Make Me Your Villain (Battle Crows MC 2)

I ignored them, but likely probably shouldn’t have.

See, the cut on my back and the bike between my thighs usually meant that I wasn’t messed with. Not by women or men alike.

So when that body hit the back of my bike, I had a moment of stunned disbelief.

When I turned, the shock of bright white-blonde hair had me stilling my automatic curse.

I looked behind her to see asshole pounding the pavement, looking for all he was worth like he was about to rip her off the back of my bike by her hair, and made a rash decision.

See, I was good at rash decisions.

They were what made my life so exciting.

Starting the bike up with a throaty roar, I put the bike into gear, flipped the pegs down at the back of the bike, and took off.

She squealed behind me at the speed at which I’d exited the parking lot, but she only held on to me tighter, burying her face into the space between my shoulder blades.

Once we were out of the parking lot, I lifted her legs so that her feet were on the pegs, then took off for places unknown.

I rode for what felt like hours through the darkened roads of Intercourse, and then the surrounding counties.

I rode so long that my gas light came on, and I had to pull over at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.

When I pulled off, parking in front of the only gas pump in the entire station, I shut it off.

Then I ripped the helmet from my head and looked at her curiously.

The silence was deafening.

For about half a second.

Then the woman sighed as she looked at me.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

Her voice.

My God.

I don’t know what I expected.

But soft and husky definitely wasn’t it.

“You’re welcome.” I paused. “Was that your boyfriend?”

She lifted her lip partially in disgust, revealing straight white teeth.

“Ex,” she admitted. “I don’t think he understands the word ‘no’ anymore, and it’s getting to the point where I’m getting worried.”

I took the nozzle and shoved it into my gas tank, watching her as I filled up with gas.

When I was done, I said, “You think, maybe, you need to get a restraining order?”

She snorted. “I would if he wasn’t a cop. Not sure any judge would give it to me.”

My brows rose. “He’s a cop?”

She pressed her hands to her face. “He’s honestly not bad. Like, truly, he’s not bad. At least, he wasn’t before. He’s never been like this, and I have no clue why he’s chasing me around like I’m something precious he lost. We haven’t talked in months. I haven’t spoken more than five words to him in that time, and pretty much, we’ve just been roommates. Like, I can’t even tell you the last time I had sex… or why the hell I’m telling a complete stranger about my love life.”

My grin spread wide before I said, “I feel like we really bonded back at the bar. You know my entire story…”

She smiled, and her eyes went to the small diner across the street.

The woman standing in the window reached up and turned on the light that said ‘OPEN.’

“Want to grab something to eat?” she asked.

I looked at my watch to see that it was now five in the morning.

I’d left the bar at half past two.

We’d been riding for two and a half hours.

The thought of having a reason not to drive her home sounded like a fantastic idea.

“Sounds perfect,” I admitted. “Let’s go.”

I hung the nozzle up and we rode to the diner where we were the only occupants of the entire lot.

Once we were seated, she lifted the menu and started to peruse it.

I looked at mine as well, wondering if she would think it was weird when I ordered two meals for myself.

“I hope that you don’t find this weird, but…” She hesitated. “I’m going to order an entire meal, and then order a hamburger. I’m starving. I have my purse, too, so you don’t have to think I’m swindling you. I pay my own way.”

I snorted and said, “That’s good, because I was literally about to order two myself.”

I’d address the ‘I pay my own way’ thing later.

After we ordered, and our drinks were set down in front of us, along with a giant basket of biscuits, we both started to tear into them.

It was only about four biscuits in for me, and three for her, that we both sat back with satisfied groans.

That, and there were only seven biscuits in the basket.

“I better not ask for more or I won’t eat my meal,” she admitted, looking at the basket of biscuits on another woman’s table. “I’m going to have to do extra work at the gym later.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and took in her upper half.