“Finish that sentence,” he bit out, his boot scuffing the pavement.
She licked her lips, and her eyes appeared golden in the late-afternoon sunlight. “Because I know you won’t hurt me.”
He grasped her by the front of her jacket and hauled her into his side. Their bodies collided, and she threw her arms around him to steady herself. Maverick grasped her tightly, probably too damn tightly, but he had to touch her. Had to feel her. Had to—
He kissed her. Hard. Just one long, thorough, breathless kiss. Finally, he pulled his mouth away from hers. “You’re right. I won’t. But the fact that we both believe Slater would is why we’re doing this my way. Got it?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”
He gave a nod. “Okay. Now get your pretty ass on my bike and let’s do this.”
The minute she was straddling his ride, her arms and legs wrapped around him, he felt about a million times better. Her embrace, her heat, her heartbeat against his back, it was all proof of life. Proof that she was safe. Proof that she was right there by his side—right where everything in him demanded she belonged.
He backed out of the driveway of the big brick McMansion and made his way through the yet-to-be-built development to the main road. From there, it was less than fifteen minutes to his rendezvous point—a downtown restaurant called Dutch’s. Maverick pulled his Harley in line with seven others waiting there. Eight members of the Raven Riders Motorcycle Club ought to make the point—and be more than able to handle any shit should it go down.
Turning off the engine, Mav gave Alexa a hand off. “We have a few minutes to kill,” he said. He raked a hand through his hair as he dismounted.
She just nodded as she peered at the big picture window that lined the street. His brothers were visible sitting at the counter just inside.
“Hey, com’ere.” Maverick pulled her into his arms. More gently this time. “I know I’m being an insufferable prick, but just roll with it a bit longer. Please.” He stroked his hand over the long, thick silk of her ponytail.
Alexa gave a little chuckle. “Can I remind you of that later?”
He bit back a grin. He liked Al when she was feisty. And he definitely liked her standing up for herself. “You really gonna listen if I say no?”
“Probably not.” He felt her smile against his chest.
“That’s my girl. Come on.” He took her hand and led her into the diner. Dutch’s sat on the corner, and had a long, narrow interior that filled the whole first floor of an old brick building. A Formica counter with spinning stools and red-and-white booths with juke boxes on the wall completed the old-timey look.
Somber greetings met them as they walked through the door, the bell jingling overhead. Phoenix, Caine, Jagger, Bear, Joker, Blake, and Mike Renner were all there—Maverick had insisted Dare keep his still-healing ass back at the clubhouse. His brothers were ready to stand with Maverick. Ready to fight with him, if it came to that.
Though the place used to be open later, because of Dutch’s age, it now typically closed at five. But Dutch was a friend to the club and had agreed they could hang there for a bit after closing. The restaurant Slater had picked—after realizing he wasn’t going to get Alexa to agree to come to his house—was only two blocks away.
“Maverick,” Dutch said, extending his wrinkled brown hand across the counter. Despite owning a diner his whole life, Dutch Henderson was tall and thin. He had a friendly face and graying black hair, and he never forgot a name or a face. “Good to see you, son. How’s your mother doing?”
“Better every day, Dutch. Thanks for asking,” Maverick said. Dutch and his wife had been at the racetrack the night all hell broke loose, so he knew exactly what’d gone down.
“You tell her and Rodeo to come on in for some breakfast or lunch, and it’ll be on me,” he said.
“You bet,” Maverick said. “She’ll love that. But how are you? Dare said you’ve got a surgery coming up.”
“Hip replacement,” he said, patting his right hip. “Never get old, Maverick. Never get old.”
“I’ll remember that,” Mav said with a grin. He turned to Alexa. “Dutch, do you know—”
“Alexa Harmon, of course I do. Though I don’t think I’ve seen you in a whole lot of years.”
“Hi, Dutch,” Alexa said, giving him a smile. “Being here makes me remember how much I loved your milk shakes. Do you still make them with the whipped cream and the little cookies that slide over the straw?”
The question flashed a memory before Maverick’s eyes. Him and Tyler and Alexa when she was seventeen or eighteen. Some asshole boy had spread a rumor around school that he’d scored with Al, and she’d come home upset but not wanting her mom to know why. So Mav and Tyler had brought her to Dutch’s because she loved those damn milk shakes so much. They had the ice cream first, and then got dinner after. By the end, Alexa was smiling again. And the next day, Tyler put the fear of God into that kid. Best Mav knew, he never gave her another problem.