“What seems to be the problem ma’am?” The uniformed officer was blond and looked to be about sixteen years old.
“Are you kidding? Someone sent me shredded lingerie! No, not sent, apparently they dropped it off.”
His partner snickered and I glared at them both. “Perhaps an angry lover?”
“Doubtful since I don’t have a lover and if I did, he wouldn’t know where I live. I don’t play that game.
” I never brought men home and the house was in my old name, so it wasn’t easy to find. “Am I to understand from your little girl giggles that you’re not going to do anything about it?”
“Not much we can do,” the blond one said, still trying to stifle a laugh.
“Thank you for fuck all. But if I end up dead, you’ll have to live with it.” His face paled. “Thanks for nothing, officers. Goodbye.” So angry, I shook. I slammed the door before they even turned around to leave.
Why did I call the cops? Not one time in my life have they ever come through for me. Not when my mom was dying of an overdose right in front of me, because they “didn’t have gloves.” Not later when a foster brother got a little too close, because of course being in foster care somehow means you’re defective or promiscuous. And certainly not when my last foster dad tried to take what didn’t belong to him. They were as useless as tits on a bicycle, so it was up to me to protect myself.
I promised to call Tate soon for those self-defense lessons, but first I sat down and began to research gun laws in the state of Nevada.
Chapter 5
Tate
“So, you’re like a real life biker?” A tiny little blonde flirted with me, leaning so far over the counter I could damn near see the tops of her nipples.
“I own a bike, if that’s what you mean.” I smiled at her even though I wasn’t interested, because being not interested pissed me the fuck off. She was exactly the kind of girl I could get my cock wet with and leave without a look back. But I didn’t want her. “You like bikes?”
“I’ve been on one before and all that power between my legs . . .” She shivered and squealed instead of finishing the thought.
“Yeah? Well my boy Dallas loves nothing more than giving a pretty girl a ride on the back of his bike. Lasso,” I called to the big, blonde Texan.
Her brows crinkled adorably and it was then I realized she couldn’t be more than twenty. “Why do you call him Lasso?”
Because the man roped more tail than ten cowboys. “Because he’s a real life cowboy, darlin’.” Her eyes went wide as Dallas strode over, jeans tight and black t-shirt even tighter under his kutte. He flashed a dimpled grin and raked a hand through curly blond hair as he stopped in front of her, damn near casting a shadow over her petite frame.
“Howdy, darlin’. What’s your name?”
She giggled and put her tiny hand in his. “I’m Marcy, and you’re a real life cowboy!”
Lasso flashed a smile at me and winked down at her. “Well I was one, until Uncle Sam needed my help.” And just like that, Marcy’s panties were probably soaked through. “You done shootin’, sugar? I was thinking about taking a sunset ride on my bike.”
“Want some company?”
“When the company looks like you, damn straight.”
I laughed as he looped her arm around his gigantic ass bicep and walked away. He winked over his shoulder at me and I rolled my eyes. Some shit never changed, and for once, I was glad of it. Fucking Lasso.
A few older women stopped by the gun range desk, looking for help loading up a couple Desert Eagles, flirtatious but only because I was young and buff. It was easy to be around women like that because they just wanted a young buck to make them feel sexy and I could do that in my sleep. “Thank you, handsome.”
“Anytime, beautiful.” She blushed and they giggled like schoolgirls as I walked away. “Gunnar, what’s up man?” I hadn’t seen our VP since I started spending more time at the clubhouse, which was shitty because we used to be close.
“Just got back from Denver. Had to put my ma in a home. Fucking Alzheimer’s.”
“Shit man, sorry to hear that. How’s she doing?”
He laughed bitterly. “Better than me because she has no fucking clue what’s going on most of the time.” His shoulders dropped and he raked a hand through his thick, dark hair. “If shit was different I could keep her with me, but...fuck!”
“She needs around the clock care, Gun. Even if you didn’t have the Reckless Bastards, you’d have to work somewhere at least eight hours a day.” I knew that shit firsthand. With Max off on missions he couldn’t talk about, I’d been forced to put mom in a home when she showed early signs of dementia. But she’d died while he was in the desert and I was rotting in prison.
“Shit man, I didn’t even think.”