Train's Clash (Biker Bitches 4)

She braced her shoulder against the door as he tried to reason with her to let him inside. She was still trying to lock him out when she heard her next-door neighbor ask if there was a problem.

Frustrated, she let the him inside, and Train held his hands up in the air as he shut the door with his boot.

Train cautiously eyed her over as they faced off. Her hair was a tumbled mass of curls as she held his helmet, and he could see her perfect breasts trembling under the silky black top she wore.

He chose his words wisely, not wanting to find out the hard way if she had inherited her mother’s habit of head bashing.

“It better be English,” she warned when he opened his mouth.

“Don’t blame me because I took you at your word. How was I supposed to know you would get mad for calling your bluff?”

She began pacing in her high-heeled boots, going from one end of the room to the other. “I. Am. Not. Going. To. Fuck. You just because you started mouthing off a bunch of mumbo jumbo.” She raked her hair back, making it more disarrayed.

“It’s not mumbo jumbo; it’s French. I speak it fluently. I took it in high school, college, and used it a few times in the military. Want me to show you that I can repeat what you want in French?”

“La te da.” She threw him a nasty look at she continued pacing. “Can you say ‘go home’ in French?”

“Yes, but I want to know why first. Why don’t you want to have sex with me now? You said you wanted to think it over—obviously you have or you wouldn’t have invited me to meet your mother, or meet you at the clubhouse. So, what’s up?”

Sighing in defeat, she admitted, “I told Sex Piston and the other bitches I wouldn’t.”

“Why in the hell would you tell them that? Personally, I don’t think it’s any of their business, but I know you are all tight. Why would they care as long as it’s what you want?” His stomach sank at a sudden thought. “Did you tell them you don’t want me?”

“No. They just want me to be careful. They don’t want me to get hurt.”

“You’re not the only who can be hurt here.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why not? I’m taking a chance, too. I should be the one worried … Have I done anything you asked me not to? You’re the one who almost ran me over.”

She stopped pacing to stare at him. He could see what she had been hiding from him; what Winter and everyone had been saying. She cared for him, and she was afraid he would want her only physically. However, if he gave her the breathing room she wanted, he might never get her back to the point they were now.

He moved to stand in front of her, tracing a lone finger along the bottom of the black bandana that curved around her throat. This was as close to being vulnerable as she was going to show him.

She put her hand up to stop him from touching her.

Sliding out from under her restraining hand, he drew an imaginary line down her chest, coming to a stop at the button between her breasts. “Do you want to know who the woman was who’s name I covered up?”

“Yes.” Train wanted to kiss the lip that she tugged between her teeth.

“Her name was Nalin, and she was my mother.” Train unbuttoned the first button, sliding down to the next one.

“Why did you cover up your mother’s name?”

“Because she lied to me. My father was a drunk.” Train’s lips twisted in mockery. “Not only was he a drunk, he was a mean drunk. Everyone on the reservation was afraid of him. I was seven when my mother saved enough money from cleaning houses to move us to Louisiana, where my father found a job with an offshore drilling company. My mother was so excited. She thought it would be a new start for us. I wasn’t as excited. I didn’t want to leave my grandparents behind, but my two little sisters and I had no choice.

“My father stayed sober when he was on the job, but when he came home, a bottle was in his hand. Our mother never told us when he was coming. I doubt she even knew herself. I would usually find out he was home when I heard him walking down to my mother’s room at night after the bars were closed. My sisters would sneak into my room when they heard them fighting.” Train slipped another button free as Killyama’s pale face watched his movements. She didn’t stop him.

“I was nine years old when he made the mistake of trying to beat my sister when she had gone into our mother’s bedroom. The days my father wasn’t there, Lenna would snuggle with my mother until it was time to get ready for school. We hadn’t heard him come home that night.