Page 45 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“Because he’s Koyn. He’d…I don’t know…chew you up and spit you out.”

Her words feel false to me. If anything, Koyn has a problem with being too much of a gentleman. Last night, he was pissed. Furious. He even spanked my ass again.

But then…

Then he was tender and gentle and affectionate.

I’d been sucked right into that side of him. Something about him pulls me. When we kissed, it’s like someone threw a lit match into a puddle of gasoline. We ignited and I didn’t think we’d be put out. I was sure he’d fuck me and make me see stars. But, as quick as it started, he doused the heat with his cold, callous words. Sent me back to my room as though I were a child he was punishing.

Ugh, fuck him.

“Where’d you say you’re from again?” Stormy says, drawing me from my inner rage.

I snap my eyes to hers. “I didn’t.”

“I can help you,” she says softly. “You’re still a baby. You need to get back to your family. They can protect you.”

I recoil and stumble back, bumping my ass into the shelves of canned goods. “I don’t have a family. There’s nowhere to go back to.”

She opens her mouth like she might speak again, but then we hear deep voices. Her caring face is wiped off as she affixes a flirty grin.

“Filter, baby, what do you want for dinner tonight? I’ll make a store run.” She gives me a long look before slipping out of the pantry.

I follow her out to find several of the guys congregating in the kitchen. My gaze seeks out Koyn. He’s staring at his phone, scowling. Feeling brave, I walk right up to him. Before I can ask him what the hell his problem is, his phone rings and he takes the call.

“What’s up, Copper?”

And then he’s gone.

“Who kicked your puppy?” Dragon asks, throwing an arm over my shoulders.

He smells damn good.

“Koyn.”

“Koyn’s mean like that.” He turns his head and inhales my hair. “If you want sweet, I can be your sugar.”

A chill ripples down my spine. Dragon doesn’t seem sweet at all. Just yesterday I was interested in taunting him, but not now. He kind of spooks me.

“I’m good, Pete.”

“Pete?”

“The dragon.”

He snorts. “I breathe fire, PG. Where do you want me to make you hot?” His palm slides to my ass and he caresses it. “Here?”

Katana steps right in front of us and his dark eyes sear into Dragon’s. The small, Asian man looks like he’s right out of BTS or some other pop group with his porcelain features and perfect, inky black hair. His face is pretty, but in a dangerous way. It’s not a surprise that the two creepiest fuckers are friends.

“Yeah, yeah, K,” Dragon grumbles. “Just poking a little fun.”

They walk off and I sigh in relief.

“Hey, Hadley,” Bermuda says, grinning his adorably boyish smile at me. “Wanna help me plan the Thanksgiving menu?”

I stare at him.

Aside from his innocent smile, he screams biker dude. Tall, bulky, dangerous. He’s as good-looking as the rest, maybe better because he has that whole football player redneck vibe going on. He’s tatted, though, and I know he carries a .45 all the time. His leather cut stretches over his broad frame and his black boots have buckles on them. So it’s weird as hell that he’s grinning at me like his grandmother let him plan the family feast this year.

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