Page 89 of Property of Tacoma
My body stiffens for a split second before the smell of leather, Irish Spring, and something uniquely Tacoma wraps around me.
“Angel,” he growls, his arm going around my waist, pulling me back against him.
My eyes close, and I breathe him in.
God, I’ve missed him so much.
Snapping my eyes open, I shake my head. No. I can’t do this.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low in my ear.
Spinning around in his arms, there he is.
Behind him are Bane, Bash, Gator, Journey, and the rest of his brothers, too.
All of them armed to the teeth and looking ready for war.
“Cali!”
I narrow my eyes at him. “The same thing you are.”
Tacoma’s jaw clenches, and he moves me behind him, positioning himself between me and the corner as he peeks around.
“There are three of them.”
He turns back to his men, repeating what I just said and adding, “There are likely more inside.”
Journey steps around both of us to peek around the corner himself. “How are we going to get past them without them tipping whoever’s inside off?”
I give myself a once-over. Def Leppard t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, black leather pants, and my heeled Louboutin boots. Then I smell under my pits. Not fresh as a daisy, but desperate times and all that...
“Daddy,” I say, eyes flicking up to the heavens as I slip my backpack off my shoulders and hand it to Bane. “If you’re looking down from heaven.” I unstrap the guns on my thighs and give them to Tacoma. “Close your eyes.”
“Stay out of that?—”
Too late.
Bane unzips my bag, and his eyes go as big and round as beach balls. “Holy shit.” He pulls out one of my grenades and shows it to Journey.
Tacoma’s lips turn down. “The fuck are you doing with that?”
Ignoring my man—ex-man, I remove the knives strapped to my thigh and bend down to slip them inside my boot.
“Cali!”
I snap my head up and narrow my eyes at Tacoma. “I’m doing what needs to be done!”
Grabbing hold of the hair tie holding my messy bun secured on top of my head, I unwind it, flip my head over, and shake my locks loose with my fingers. I flip my head back over, then reach under my shirt to adjust my boobs, pushing them up in my bra.
“I don’t fucking think so,” Tacoma growls, reaching for me.
I dart out of his reach and slip around the side of the building, sashaying toward the bikers standing guard.
Lord, please let this work.
Pasting on my best flirty smile, I swish my hips from side to side as I approach.
Tom, Dick, and Harry straighten up when they see me, their eyes immediately dropping to my chest.
