Page 23 of Saint Nick
“Never said you were.” His voice dropped, low and steady. “But something has you scared, so if it’s not me, then what—or who?” That got her attention. He could see it in just a flicker of her eyes, the slight catch in her breath, and the way her fingers tightened on the bottle of beer. He could tell that she hated that he was right.
She turned on the stool to face him fully. “I’m not some little biker groupie, Cyclops. I’m not here to impress you, so stop trying to impress me. I came in here to have a fucking beer—alone.”
He grinned at the sound of his road name on her lips. “Didn’t say you were a groupie, sweetheart. But you walked into my bar, and now, you’re in my world.”
“Your world sounds like a bad idea,” she insisted.
“Oh, it is,” he said, leaning in until his breath brushed her ear. “But bad ideas are a hell of a lot more fun than the good ones.”
She was so close that he could tell that her pupils flared just thinking about what he had said. “Keep talking, and you’re going to end up disappointed,” she threatened. She was bluffing, and he could tell just the way she was leaning into his body.
“Nah,” he said, straightening with that lazy grin that made most women want to punch and kiss him at the same time. “I don’t get disappointed. I get what I want.”
She slid off the stool, standing toe-to-toe with him. She wasn’t small, and she didn’t flinch when he didn’t back down, which only made his interest deepen like a hook setting in. “Then I guess you’ll have to learn what disappointment feels like. Good luck with that.”
Cyclops let out a low, dark laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t need luck,” he lied. He had a feeling that he was going to need all the luck that he could get.
She smirked at him and walked away—her hips swinging just enough to make it clear she knew exactly what she was doing to him and every other guy in that bar. He watched her go, his one good eye narrowing with interest.
Ink sidled up beside him. “You’re smiling, and that’s dangerous. I know from experience that when you get that look in your eye, there’s going to be trouble. I still have the scars to prove it.
Cyclops didn’t look away from the woman as she left. “Yeah,” he said, voice like gravel. “She’s gonna be trouble. But you know how much I like a little bit of trouble.”
“Shit,” Ink grumbled as he disappeared back behind the bar, and all Cyclops could think about was all the trouble that sexy brunette was going to give him, and that thought made him smile.
TRIXIE
Trixie Lee was looking for a place to lay low. She knew that her time in town was going to have to be limited if she wanted to stay one step ahead of her father’s men. She just wanted a break—and God, what she wouldn’t give for a full night’s sleep. But right now, she just needed a place to lie low. Hell, right now, she would settle for a cheap motel bed and a door with a real lock. And maybe, the universe could add in a fucking moment where her shoulders weren’t pulled tight like a tripwire from constantly looking over her shoulders for trouble.
Stopping into the bar hadn’t been part of her plan, but she was road weary and having trouble keeping her eyes open. She knew that a biker bar was just what she needed to wake her up a bit, to keep her going for at least a few more hours. She would just have a beer and then keep on going—at least, that was the plan—one drink, maybe two. She was lucky enough to find somewhere loud enough that no one would hear the sound of her thoughts, well, until that Neanderthal started talking toher. He ruined the once shot she had at relaxing for the first time in weeks, and while she found him funny and well, damn hot, she didn’t have time for either.
Trixie was interested in the biker’s story, though she never fully got it from him. The guy with the patch and one-liner comebacks that had her almost laughing—almost. The one who looked like he’d walked out of a bad decision wrapped in leather and sin—Cyclops. She’d caught the name tossed around the bar like a curse and a legend all at once. The way people said it told her everything she needed to know—he wasn’t someone to mess with.
Trixie shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and walked fast down the cracked sidewalk, the cool night air biting her cheeks. She shouldn’t have lingered when she found that her two front tires were slit. She knew that only meant that danger was lurking—waiting for her to mess up again, and going into that bar was a major fuckup.
She shouldn’t have let Cyclops get close enough to her to hear his voice—low and husky. It was the kind of voice that could crawl right under your skin and take up residence there. He’s just a biker. A distraction. You don’t have time for distractions. But the truth itched forward from the back of her mind—it had been a long time since anyone had looked at her like Cyclops had. Not through her, not past her, but at her. Like he’d seen something in her, something real, and he liked it.
She really needed to listen to her inner voice because if someone had intentionally deflated her tires, then that only meant one thing—her father’s men had caught up with her, and there would be no more hiding from them, not even in a dive biker bar. She stopped at the corner and glanced back over her shoulder. Trixie had no idea where she was going. Hell, she was on foot, and she’d be no match for her father’smen once they located her. She wasn’t going to be able to outrun them, but she had no other viable plans.
“Idiot,” she muttered to herself. She kept walking as the wind picked up, carrying the faint rumble of bikes somewhere in the distance. She tensed automatically. Every sound still made her heart stutter. Every shadow felt like it might be one of her father’s men finally catching up to her.
Her father didn’t believe in letting go of what he owned. And he believed that he owned Trixie, but she was determined that he’d never get her back. She knew too much about his business dealings now, and he wouldn’t allow her to live with that knowledge. He’d kill her or, worse, sell her off to the highest bidder, and she couldn’t let either of those options happen to her.
She rounded the corner, ducking into the dark alley behind a rundown motel. The sign out front saidVACANCYin broken neon. She’d pay cash. She always did, so there would be no paper trail and no questions. But as she reached for the door, something deep in her gut twisted. The kind of instinct she’d learned to trust over the years. She wasn’t alone. She spun around as her hand slid automatically into the switchblade in her pocket.
A single headlight cut through the darkness, the sound of the engine purred low—a predator circling its prey. They had found her, and no sleezy old motel room was going to protect her now. No, she was out of options, and the thought of going back to her father’s house made bile rise from her stomach into her mouth. She pulled her blade, ready to fight to the end, if that’s what it took, when a guy on a bike pulled up to the curb and tugged off his helmet.
“I noticed that you might need a lift,” he said. She looked him over as though he had lost his mind.
“And why would you think that?” she asked.
“Because I’m the club’s enforcer, and it’s my job to notice when someone’s tires get slashed around the Road Reapers.” She wanted to point out that he sounded as though he were boasting, but right now, she just didn’t care. She needed his help to get out of there in one piece.
“What do you want?” she snapped before he could say anything else.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“What do you want for giving me a ride out of this place?” she asked.
