’s tucked up in some shithole surrounded by dead machinery. The fact that they just stuffed her in a corner has me snatching the keys out of Stan’s greasy fingers.

“Better not find a scratch on her,” I warn him. “I’ll break both your kneecaps.”

Stan only purses his thick lips and glowers, but I’m already hurrying over to my bike, circling her. Checking for even a knick.

Only when I’m satisfied she’s okay do I swing my leg over her back and get her out of that place.

I pull up alongside Daniel’s truck a moment later. The engine idles as I sit up and glance over to find Mira’s window down, her arms folded on the frame as she studies my bike with a deep look of longing I feel to my core.

My baby is a thing of beauty. I practically built her from the ground up myself, sparing no expense. She’s my pride and joy, and no one — absolutely no one — is allowed on her, but me. I know other bikers want backpacks, or whatever kids call them nowadays. They want cute girls to cling to them, and that’s fine if that’s what they want, but not on my baby.

That has always been my firm stance. An unwavering line I never let any woman cross.

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