Havoc (Storm MC 7)

He laughed. “I’m shaking in my boots, baby.”

“Yeah, well you should be. You’ve no idea what connections I have,” I muttered as I walked out of his classroom.

He yelled out after me, “What, are you friends with the local gang or something?”

I turned and gave him one last filthy glare. “No, you fucking prick, worse than that… a lot fucking worse.”

I didn’t wait for his response before I stalked out of the room. My blood boiled at the audacity of his demand, and I had to get out of there before I punched him. As I walked to my car, my mind conjured up all the ways I could inflict harm on his body. Just because I was a female didn’t mean I couldn’t make him hurt; I damn well could because my brother had taught me how.

“Fucker,” I muttered as I opened my car door and slid into the seat. Shit, he’d really riled me up. If he did fail me, I would make good on my threat to fuck him up. Passing my fashion design course was a major part of my life plan, and I was almost finished; to fail a semester would mean extra time and money, and that time and money wasn’t in my fucking plan.

I shoved the gear stick into reverse and squealed out of the car park. Ten minutes later, I was stuck in bloody bumper-to-bumper traffic. Shit. I didn’t have time for this; I had to be at work in an hour. My waitressing job paid for my course, and I’d missed a lot of shifts lately so I could spend time studying. My boss was getting shitty about it, and I sensed that if I missed too many more, he would start looking for someone to replace me. So this traffic was the last thing I needed, and after my run-in with my teacher, it only served to put me in a worse mood.

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and searched for good music on the radio. All three stations I tried were playing shit music. I turned it off in disgust. I really needed to get my CD player fixed in my car, but it was an old bomb of a vehicle so I was reluctant to spend money on it. And besides, it was money I didn’t really have.

A loud honk caught my attention. I’d been so engrossed in my search for music that I hadn’t noticed the black ute in front had moved. My eyes flicked to the driver behind, and I gave him the finger. Sure, I hadn’t moved forward, but hell, it wasn’t like I’d be moving very far. God, I hated impatient drivers.

I inched my car forward, and then sat idling again waiting for the traffic to move. My gaze shifted to the clock. Shit, I really was going to be late if we didn’t start moving faster. As I contemplated this, my phone rang, and I reached to check who it was. I had no intention of answering it while driving, but in this traffic, it couldn’t hurt to see who it was.

Fuck. My boss. I dropped it back onto the seat next to me, and commenced panicking. And then the asshole behind me honked again. Jesus fucking Christ! I looked in the rearview mirror at him again. He was making rude hand gestures at me so I flipped him the bird again, and at the same time, I pressed my foot to the pedal. I didn’t mean to press it hard but my foot slipped and I jerked forward and hit the ute in front.

Fuck me!

This was so not my fucking day.

I sat still for a moment waiting to see what the driver would do. When he left his ute and headed in my direction, my belly fluttered. He was built, and damn, he was sexy. I couldn’t make out his face due to the glare from the afternoon sun, but the rest of him had me drooling. But he was pissed off; his rigid posture made that clear as he stalked toward me. When he got to my door, I finally managed a good look at him, and my belly did more than flutter. And damn, the desire ricocheting through me caused me to feel things I didn’t want to feel.

Havoc.

Tall, olive skin, unruly dark hair, inked muscles to die for. It was the guy I’d slept with a couple of weeks ago. The guy who’d fulfilled his promise and brought heaven to my fucking door.

“What the fuck?” were the first words out of his mouth. Then he

squinted his eyes, and dropped his face down to look at me through the window. “Carla?”

Had to give him points for remembering my name. “Yeah. Ah, sorry about that,” I offered an apology he wasn’t likely to accept, going by his pissed-off state.

He held onto his angry glare. “How the hell does someone have a fuckin’ car accident in this kind of traffic?”

I scrambled to offer an explanation. “It was the guy behind me. He was honking and giving me the finger.”

He shook his head once, in a I-can’t-fucking-believe-what-I’m-hearing gesture. “So it was his fault that your foot hit the accelerator?”

I didn’t like his tone. Sure, I was at fault, but there was no need for his attitude. I tried to open the door but he was blocking it. I eyed him. “Can you move so I can open the door?”

“What the fuck for?” He continued to lean against the door, eyeing me through the window. And I hadn’t failed to notice his gaze roaming over my chest.

“Because I want to get out to talk to you.”

The driver behind honked again, multiple times. Havoc scowled before straightening and glaring at the driver. I took the opportunity to open the door and get out. Another honk came from behind and Havoc stalked to the other car. I watched as he had words with the driver—angry words by the look of it. I then watched as he stalked back to me. His jeans hugged his legs, and his grey T-shirt clung to his chest. I couldn’t help but stare. I knew that body, and I knew what it was capable of giving me.

Shit, get yourself together, Carla. The last thing I needed was to want this man again. We’d had our night together, and that was all it would ever be. I didn’t have a biker in my life plan. No, my plan involved stability, not a man who raised his middle finger at society.

“Get back in your car, Carla. We’re done here, but you need to be more careful,” he muttered, treating me like a fucking child.

“We’re not finished here, Havoc. We need to swap details for the insurance.” I stood my ground, not letting his dismissive attitude scare me off.

“No need. I won’t be claiming it.”