Gift From The Bad Boy

“Thanks,” she said.

“Never know what’s gonna happen next around here.”

“It’s a little intimidating,” she admitted.

“Ain’t so bad once you get used to it. Just watch out for that son of a bitch.” I nodded towards Slick, clambering to his feet behind her.

She giggled. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, Slick? He’ll be fine. This is all in a day’s work for the guy. He’s a fixture around here.”

She was giggling, but I could still sense some fear in her. I was sure this was a lot to handle all at once. I needed to dial it back for a second, let the conversation breathe. The last thing I wanted was to scare this girl off just yet.

I took a sudden step back and held her by her shoulders at arms’ length, then looked to her friends who were still standing on either side of us, looking nervous. “Speaking of ‘here,’ have you all been given the official clubhouse tour?”

Carmen and her friend shook their heads no in unison.

“Slick,” I called over her shoulder, “you rude bastard, you didn’t even treat our guests to a tour?” I turned back to them. “I apologize. My colleagues have no manners. Let me show you around.”

I grabbed Carmen’s hand and tugged her through the crowd until we found a hollow of space at the corner of the bar. I reached below the countertop and plucked out a dusty bottle of old whiskey and four shot glasses. Setting them on the surface, I poured out a hefty shot for Hawkeye and me and little ones for the two girls. I handed theirs over and raised the rim of all of our glasses to touch.

“The tour begins with a complimentary beverage,” I said in an overly formal tone, a wry smile cracking my face in two, “to be drank along with the official toast.”

“What’s the toast?” Carmen asked.

“In honor of your hosts, of course.” I raised my glass. “To the Knights.”

She and her friend looked at each other with wide eyes. Then, they cleared their throats and repeated what I had said.

“To the Knights.”

Carmen coughed and her eyes watered as the liquor slid down the back of her throat. I almost laughed out loud. She was so cute, clearly unused to the burning drink, but trying her damnest not to let me see it. Flat out adorable.

As I watched her compose herself, I felt a lurch. Goddamn, there it was again, that wild little twinge in my gut. It was like a cousin to the feeling of horniness. The desire to reach out and grab was there, but it had mutated into something just a bit different, a bit unfamiliar. Softer, maybe. Hell, I didn’t know. But this girl was doing strange things to me. Real fuckin’ strange.

Chapter Five

Carmen

I could barely see straight after taking that God-awful shot with nothing afterwards to wash the taste away. Matter of fact, there wasn’t a chaser in sight. I had no choice but to suffer and cough while the whiskey burned a hole in the back of my throat and the pit of my stomach.

I tried not to make a big scene, but I could see Ben laughing at me as I hacked into the crook of my elbow. His eyes were dancing, lit up like the Fourth of July between the reflections from the lights strung around the room and something deeper, something that came from inside him.

I didn’t know what to make of him. He had swept in like a force of nature, and even though he hadn’t said much, I felt like he had this crazy aura that just extended out from the middle of him and snatched me up like a wave at the beach.

Part of it was due to the fact he was so comfortable, whereas I was still reeling from all the craziness unfolding everywhere I looked. From the second Lori and I had walked in the door with Hawkeye, it had been one jaw-dropping scene after another. Bikers studded with metal piercings and covered in tattoos from head to toe, more variations of leather jackets and heavy, steel-toed boots than I knew were possible—the room just went on and on, each square foot filled with another grizzly man or badass biker chick who looked like she could chew me up and spit me out without a second thought.

As soon as we’d entered, I’d looked down at myself and felt out of place. Still, I had to admit that Lori had done a magical job at making me look like I belonged here. I was wearing skintight leather pants she’d fished out of the nether regions of my closet, along with sharp stiletto heels. That was all well and good, if a little ridiculous, but what really set the whole thing off was the top she’d chosen. When she first held it up, I immediately told her, “Not a chance.”