Making Her His

“Where are you going?”

“None of your fucking business.” Saks pushed his way to the back of the bar and took the back entrance out to the parking lot. He made it to his bike with only a few twinges of sharp pain, but it didn’t mean the ride home was going to be fun. He usually enjoyed night riding, but this was not going to be one of those nights. Saks pulled a reflective vest from his saddlebag. He didn’t like to wear it, but the lighting on the roads wasn’t the best, and he wasn’t feeling up to dodge cages on the road that didn’t see him.

The rumbling of the engine between his legs didn’t help matters either and by the time he made it to his apartment, he had to limp to his door. He collapsed on his bed and threw his arm over his eyes. What a fucking night!

He had to give her credit. That Chrissy sure could kick. His balls still throbbed uncomfortably, and a ghost of stomach pain fluttered through his abused stomach muscles. It wasn’t all Chrissy, though. The motorcycle ride to his apartment made things worse, just like he’d made the situation worse for his family.

Fuck! How did he screw that up so thoroughly? Not that he regretted a single stolen moment with Chrissy. That woman was so fine that he’d do it all over if he could get close to her again. Okay, maybe not get kneed in the nuts, but close. He liked that spitfire nature she hid under her calm and collected pricey clothes, makeup, and hair.

But his family wasn’t happy with him. He didn’t make the connection with the Serafina woman he was supposed to. The next conversation with Uncle Vits wouldn’t be a good one, especially when he had to tell Vits there was no way he was going to marry the woman.

There could be no other choice. Images of Chrissy burned through his body, and every stray thought turned to her. He’d never had it this bad before, and he suspected he never would again.

Shit. Did he love her? He couldn’t. He didn’t know enough about her, hadn’t had enough time with her to be properly in love. But, he admitted, he was seriously in lust with his golden-haired goddess, even if she pushed him away.

Nope. He wasn’t going to give up on Chrissy. Even if she hung out with tall, dark, and stupid. Saks would kiss thoughts of that dimwit right out of her brain. And with thoughts of her his cock stirred, but that didn’t help the ache in his balls. With a grunt, he rolled off the bed and limped to his fridge. A half tray of ice sat in his freezer. It would have to do. As he was tossing the cubes into a plastic bag, his doorbell rang.

Chrissy? He hurried across the living room and looked through the peep hole, but it was too dark. He put the chain across the door. “Girl, you got a—”

“Open up, pendajo. It’s me, Pez.”

Saks froze, pissed it wasn’t who he thought it was. “Why the hell should I do that, man? You fucking kidnapped me.”

“I’ve got news for your boy, Wizard.”

What the hell? Then Saks remembered that Pez had hung the name ‘Wizard’ on Luke, which caused all kinds of trouble with the Spawn. Pez made it seem that Luke was defecting to the Rojos by hanging a club name on him.

“He ain’t called Wizard. It’s Spade if you’re going to use a club name.”

“Yeah, yeah, pendajo.”

“And I don’t appreciate being called an asshole, either. Now get the hell out of here. It’s late. And you’re supposed to stay away from the Spawn.”

“Correction, cabron. I’m to stay away from Luke and his lovely bride. That’s the court order. But you didn’t get a protective order, so here I am.”

Saks pushed the slightly open door to shut it, but Pez stuck the tip of his boot inside the door.

“Look,” Pez said. “I’m just warning you that the feds are about to bust your boy’s bike shop.”

“Why? Luke hasn’t done shit.”

“You know that, and I know that, cabron. But the feds seem to think the Spawn stink to high heaven.”

“And who would’ve given them that impression?” Saks asked sarcastically.

“Why don’t you ask your cousin?”

Saks was rapidly getting annoyed with this ass. “I’ve got a lot of cousins.”

“The detective,” Pez spat.

“I’ve just got one word for you, Pez. Ffangul. Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah,” he said sourly. “I know what it means.”

“Good, now move your boot from my door or you’ll be making a trip to the hospital with a broken foot.”

“Try to help someone,” Pez muttered. But he moved his foot and Saks slammed the door shut. A loud bang resounded from the outside, which Saks took as Pez hitting the door with his hand.

“Good, hope you broke your hand, stunad!” But yelling at the little cockroach didn’t make Saks feel any better. In fact, now he was worried. It wasn’t usual for him to pepper his language with Italian insults. Saks had given that up when he struck out to build a life apart from his family. It was just a measure of how upset he was that he fell into old childhood habits.

He grabbed his bag of ice and hobbled to his bed. He let his jeans fall to the floor and laid on his bed, the cold bag resting between his legs. Saks didn’t know what was worse, the ice or the ache, but he knew all he wanted to do was go to sleep and forget tonight ever happened. He’d deal with the fallout tomorrow.