Page 137 of Outlaws of Tulsa

Before Bizzy can read anymore, Dragon rises to his feet, no longer laughing. “Delete it.”

“What?” Bizzy asks.

“I said delete it,” Dragon growls, storming over to him. “Now.”

“Yeah, delete it,” Gibson throws out. “No one gives a damn about my music. Just my dick. I’d prefer to keep my privates private, man.”

“But, dude, you’re good,” Bizzy argues. “This is how most stars are found—hey!”

Dragon snatches the phone from his grip and his fingers fly over the screen. It takes Bizzy’s big ass a second to climb off the floor. He must feel passionately about the video because he actually goes toe to toe with Dragon like he might win that battle.

“Give me my phone, fucker,” Bizzy booms. “You can’t just delete—”

“Too late.” Dragon shoves the phone against Bizzy’s chest and glowers at him. “Time to roll out. We have shit to do.”

He stalks out of my house without a backward glance, leaving the door standing wide-open. Katana, his shadow, disappears with him. Gibson gives Bizzy a reassuring smile and then those two guys get ready to leave. They take turns hugging Stormy before telling me bye. Where their hugs to her were friendly, theone she shares with Bermuda is a familiar, lingering one that sets my teeth on edge.

“Miss you,” Bermuda murmurs, kissing the top of her head. “Try to be good.”

“You know I don’t know how to do that shit,” she sasses back, a fake smile on her face.

I’m no longer interested in their exchange because I’m all too focused on her. Darting blue eyes. Slightly furrowed brows. Tense shoulders.

“See you around, man,” Bermuda says, tipping his ball cap at me.

I close the door behind him and cross my arms over my chest. “What?”

Stormy flinches at my question. “What do you mean what?”

“What happened? You were all jokes and smiles and then…” I clench my jaw. “Did Bermuda say something to upset you?”

“No,” she huffs out. “Bermuda is like a brother. Makes me miss my own brother.”

“Dragon’s hot and cold attitude problem?”

She nods. “It’s just…”

“What?”

“Can you take me for a ride, Copper? Get me out of this house? Let me think for a minute and gather my thoughts?”

Having this beautiful bitch on the back of my bike sounds like a temptation I can’t ignore. Before I consider the consequences, I give her a curt nod.

“Dress like you belong on a bike and not dancing on the table of some trashy bar, little storm. Five minutes.”

I know something’s up because she doesn’t give me shit for my comment. While she changes, I swap my sweats out for something more road appropriate. Since it’s warm out and my dogs will want to play while we’re gone, I make sure their bucket is filled with water outside and whistle for them to go out. I’mjust pulling out my bike, a vivid black anniversary 2020 Fat Boy 114, from my garage when Stormy meets me.

Fuck.

It doesn’t matter what she wears. She’s always hot as hell. I’d seen her in these same tight black jeans that look painted on when she’d been on the back of Filter’s bike, but I’d never allowed my eyes to linger.

Now, I can’t take them off her.

Her black tank top is loose and low cut, showing off her ample cleavage. She’s pulled her golden locks from her messy bun into a loose braid I crave to wrap my fist around. The boots she’s wearing are pretty sturdy and fit for riding, but still look hot as fuck. With the shock collar around her neck, it reminds me she’s mine.

“We need to take that off,” I call out over the rumble of my engine. “Come here.”

Her blue eyes light up at getting to take the collar off. She complains about it a lot, but since she can move it up and down along her throat, I ignore most of her bitching. I fish out the key from my pocket and motion her closer. She bends over, her tits nearly in my damn face, and grins.

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