Page 51 of Jacob

“Oooooofffff.” The air puffed out of Tut’s lungs as his eyes bulged from his head. Stumbling for a few steps, he gasped before he turned, holding his stomach and glaring at Pipes. Sparrow’s boyfriend bobbed up and down from one foot to the other, watching the other man, waiting for the next attack.

With a war cry, Tut charged at him, his arms out as though he intended to tackle his opponent. A squeak slipped from her and she closed her eyes, unable to watch the ugly attempt at fighting unfolding in front of her.

The cheering crowd and the thumps of flesh on flesh were enough to tell her that it did not go well for Tut. She didn’t have to look to know that her man unleashed a flurry of jabs to Tut’s soft middle.

“How embarrassing to have your ass kicked by a prospect,” a girl commented to another, who giggled in response.

“Enough,” barked Bowie. His booming voice quieted the crowd and made Cajun’s arm loosen.

Opening her eyes, she witnessed the sea of onlookers parting and the president of the Roughneck Riders sauntering into the center of the fighting circle. She pushed off the biker who’d held her, looking over her shoulder to give him the stink eye as she did it. She headed straight for Pipes.

The howl from the ground caught her off guard and she almost tripped into her man’s arms. She wasn’t sure if Tut, bent over on the ground, had swiped at her feet, missed, and she’d stepped on his fingers, or if she’d just stepped on him. Either way, she didn’t apologize. Instead, she just wrapped her arms around Pipes’ sweaty middle and pressed her head to his heaving chest, watching the president of the motorcycle club peering down at his member with his back to her.

This wasn’t good. Loyalty. Club loyalty. “Got your ass handed to you,” Bowie coughed on the man on the ground.

The older man crouched down and tilted his head. Pipes ran his hand through her hair. “You okay?” he asked.

“What?” She peered up at him. “Why are you worried about me? You just—” She slapped at his chest. “Do you know what you just did?” she asked rhetorically. “They’re going to fuck you up. They could kill you for this!”

He sniffled before wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

It wasn’t just his future at stake. He didn’t get to be so cavalier with her life. She wanted to punch him right in the nuts. How could he be so stupid after everything he’d been through, to throw it all away over one ass grab?

“Pipes.” Bowie’s gravelly voice drew her out of her internal beratement and brought her focus to the club president, who now turned his eye to the pair.

Her man lifted his chin in acknowledgment of the leader of the bikers. She could just kick him. Didn’t he have any fucking respect?

Silence.

The music didn’t even play. The people in the clubhouse didn’t say a word. Not even a damn cough. The two men stared at one another. It was as though the entire building watched with bated breath to hear the fate of the prospect who’d just beaten the ass of a patched member.

“Need you in the ring Saturday. Clean the shitters, door duty, and no runs for a month.”

Ever so slightly, Pipes’ head bobbed in agreement.

Bowie glanced down to Sparrow, tucked against her man’s side. The look in his eye held a deep rage and it was all she could do not to cower and hide behind her boyfriend under the scrutiny. “Pit men against each other again, and we will have words.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but his index finger and that look told her it wouldn’t be wise. So, she shut it quickly. Her swallowed protests tasted bitter.

One, two, three, four beats before he turned his eye back to Pipes. “Tomorrow, see me. You’re getting a new sponsor.”

The arm around her tightened, pressing her body against her boyfriend harder as she watched the president stalk back through the lane of parted people who looked upon him with awe. The wet cough he unleashed into his fist caused his shoulders to shake as he disappeared. The music returned—Skindred’sNobody.

With a tug, he pulled her to face him and crouched to fill her field of vision. “You’re my woman.” He cupped her face. “I can’t let anyone do that to you.”

When he brought his face close, he brushed his lips ever so gently over hers. Her heart flipped, but not because of him. No. It reminded her of Jacob and their kiss in the stock room.

Guilt lodged in her throat, and she stood there, unmoving, letting him kiss her. Thoughts of her crush shouldn’t be crossing her mind when her boyfriend kissed her—no matter how alike the gesture was—that was fucked up. Even for her.

She should also kiss him back. After all, this was the guy she was actually dating. This was the guy who’d just kicked the shit out of a patched club member because he’d touched her ass. This was the guy who didn’t think she was just club ass.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to return the affection. His hands slid down her arms and rested on her hips. She should feel something. He’d just jeopardized his years of grunt work for her and her immediate response was annoyance.

Some women would swoon at the romantic gesture. Hell, she’d have been one of them if it wasn’t for fucking Jacob. He wasn’t supposed to come back. He wasn’t supposed to be in Ohio again. He wasn’t supposed to be connected to her. A fling, a moment of weakness, a fond memory, those were the things Jacob Karolsson was supposed to be. He was supposed to stay in her goddamn fantasy and in fucking Montana—not fucking up her life.

When the kiss ended, Pipes smiled and stroked her cheek. “I think drinks are in order.”

Forcing her own grin, she licked her bottom lip. “I really should go home to study.”

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