Making Her His (Beating the Biker 1)

“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.

But he couldn’t sleep. Pez’s words replayed in his head, and Sheldon’s last words to him did, too. Fuck. He was twenty-eight fucking years old and, despite his best efforts, his family was still screwing with him.

He briefly reviewed the Florida option, but the truth was he hated Florida. It was too hot, and these days too damned crowded with the older set to be any fun. Plus, he would miss his club and his friends. And though he didn’t want to admit it, he’d miss a certain golden-haired goddess who claimed too many of his thoughts recently.

Saks picked up his phone and briefly considered calling his cousin Luigi, who went by the name of Louis. His finger hovered over the contact information in his phone as he debated if it was too late to call him. A cramp hit him then and his finger struck the face of the phone. But it wasn’t Anglotti’s number he called. Chrissy’s name displayed at the top of the phone, and he swore. He moved his finger to disconnect, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Hello,” an out of breath Chrissy greeted. He wondered what that was about, but he wasn’t going to hang up now.

“Um, hi. How are you doing?”

“You call me after midnight to ask how I’m doing?”

“Excuse me. I thought I’d apologize for getting all handsy, but I can see it was a wasted call.”

“Sorry, Saks. It’s been a rough night.”

“Yeah, I know something about that. And I’m sorry for my part in it.”

“We’re both pretty sorry, aren’t we?”

“I guess.”

“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly. “I didn’t mean to—to do that.”

“Fine,” he said, ignoring the throbbing in his balls.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”