Page 21 of Blue

Jazzy smirked. “Oh, I knew you were pissed. You didn’t like seeing your girl in Rogue’s shirt.”

“Fuck off.” I stood. “Text me what she needs. I’ll take care of it. You just take care of her.”

Once on my bike, I rode over to Crew Custom Cycle. The old oil and lube center in the strip mall had been converted into a custom bike shop. Another unit had been converted to offices in the back and a showroom in the front. Romeo spent most of his time building café racers from old motorcycles.

Romeo and Dozer had a bike torn apart while Torch worked in the pit welding the frame.

“Is Rogue around?” I asked, sinking down on the worn leather couch in front of the glass windows.

“He’s down in the unit next to Hana,” Romeo said, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans. “Bullet is renting the space for his old lady. Sort of a wedding present. He and Rogue are putting in hardwood floors, mirrors, and benches. A place where Stormy can teach Lili and other little kids to dance.”

Torch came up the metal stairs. “Thought I heard your voice,” he said to me. “Rogue said you’re covering for Jazzy this week.”

“That’s the plan.” I glanced around the shop. Not only were there beautiful bikes in the showroom, but there had to be six or seven bikes in some state of repair. “Put me to work.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Dozer said, an unlit cigarette bounced between his lips as he spoke. “Got a waiting list for custom rebuilds, and the repair work is steady.” He nodded toward the bike in the corner. “Hana put the custom paint on Sully’s ride. He brought it in with a rattle. Jazzy wanted to surprise him. I’m waiting on a sensor. Then she’s going to find a way to surprise him.”

“There’s a reason she’s her daddy’s princess.” I crossed to the bike. The tank had been airbrushed with Heller colors, smoke, and the flag.

Romeo laughed. “Only one she’s calling daddy is Rogue.”

That I already knew.

Dozer pulled his lighter from his pocket. “Jazzy handles deliveries, answers the phone, and works the showroom. But we can split duties if you wanted to work on bikes.”

“Cool.” I ran my hand over the tank. “This is fucking sick.”

Torch tossed a rag at me. “Get to work. The bike in the corner came in this morning. There’re gremlins in the electrical system. The battery won’t hold a charge. It could be faulty wiring.”

“I thought you worked on real bikes.” I laughed, checking out the cheap foreign cruiser.

“We call them Hardly a Davidsons, but they pay the bills.” Romeo pointed to the wall. “Overalls are on the pegs.”

Dozer and Romeo went back to the racer, Torch went back to the pit, and I got to work. Because no one questioned where Jazzy was, I wondered if Rogue had told them about Kiss.

Romeo laughed as Dozer couldn’t reach the screw he dropped into the bike. A string of curses mumbled around the cigarette clamped between his lips.

Kiss had told me some of the details about her relationship with Romeo. They hadn’t been good together, but they had a long history. He wasn’t her only issue. She hadn’t been a good friend to Levi. None of that seemed like a reason to run.

Maybe it was. Romeo and Levi were solid, but that didn’t mean there were unresolved issues between all three of them.

How would Romeo feel about her being back in the MC? Did it really matter? Kiss claimed she didn’t want Romeo. I believed her because she put out the vibe that she was into me. She’d get over it and lose interest once she figured out I couldn’t fuck her.

The psychiatrists said I had psychological issues. But according to the shrink, the abuse and childhood trauma never happened. Tell that to my dick. I remembered every fucking detail of the sick shit that supposedly never happened. But the psychiatrist claimed I had an unhealthy preoccupation with sex and created dangerous accusations regarding authority figures.

Fuck doctors.

I definitely hated authority, and I did have a preoccupation with sex. I wanted Kiss. I wanted her to touch me. I wanted her on her knees, with those blue eyes focused on me while I fucked her luscious red lips. Disturbed didn’t come close to how I wanted her.

If I could stay hard, I’d want to do filthy things to her. Shit I shouldn’t want. More of the fucked up programming in my brain thatnever happened.

I focused on the repairs, but my thoughts replayed Kiss on the back of my bike. Fuck, but I loved the feel of her hands on my abdomen when she was riding behind me. I could almost believe that fear wouldn’t slip like poison through my veins if I ran my hand along her thigh or wedged her hand between my legs to feel my cock.

I hardened at the images in my mind. This was the fucked up shit in my head. I could fuck my fist to thoughts of her, but if she touched my dick, I’d go soft.

My phone pinged with a text. I tossed the wrench to the side and opened the message.

Jazzy: She’s not keeping anything down. Can you bring her Gatorade at lunch? I always take at least an hour lunch, so don’t let the guys give you shit.

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