Page 5 of Her Obsessed Biker
She flinches, barely but I catch it. And something about the tremble in her fingers when she takes the pen from Blaze pisses me off more than it should.
She’s scared. Trying not to show it. And that does something to me I don’t like.
I don’t get soft. Not for anyone. But I’m already calculating the risk of letting her walk back out that door on her own.
She finishes signing, and Blaze starts talking her through the rules. I should turn away, but I don’t. I watch the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The way she worries her bottom lip with her teeth. The way she looks back, just once…like she knows I’m still watching.
Damn right, I am.
“Prez.”
I turn to see my enforcer walking toward me in his usual slow, stealthy strides.
Diego Sanchez, aka Deadeye.
To most, he’s nightmare fuel—tall, lean, face carved from granite, scars slicing down his left cheek, and one puckered bullet wound right at his temple. People whisper all kinds of things about him. That he’s killed more men than cancer. That he sees everything. That he doesn’t sleep.
They’re not wrong.
But they don’t know the whole story.
Deadeye’s been with the Savage Kings MC since I was patched in. Before that, even. He doesn’t speak unless it’s important. Doesn’t breathe unless there’s a reason. He’s the kind of man who moves only when it’s time to make someone disappear.
He’s one of the few men alive that I trust with my back.
“Let’s talk,” he mutters.
I nod and follow him to the back booth. Deadeye doesn’t waste words. Never has. So, if he wants to talk, it’s gotta be serious.
“What’s up?” I ask as we sit.
“Camera on the north lot picked up a vehicle. No front plates, blacked out. Sat there for almost ten minutes, then vanished.”
“Did they get out?”
“No. Just parked. Watched. Left.”
I nod slowly. “Outsider?”
“Not local. Cruz is running the image. We’ll know more by morning.”
I glance back at the bar where Piper is still talking to Blaze, arms crossed like a barrier. But I see the way she stiffens when someone brushes too close. I notice the guarded posture. The fear.
She’s hiding something.
“You think she’s connected?” Deadeye asks, following my line of sight.
“No.” The word leaves my mouth before I think twice. “But I don’t like unknown variables.”
Deadeye watches me, silent. I know what he sees. The look in my eyes. The way I haven’t stopped tracking her since she walked through that damn door.
He doesn’t miss a thing, that’s for damn sure.
“She’s gonna be a problem,” he mutters.
“Maybe,” I admit.
“Or she’s already in one.”
