Page 16 of Ryder

“Well, well, what do we have here?” A man’s voice assesses me from behind.

I turn to meet a sharp gaze, then a large chest, as my eyes keep traveling north.

“She fender fluff?” His eyes are still on me, but he’s talking to Ryder.

Fender fluff?

“No, she’s a friend from my hometown.” Ryder’s voice is contrite, polite even.

I look at the man’s patch, it reads: Harlem — Enforcer.

“Fender fluff?” I fold my arms over my chest. “I don’t know what that means, but I sure as shit don’t think it’s any kind of compliment.”

He smirks. “You lost?” He nods to my wings.

“That depends on this dipshit.” I thumb to Ryder and Harlem laughs out loud.

“You been keepin’ her a secret,” Harlem goes on. “I can see why, with a mouth like that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my mouth,” I tell him defensively.

He grins. “Got a daughter, always taught her to speak her mind. Now she’s fourteen, that’s all comin’ back to bite me in the ass.”

My smile betrays me. “Well, I guess you taught her well then.”

The man is larger than life, but he has a kind face and soft, brown eyes. Maybe the bikers aren’t as bad as I thought? “I’m a single dad. Kids have had me on the bench for years.”

“Her parents would agree with you, right, Crys?” Ryder says.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Very funny.”

Harlem looks between us then shakes his head. He takes off, giving Ryder a hard pat on the back with one of his meaty hands. “She’s all yours,” he laughs, heading inside toward the thumping music.

“Well, that was, um, different,” I snort. “What does Enforcer mean?”

“Never mind.” He runs both hands through his hair. “Crys?—”

“Show me your clubhouse, please.” I pout again, tempted to make prayer hands.

“The guys inside… they’ll be knockin’ each other out of the way to get to you,” he says. “And in there, I hold no weight. You’re not my ol’ lady.”

“Ol’ lady?”

“My woman.” He clears his throat. “If you come inside, you’re fair game.”

“Meaning what?” A slight panic runs through me. “Will I be unsafe?”

“Not with me around. They know I can fight dirty, nobody will try anything you don’t agree to. But they will try and I’m a prospect — a nobody until I earn my patches.”

“I trust you.”

He looks torn, palming the back of his neck. “Crys.”

God, I love it when he calls me that.

I tug on the lapels of his motorcycle jacket. “Show me your place. Then I’ll leave.”

Is it just me, or is the tension around us swirling? He has to feel it, too. The spark we always had that he denied. I realize now he was being a good guy. I understand now that it wouldhave been completely crazy for him to take me up on my offer. I was sixteen, sure, but I was very much still a kid at heart. It would have been a mistake because I’d lived a sheltered life. I’d never had a real boyfriend, or kissed a guy properly. I was a late bloomer. I had spirit, yes, but was I ready for sex? No, I don’t think I was at sixteen.

---