Page 3 of The Good Girl

My father left it to me. Unfortunately, he was riding it when he died.

On the plus side, at least he went out doing something he loved.

The downside was that it took me forever to restore it. I’m no mechanic, and working full-time didn’t give me much time to work on it, especially with my other club responsibilities. But I did it—and with my own two hands.

“Havoc!”

I turn to see Lola standing with my phone in her hand, her hip cocked, wearing a tiny pair of denim cut-offs that show off her long, tanned legs. Her tits—the ones I bought—are perky and completely bra-free under her white tank, her rosy nipples visible when her cut slips a little.

“It’s Khan.”

“Shit, thanks, babe.”

I jog over and plant a kiss on her lips before taking my cell phone from her and holding it to my ear. I can’t help but smile as I watch Lola’s ass as she walks away—the cut on her back proudly declaring she’s mine.

“Havoc, you there?”

“Yeah, sorry, Prez. What can I do for ya?”

“I need you to come to the clubhouse. Got a situation.”

I frown. “What’s going on?”

“Just get here. I’ll explain when you do.”

He hangs up before I can ask anything else.

I sigh and push the bike back into the shed. The test drive will have to wait.

I head inside, grab my bike keys, and look for Lola. I find her in the kitchen making coffee.

“I’ve gotta head to the clubhouse. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, so don’t cook. I’ll pick something up on the way home or send a prospect over with something for you if I’m running late.”

I slide my hands around her hips and pull her back against me, burying my face in her hair and inhaling her perfume.

“That’s fine. I’ll probably just curl up and watch some TV.”

We’ve been together since high school, and over the last few years, she’s transformed from cheerleader to biker babe, trading her soft, youthful glow for an edgy sexiness that has my dick weeping with joy.

She turns and looks up at me.

“Havoc?” Her voice trembles.

“What’s wrong?”

She opens her mouth to answer when my phone chimes, probably Khan telling me to hurry up.

She smiles and shakes her head.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. I grab my cut off the back of the chair and slide it on. “I’ll text you and let you know what’s happening.”

“Okay, bye,” she says softly as I leave.

I pause for a second, something in her voice sounding off. But when my phone chimes again, I decide to talk to my old lady later, after dealing with whatever’s going on at the clubhouse.

I climb on my bike and head toward the club. When I pull up, I’m surprised to find the parking area almost empty.

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