Whether she would admit it or not, she still had a small amount of anger or disappointment about not having been allowed in the MC when she had made it through the grueling probate process that there used to be before all the members had been killed. Things were relatively easy on me, Laz, Cyrus, Reeve, and Edison seeing as we didn't have a whole shitload of patched members to kowtow to. We had to carry out the chores and the shit shifts, sure, but that was about it.
I couldn't say the new probates would have it so easy.
All of us were itching to test their resolve.
The poor fucks.
"It's just the... oh, wait, I need to pop in here real quick," she said suddenly, grabbing the door to a small salon.
I went in without looking at the sign.
It didn't matter that she was completely faced away from me and there were thousands of blonde women of her size in town.
I knew it was her the second my eyes fell on her.
And that was some mother fucking fate shit right there.
I might have gotten mildly inappropriate, but I wasn't the kind of jackass to make a scene at her work in front of her employee. So I left when everything, most especially my cock, was screaming to grab her, pull her into some storage or bath room and fuck her senseless like I had been thinking about every night since when I rubbed one out. Or two. Or three. What can I say? I had a lot of ideas of making that woman scream my name.
But I forced myself to leave with Maze and let her keep up her professional appearances.
It was just perfect that when I passed by again, telling myself I was on my way to Chaz's when I was on the wrong mother fucking side of the street for that, and found her alone, well, I decided just to wait it out.
She wasn't in another sundress that day, much to my slight disappointment, having had decided back at the compound that sundresses were my new fucking favorite item of clothing.
Two words: easy access.
But she had on a pair of blue and white patterned lightweight shorts that were short enough to show off a huge amount of leg which I was all fucking for, and a white tank top that was all loose and flowing around her, blue flats, and a huge array of bracelets on her wrists.
Her head jerked in my direction when I spoke.
And I don't know what fucked me up more, the way her brilliant eyes went huge, or the way her lips formed a perfect O.
Either way, fucked, that's what I was.
She shook her head slightly, slinging her bag further up on her shoulder, making her spine stiffen. "Are you following me?"
I chuckled at that, shrugging. "Possibly."
"You get how creepy that is, right?"
"Creepy? Walking a single woman to her car? What a fuckhead, huh?"
Her brows drew together at that, likely torn because I had fed her two different realities in the course of two minutes. I wanted to keep her guessing, keep her on her toes. Because I had a feeling she was the type of woman who, when she thought too much, fucked up good things way too easily.
Me fucking her until her throat was raw from screaming was definitely a good goddamn thing.
"I'm walking," she said after a long second.
"All the more reason for an escort then," I said, stuffing my hands in my pockets, knowing full-well I was an intimidating guy, and figuring she would feel safer around me if I looked less threatening.
"It's really not that fa..."
"Damn, honey," a third voice joined the conversation, making her hand instinctively tighten, a movement I was observant enough to catch, noticing that her fingers were slipped into some self-defense keychain. Somehow, I was all the more intrigued knowing that she wasn't some braindead broad thinking she was bulletproof, and was aware that we lived in a town where genuine bad guys could be around any corner. And was ready to gouge their mother fucking eyes out.
Yeah, I liked me a woman who was willing to blind a man for looking at her sideways.
"Fuck off," I barked at the group of idiot twenty-something frat boys who were likely on their way to Chaz's after obviously doing a lot of pre-gaming.
"Who the fuck is talking to you, biker dude?" The one who spoke to Kennedy first, obviously the most loud-mouthed of the group, asked. "I'm just saying... that ass, though. I got eyes; she got a body."
"Move the fuck along before..."
"Before what? You make me?"
"Before I take those eyes from your useless fucking skull and use them for olives in her fucking drink, asshole."
It was the tone more than the threat; I knew that. Threats were a dime a dozen. Men tended to be hot-headed. But the fact that I sounded like I meant it, because I fucking did, had him stiffening and moving back a step.