Page 24 of Outlaws of Tulsa

Then what?

Outrun an entire club of pissed off bikers?

And I still don’t know where I’d go.

I never thought much past Junior.

“Putnam, hmm?” a deep, dark, and sultry voice practically purrs. “To get involved with a shit like him or his son, you’d have to be quite the girl yourself.”

I snap my head to meet the green-eyed gaze of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His dark hair is styled in a just-fucked kind of way—for all I know, he probably was just fucked based on his smirk. He quirks his lips up and a dragon tattoo on his neck seems to ripple and move as though it’s alive on his skin. I become fixated on the intricate green and black ink that covers most of his neck. The dragon’s mouth is open, all razor-sharp teeth, and rather than fire, smoke billows out, covering his exposed flesh to his jaw, stopping abruptly. From the jawline down, he’s a total typical biker with leather and black and swagger. His face is straight out of a magazine or a freaking cologne ad.

“You shouldn’t stare, jailbait,” he says, his smile widening to reveal a perfect set of white teeth.

Bikers aren’t this hot.

Hell no.

They stink and belch and are hairy.

“Still not done,” the man says, his perfect brow arching up. “Stare all you want, little one, but Prez is going to lose his shit in three, two, one—”

“Dragon,” Koyn growls. “I need your hog.”

The purring, seductive dragon man whines, making him less biker and total runway diva. “What? Why?”

“I need to think. You can ride bitch with Copper.”

Dragon’s smile becomes predatory. “With jailbait here? Want me to sit her in my lap and keep her safe?”

Koyn’s jaw ticks and before he can respond, another goddamn beautiful biker steps over to us. Tall, massive, his golden blond hair glistening like the sun.

“Dragon,” the guy warns. “Prez’ll drag your ass behind your own bike by your hair if you keep that shit up.”

“Don’t give him any ideas, Filter,” Dragon complains to the golden god of a man.

Filter smirks. “It’s my job to give him ideas.”

Koyn holds out his hand and Dragon tosses his keys to him with a grumble.

“Hadley’s with me,” Koyn tells them, surprising the hell out of his guys based on the widening of their eyes.

“You’re gonna put this young bitch on the back ofmybike and haul her around like she’s your old lady?” Dragon asks, bursting into a fit of laughter.

Koyn grabs Dragon by the front of his shirt and drags him until they’re face-to-face. Dragon’s hand is already around a knife at his belt, but he makes no moves to stab his prez.

“I’ll never have an old lady,” Koyn rumbles. “Stop fucking with me.”

Dragon relents. “I know, Prez. Sorry, man.”

Koyn releases the grip on his shirt and then clutches Dragon’s shoulder in a brotherly way that has me confused as hell. Two seconds ago, I was sure someone would get slashed to death. Now they’re looking at each other like they’re best fucking friends.

“Get her a helmet,” Koyn barks out to Filter. “A jacket too.”

A cacophony of rumbles vibrates me to my bones as I stand beside Koyn on the nice, new Harley he pretty much stole from Dragon. I’m supposed to be looking for escape options, not noticing how domineering he looks straddling the big, noisy piece of metal. His thighs strain against the blood-stained denim, showcasing the solid muscle beneath. Everything about Koyn is huge and hardened. To some outside girl, he’d be terrifying.

Especially to some girl whose boyfriend he killed.

But I’m no outside girl.

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