Page 2 of Steel Trap
“Seems like it’s gonna be a non-eventful few days.” Hatchet said. “I can go with that. We’ve been riding from one crisis to another recently. I can do without any more drama for a while.” He ate the food Crow delivered, surprised that it was good. “Not bad, Crow.” Hatchet lickedhis lips, making a satisfied slurping sound to demonstrate his pleasure. “You want some help clearing up?”
Rogue chuckled. “Fuck, for a badass biker gang, we sure are getting domestic.” He stretched his legs, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “Go see to Smith, Hatch. I’ll help out here.”
Hatchet stacked his dirty dishes next to the sink before making his escape. He needed a shower anda last look at Smith before the pretty man left. Hatchet tapped on the door to his room but didn’t wait for a response before entering. Smith was half-dressed, wearing a pair of jeans borrowed from Shelton, who was close to his size. The bare skin on show was quite tan. Hatchet wondered if Smith sunbathed naked. He wouldn’t mind assisting with lotion application.
“Good morning, Mr. Hatchet.”Smith straightened. The wound on his arm seemed to have improved. It was less inflamed. The antibiotics Shelton had been giving him were doing their job. He pulled on a plain navy T-shirt that made his pale blue eyes seem even more distinctive.
Hatchet’s cock twitched. “I came in to use the shower.” He stripped off his clothes, dropping them at his feet. He gave Smith a challenging stare. Therewas just a slight hint of pink on Smith’s cheekbones as he examined Hatch from head to toe, his gaze lingering for a long while on his groin.
“Thank you for giving up your bed for me.” Smith made unblinking eye contact.
“You needed it more than I did. You should stay a few more days.”
“Tempting. Very tempting.”
Hatchet didn’t think Smith was talking about the offer of a place to sleep. Heopened the door to the small attached wet room then turned on the shower, giving Smith a great view of his ass. He thought he detected a small squeak but when he turned around, Smith was pulling on his socks.
“Don’t leave before I’m done in here.” Hatchet waited for a nod of acknowledgement. He hadn’t realized how much gold there was in Smith’s sandy thatch of hair. The glints caught his eyeas Smith inclined his head. He showered quickly, wishing Smith was beneath the spray with him. He wanted to put heat into that cool expression, ignite flames in Smith’s frosted blue eyes. Repressed passion seethed under Smith’s rigid, controlled exterior, Hatchet knew it. He just hadn’t quite worked out how to set it free. He was a stubborn son of a bitch, though. He’d get there.
He padded nakedinto the bedroom. It was empty, the bed made with neat hospital corners. There was no indication that anyone other than Hatchet had occupied the space. Hatchet shrugged. He pulled on underwear then his softest leathers, scuffed and battered though they were. His black T-shirt had the faded image of a dragon on the back. The Wyverns didn’t much go in for symbols but dragons were a theme amongsttheir clothing and tattoos if anyone cared to look. He took his time with socks and boots. Smith would wait. He wasn’t the type to run.
Out in the common room, Smith stood facing the door. Apart from the two of them, the room was empty.
“A car will be here for me shortly,” Smith said without turning. “I will return Shelton’s clothing as soon as it’s been laundered. Please pass on my appreciationto him.”
“How many accents do you have, Smith? That sounds like New York to me.”
“Why such curiosity about my origins, Mr. Hatchet? What does it matter?”
“Maybe I want to get to know you better. I assume you know everything about me—if the mysterious Horatio Trap shares, that is.”
Smith swiveled to face him. His lean frame made even Shelton’s old clothes look good. He was clean-shaven, hishair trimmed and styled. Hatchet rubbed his bald head then fingered the stubble covering his chin. Smith would be much improved with stubble rash on his smooth cheeks. Face or ass—Hatchet wasn’t picky.
“Alcoholic mother, absentee father. Nelson Jeremiah Hatchet signed up to the military out of high school. Teachers said you were too bright for your own good. Could have gotten yourself a fullride to college, but ended up in the Rangers where you gained a reputation for getting the shittiest jobs done. On your second tour, you defended a local woman from a drunk officer and ended up in the stockade. Hitting him during the court martial got you time in military prison. Mr. Trap decided your talents were better suited to his purposes and here we are. Does that about sum it up?”
“Don’tsound too great when you lay it out like that. Trap pulled my ass from one fire then dumped it in another. I’ve paid my debt to him.”
“Your contract runs for another year.” Smith didn’t blink.
“Good of you to remind me.” Hatchet stepped closer to Smith. “You know so much about me. About all of us. What about you? How did you end up in Trap’s web? I don’t even know your first name.”
“You don’tneed to know it. We’ll meet again soon, Mr. Hatchet. Perhaps sooner than you’d like.”
Smith didn’t give any ground as Hatchet invaded his personal space. They were so close Hatchet could smell the mint on Smith’s breath. “Then you’ll tell me your name, pretty man.” He cupped the back of Smith’s head, threading his fingers through soft hair. Smith didn’t attempt to pull away. The scent of himwas intoxicating. Hatchet kissed him—a rough press of lips, nothing more—then released him. Smith gasped then licked his lips as if savoring the residual flavor.
“Perhaps. We’ll see. You’ll need to be more convincing than that.” The trace of a smile ghosted across Smith’s lips.
Hatchet gave a wry shake of his head. “Get out of here, Smith, before I shove you against a wall and show you how persuasiveI can be.” He didn’t get the sarcastic retort he was expecting.
Crow wandered through from the kitchen holding a radio receiver. “Hatch, Bull just called in. There’s a vehicle heading down the track. Blacked out windows. You want him to take it out? He has a trigger finger in need of exercise.”
“No, better tell him to stand down. That’ll be Smith’s ride. I’ll escort him out.”
“Whatever yousay.” Crow slapped Smith on the shoulder. “Appreciate your help with the whole situation down in Mexico. Shelton would be telling you the same if he weren’t still so wiped.”
“It was my pleasure.” Ever polite, Smith shook Crow’s hand. “And now I must go. Thank you all for your hospitality. I’ll be in touch.” He took measured paces toward the door, holding himself with a slight stiffness that toldHatchet his wound was still troubling him. Hatch tracked him outside where a sleek black BMW had pulled up in a cloud of dust. A uniformed driver got out of the vehicle. He opened the rear door then waited in silence, eyes hidden behind mirrored glasses.
“Nice ride,” Hatchet said.
