Rough Stuff (The Untouchables MC 3)

Two years ago

Cain

My back was to the wall, my arms crossed over my chest as I surveyed the room. The place was packed wall to wall with bikers. Mostly my crew, the Untouchables MC, but a few others were scattered here and there.

I usually avoided things like this. Social obligations. But tonight was special.

One of our own is getting married.

Not a biker. A dependent. One of the kids we’d watched grow up over the years. The Untouchables had plenty of wild cards, but we were a family-oriented club as well.

Sweet little Cass was the bride, the runaway foster kid Mason had taken in. I approved of Mason. I approved of Cass. So I was here.

Even though I didn’t particularly approve of the groom.

I scowled at Connor, watching him dance with his bride. He switched partners and smiled down at a pretty brunette. Something about her caught my eye and held it. I waited to get a better look at her. They moved across the floor until they were in a shaft of light. When I finally saw her, I felt like the earth slipped off its axis. My internal compass went haywire. The noise from the party faded into the background.

The girl was not just pretty, as I had originally thought.

The girl was stunning. Small and curvy and cute, but if cute was on steroids. Radioactive steroids. She was pretty much the Incredible Hulk of cute.

Something primal twisted in my gut. I stood up straighter, straining to get a better look. I was taller than most of the people in the room, which made it easy to track her with my eyes. Paying this much attention to a female was unusual. Highly unusual, especially for me.

I hadn’t noticed a woman in years. Not even when I was fresh in the service, surrounded by men and stuck in training. All the guys had bitched about being hard up except me. Not because I wasn’t as red-blooded as most men. I was. But I was better at turning it off.

I just never bothered to turn it back on again.

Until this exact moment.

My eyes were trained on her as I considered my options. I studied her as I would any target. I didn’t just watch her, either, like I would on recon in the field. I enjoyed watching her. I drank her in.

I saw a pert nose, stubborn chin, and high, round cheeks. Her lips were pouty but not petulant. Her eyes were large and heavily lashed.

But it wasn’t her physical beauty alone that caught and held my attention. It was her personality that put all the other beautiful girls in the world to shame. The girl was bubblier than champagne. She reminded me of the pixie on the old ginger ale bottles. Or a super-sexy Tinkerbell. That’s right, she had my mind going there.

I was pleasantly contemplating fucking a Goddamn cartoon character.

I had no doubt I’d have her before the night was over. I might not chase women, but they had no problem throwing themselves at me. I wasn’t sure why I was a chick magnet, and I didn’t much care. I was clean-cut compared to the rest of the bikers in the room, with a solitary tat from the service, short hair, and a lean physique. I’d done a thousand pushups every morning since I signed up, and I still did them to this day.

It wasn’t overconfidence that led me to believe this would be a slam dunk. It was simply statistical. One hundred percent of women seemed to find me attractive. My target would be putty in my hands before the next song was over.

There was only one little issue. Her dance partner. She was dancing with a hard-assed FBI agent. So she was on the groom’s much smaller side of the aisle then. Now, I had nothing to fear from Connor or any officer of the law. I was law abiding, and for the most part, my club was too.

By tacit agreement, drugs were kept hidden until I left the clubhouse. Guns were all registered and stored in locked safes when not in use. No exceptions. At the club and at home, too.

I didn’t do house checks, but my men followed my lead and I was explicitly clear about how I felt about that. I’d learned a healthy respect for firearms in the service and I had brought that same discipline to the club.

So no, I wasn’t worried about Connor. But I wasn’t about to ask him for an introduction either. I didn’t like him and he didn’t like me. It was a mutual lack of respect and it suited me just fine. I waited for the dance to end, crossed the room, and waited for her to turn around. I stared down at her shiny brown curls while she chatted with Casey, now known as Cassandra.