Unwilling Protector (Steel Vipers MC)

Then, I guess I’ll just be a lucky bastard.

Chapter 4

Train

“What’s the name of the girl that was dancing on the stage?” I ask the bartender once it becomes clear that the girl isn’t going to come out anytime soon.

The bartender, a big, burly, bald guy that looks like he spends more time drinking beer than serving it, stares at me, shaking his head.

“You can forget it, buddy. Better men that you have tried,” he laughs.

Honestly, I don’t doubt that he’s telling me the truth, but it still pisses me off.

“I didn’t ask your opinion, just her name.”

“I know. I don’t give the girls’ names. My opinion was just a bonus,” he replies. I don’t say shit because I can’t fault the son of a bitch for protecting the women, but I wouldn’t mind planting my fist in his face at the same time.

I’m tense. I don’t like waiting and right now, I feel like I’m on a razor’s edge. It’s almost as if I can hear a clock ticking in my head. My gaze moves back to the door the girl disappeared through earlier. I stare at it as if I can command her to appear—which of course I can’t. Then, a thought occurs to me. I get up, throwing money down for my drink. It’s a cheap tip I leave, but the bartender is lucky to get that from me.

I head outside, but instead of going to my bike, I turn to the right and proceed to go to the corner of the building and walk down into the alley. I lean against the building across from the bar. The brick is hard and rough against my back but allows me to take the weight off my legs a little. There’s a door directly across from me. I’m going purely on instinct, and I may be too late, but I figure it’s worth a shot. I reach in my pocket and pull out a smoke, trapping it between my lips while I light it. I barely have my first drag when I smile as the door opens. On instinct, my hand goes to my piece I’m carrying. When I see the gorgeous woman from earlier step out, I move my hand away.

She was sexy as fuck baring most everything on stage, but hell, she’s just as sexy in faded jeans that are molded to her curves. She has a pale pink t-shirt on, a black leather jacket, and serious black boots that look to be steel-toed Red Wings. They’re the kind of boots you wear to do either heavy work or ride like a motherfucker, and as fucking weird as it seems—they make my cock ache even more than those ankle-breaking stilettos she was dancing in. Her black hair is down, the large mass of small curls falling around her face like a waterfall. It’s so dark the streetlight bounces off it, causing an almost purple tint. She’s got the kind of hair a man can wrap his hands in and pull while he’s riding her body hard. Damn it, if my balls tighten any further, my cock swells any harder, they’ll both need an ice pack for days.

Her eyes dilate when she sees me, but I see her straighten her back and wipe the surprise from her face quickly.

“Waiting on someone?”

I exhale, blowing the smoke into the air while enjoying the drag of nicotine, but nothing like I’m enjoying the sound of her voice.

“You,” I respond simply.

Her eyes narrow. “What do you want?”

I tilt my head, watching her closely. “You,” I repeat, seeing as how my answer is the same.

That makes her lips twitch and I really want to taste them.

“You should give those up. They’re bad for your health,” she replies, nodding her head slightly toward my smoke.

“I’ve heard that.”

“Yet, you still keep smoking,” she replies, an easy smile forming on her lips. She moves so she’s leaning against the wooden wall of the bar, standing opposite of me, mimicking my pose. Damn, I really like this girl’s style.

“Last of a dying breed, I guess. What’s your name?” I ask, taking another drag before dropping it to the ground and grinding it out with the heel of my boot. The truth is, I don’t smoke that often and never that much. It’s just sometimes the hit of nicotine takes the edge away. In my life, there are times the stress can be heavy. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. Ghost getting hurt is definitely one of those times.

“What’s yours?” she asks.

“Train.”

“That’s your name?” she questions, clearly not believing me.

“Only one I use,” I qualify, still studying her.

“Disappointing,” she responds, and then, before I can so much as blink…

She turns and walks away.

Chapter 5

Train

It’s very rare that I chase after anything or anyone. Since this chick isn’t someone I want to kill, I feel safe in saying this has never happened. Yet, I still find myself following her. My long legs eat up the distance between us. Until I catch her by the arm and pull her back around to face me.