Claiming the Biker (Royal Bastards MC: Charleston, WV 9)

“You come over to give me a kiss for good luck?”

I blink and find him standing far too close for comfort. Shirtless and ready to fight. His tattoos and muscles on display. Those gorgeous blue eyes so pretty I could stare into them until I disappear. Blush stains my cheeks. My stupid traitorous body screams 'yes, I did,' but my brain and my heart know better. “No,” I tell him, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremble in my voice.

He wraps his large hand around the back of my head and says, all deep, throaty, and growly, “Gonna take it anyway.” Before I can jerk away his mouth crashes into mine. Possessive and knowing as his tongue plunges between my lips, sweeping along mine. For a moment I forget myself. Forget that he never called like he said he would. I forget that he threw me away. That he got what he wanted and never looked back.

Wylla Mae clears her throat and I return to reality. With a twist and shove of my hip I jerk away and land a resounding slap across his cheek that echoes and burns me to the bone as I make contact. Tears come at their own volition. I’m powerless to stop them as all the hurt and guilt seeps back inside me.

I don’t wait for his reaction, but he gives me one anyways. Licking his lips all cocky and sure of himself he grins. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

I know I’ve made an ass of myself. I let him get to me when I shouldn’t.

I dart away with my pregnant bestie waddling after me. I never should have agreed to come tonight. I knew he’d be here. I thought I could handle seeing him.

I thought wrong.

“Hey. What the hell was that?”

I shake my head and wipe at my tears. “I don’t know.”

“Talk to me. That wasn’t nothing. What aren’t you telling me?”

“We hooked up. Once.”

“When was this and why am I just hearing about it?” She nudges my shoulder with hers as we sit at a table inside the clubhouse.

“It didn’t mean anything. At least not to him. It’s stupid. Can we just drop it?”

“For now. Let’s go watch him kick this guy’s ass.”

Or get the shit beat out of him, I think to myself, but I know that won’t happen. Viking is a beast.

A warrior. They don’t call him Viking merely for his looks alone.

Fighting and brutality are in his blood.

The first fight is between Prodigy and a dude called Blue. Neither of them compares to Viking and the way he commands attention wherever he goes.

Prodigy taunts this guy dancing around him, allowing him to strike a few weak jabs.

I don’t even know who wins their match. No, my attention is zeroed in on Viking. Watching him prepare for his fight. He reminds me of a warrior from days gone by. Like he walked out of a history book or one of the romance novels I read on occasion.

I watch as he steps into the pit and beats his fists against his chest letting out a deafening roar. Appearing as though he could rip his opponent’s head from his shoulders with his bare hands. He’s a force to be reckoned with. Like a God of old. They don’t make or build men like him anymore. True warriors.

His gaze seems to move through the crowd until it settles on mine. His lips twitch at the corners fighting the urge to smile. Ugh. Nope. I refuse to give in and return the sentiment.

I roll my eyes and he winks. I shake my head fighting the smirk teasing at my lips. Why does he get under my skin so damn easily?

Someone slaps him on the back and his attention returns to his opposer.

Rain drops pelt against my skin, but the fight starts anyway. I confess seeing raindrops rolling off Viking’s skin is sexy. Even if I’m mad at him I can appreciate the view. For such a big guy he moves with such ease. This is his element. Part of me wonders if he wasn’t in the club could he have made fighting a career. But better yet, why hasn’t he tried. Surely, he wants more than this—illegal fighting in a dirt pit behind a biker clubhouse. Seeing the elation he’s wearing on his face right now though, perhaps not. Maybe this is exactly where he wants to be. I suppose there is nothing wrong with that if it’s what makes him happy.

He makes a move, advancing on the equally as large man capturing him in what looks like a bear hug under his armpits and shoving him against the chain-link fence surrounding the pit. Bareknuckle fighting. No gloves. No rules, no weapons. It’s terrifying yet thrilling to watch. He lands a few body shots before shoving off him. The other guy may match Viking in size, but he lacks conditioning. They’ve not been at it long and the other guy is already out of breath and bleeding from a cut above his brow.

“Walk with me to get a drink,” Wylla says, giving my hand a squeeze.

I nod and move to my feet. As we walk away from the fight the rain begins to fall harder and faster, turning the fighting pit into a mud match.

I look back once more to see Viking tackle the guy. They go down hard. The other man’s head bounces off the ground as Viking pummels him over and over again.

Wylla Mae and I go inside where it’s dry. The cool air of the air conditioning unit blows over us as we cross under one of the big vents.

The crowd roars from outside chanting Viking’s name. I’m guessing he’s won. Then again, I doubt he ever loses.

I go behind the bar and grab Wylla Mae a water. My shoes squeak on the floor and I wonder if she’d mind if I duck out now that the fight is over. Before I can ask, East tracks us down.

“There you are.” He moves in, going directly for her mouth. Passion and lust radiates between them and I smile. As weird as their relationship may seem to a lot of people there’s no doubting how much love they share. I guess in some ways I’m jealous. I don’t think I’ll have that.

I leave them to make out and step out the back door.

The rain hasn’t let up and no one seems to mind.

I debate finding jackass and congratulating him on his win when I spot him emerging from the pit covered in mud with a club bunny attached to either side of him kissing his cheeks and rubbing their tits all up on him in reward. My stomach churns and burns at the sight.

A couple of other girls are in the mud wrestling giving the men a real show.

I take the scene playing out before me as my cue to go home.

I’ll text Wylla Mae tomorrow. She won’t mind my leaving.

Viking shoves the skanks away and starts toward me, but I don’t wait for him. I hurry away, making a beeline for the parking lot in the front.