Page 35 of One Night with the Biker

“Okay. I’m sorry, babe. I—” She gulped, glanced at me, and shoved her way behind the bar.

“The way you gaslight her is fucked up,” I shouted over the noise to make sure that motherfucker heard me.

“She bought it, so it worked.” He nodded toward the door. “I need to talk to you.”

“Jinx is bringing my beer.”

“This is about Ainsley,” Louisiana gritted.

“What about her?”

He indicated his ears, then arced his hand toward the crowd of bikers and chicks. Holding up a hand, he walked away, returning a few minutes later with two beers and nodding his head toward the door.

Outside, I drank deeply, enjoying the fresh air after the press of bodies inside.

“What about Ainsley and how do you know?”

Louisiana flicked his lighter until the reefer caught and then inhaled before passing it to me so I could hit it.

“I went to their place,” he started.

I snatched the joint and inhaled again. “You did what?” I asked on an exhale of smoke. “You could’ve gotten fucking killed, asshole.”

“Please.” He reclaimed the joint and relit it after several flicks of his lighter. “My intellect outweighs a Bloody Scorpion’s any fucking day of the week.”

“What about Ainsley?” I demanded. The fuckhead hadn’t gotten killed, so I wouldn’t argue and point out why it had been such a bad idea.

“I went there to tell Roman he should kiss your ass every day for sparing him.”

“You offered my ass to that motherfucker? Next time don’t be so generous.”

Snickering, he held out the bud to me.

“What about Ainsley, fuckhead?”

He studied me, then smiled. “Nothing too urgent. I took a little memento for you.” Smiling, he pulled out a photo of Ainsley and handed it to me. “It was in a frame that said ‘Best Little Sister’. Sweet, huh? Twinsies. Well, not really since hers said ‘brother.’”

I didn’t care about the frame. Louisiana had stolen her picture for me.

“I’ll put it in my desk as a memento of our date.”

Eyeing me, he sipped his beer. “I thought maybe it would be a souvenir from the time you got the easiest pussy ever.”

“Ainsley isn’t easy and if you say that again, I’ll rip your fucking tongue out.”

“I’m just kidding, Reese. I did you a solid. Enjoy it.”

He grabbed the joint from my hand and walked away. I knew in my fucking bones something was up.

8 weeks later

With just several days before October arrived, the crisp airof late September carried the scent of fallen leaves and distant barbecue smoke. The late afternoon sky stretched wide and blue, though wisps of white clouds occasionally streaked through it. As I steered my car away from the Bloody Scorpions clubhouse on the northwestern edge of the city, a golden glow shone over the streets.

Trees turning shades of gold and rust dotted stretches of land, especially where the surroundings were more open. Strip malls, gas stations, and local diners, some with their signs advertising fall specials—pumpkin spice coffee, barbecue platters, or Friday night football deals—zoomed by.

Heading to the Royal Bastards clubhouse, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would they stop me at the gate and question me? Maybe, there wasn’t a gate and it was easy to access. If they were like the Bloody Scorpions, women were always welcome.

Unfortunately, my reputation might’ve proceeded me if they asked for my name and recognized it in connection to Roman. I didn’t know what he’d revealed while he’d been so badly injured. Reese warned me not to contact him again. Perhaps, he’d alerted his brothers to my identity.

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