Page 4 of Falling for the Biker
Cherry’s not in the dark of what I do. Hell, she’s inked up my brothers, offering them a wink and a discount if they let her practice on them. For something so permanent, I’ve seen her succeed far too many times.
“Who was that woman? I’ve seen her around town, but I can’t remember where.” The redhead’s face pinches as she tries to recall the past.
I felt it in a sense, too, a distant familiarity, but nothing set in stone. If I hadreallynoticed her, Ruby would have stood out more.
“Depending on the situation, I might need to step away from the shop.” Passing her question with silence, I shut off the music and grab my keys. “Think you can keep a good eye on things if it happens?”
Cherry grins at the offer, happy to take on whatever clients step through the door. “Sure, Boss. Always.”
“Don’t let anyone upstairs.” Preaching the exact words I always do, I try not to think about someone trying to slip inside of my personal living space. I’ve had it happen once before, and it was just a mix-up. That was before I stumbled across the Steelwood MC.
I don’t even allow Chelsea up there without a warning beforehand.
She’s the one person I don’t want getting involved in all of this. Hell, she doesn’t even know the fine details about what I do, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Cameron doesn’t ask questions, but it’s evident that his auto shop is where we get our work done. He’s smart enough not to breathe a word to Chelsea.
After locking up the shop, Cherry doesn’t waste time leaving the lot; she’s off to enjoy the rest of her day.
I get on my bike and shoot a message to Judge, already warning him of what’s to come. While it’s not enough to call a meeting, he dislikes problems popping up without warning.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, the roar of my bike bounces off the surrounding buildings before I make the short trip to Willow Perk.
The coffee shop is buzzing, especially around this time of the year. While the air is cold, people flock to the business for delicious warm drinks. From pumpkin-flavored coffees to apple desserts, they’re going all out this season to attract as much attention as they can get.
A great place to send someone who shouldn’t be alone.
As I shut my bike off, I take the chance to smoke. Honestly, I don’t know if Ruby will still be here to begin with. After a few hours have passed, I can’t blame her if she suddenly gets impatient and goes off to find a different route to take.
The cops won’t help, even I know that much. Who else is there? Sure, she could hunt down one of my brothers, but would she?
She took one step into my shop, and I couldhearher fear. I’m willing to bet a woman like her doesn’t even know what direction to start looking when it comes to the things that lurk in the shadows.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a problem with danger finding her first.
A stalker, out of all things. It doesn’t help that she has no clue who it could be.
If Chelsea were having this issue, I wouldn’t think twice about bloodying my hands over it so she’d never worry again.
Ruby’s not blood, so I can’t decide something that could jeopardize everything Judge has done to reshape the club.
Sighing softly, I don’t try to peer through the glass windows to see if those wide brown eyes will be looking back.
I can’t get involved with trouble. Trouble is the easiest way to distract me, and I have a role to fulfill here. I can’t afford to be sidetracked.
A cigarette later, I’m heading toward the building. Pulling open the door, the bell overhead jingles as it always does, and I’m hit with the aroma of coffee. It’s so sweet, my teeth ache just thinking about getting one of their muffins. I shouldn’t. Recalling her offer of getting one, I’m mostly satisfied to see there isn’t one sitting at her table.
My eyes find her instantly, tucked into a corner like a secret. She’s trying to be small, unnoticed, but all it does is make me want to loom over her, to be the wall between her and everything else.
That pinched, lost expression on her face does something to my insides—a sharp, unwelcome twist in my gut that has nothing to do with pity. Pity is clean. This is a raw, clawing need to fix it, to be the reason that the scared look vanishes.
I fucking hate it. Makes me feel weak, and I haven’t felt that way since I was a kid.
While I know I can handle my problems with nothing but my bare hands, what can she do? She doesn’t look like she’s much of a fighter, let alone have the ability to cause pain. She’s shorter than most women I know and seems outright defenseless.
Yeah, that must be it.
Rolling my shoulders and shoving down the discomforting feeling, I head toward her. The weight behind my steps gives me away rather quickly.
