Page 56 of Beyond the Badge: Nox

The DAMC and the DKMC, along with the Blood Fury MC, pretty much ruled western Pennsylvania. That was why it surprised Nox that the Demons had expanded north from West Virginia into Pennsylvania.

It had been a risk. One that most likely paid off as long as they didn’t step on the other two clubs’ toes.

But the Demons were not a club to step carefully. Especially when it came to making money.

Even so, Nox wasn’t pulling his Harley into Aaliyah’s driveway to discuss the politics of the area’s motorcycle clubs. His visit had another purpose.

Yes, he had her number and probably should have called first—to at least see if she was home—but riding over to her place had been a spur of the moment decision.

Sort of.

After removing his goggles and bandana, he dismounted from his bike, glanced at the empty container in his hand and considered the lie he just told himself.

Having a reason, other than the true one, lessened the guilt. Somewhat.

He should leave.

He should set the container on her porch and roll the fuck out of there before she spotted him.

It was a mistake looking up her home address and then showing up like a fucking stalker. He could get booted off the task force and canned from Shadow Valley PD for doing so.

If he got fired, he could no longer be a part of the Blue Avengers. He might even have to move out of his apartment. Between the two, he’d lose his brotherhood and truly be alone.

He’d have no one left.

He’d have nothing left.

All because of his interest in the woman opening her front door and stepping out onto the porch with her forehead creased in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t stop on the porch but kept coming. Her long, dark sleek legs, exposed from wearing tan shorts, quickly ate up the distance between them.

He curled his fingers of his empty hand when the urge to run them up her well-defined, glistening calves and thighs came over him.

Instead of physically touching her, he visually skimmed her from her maroon-painted toenails to her curly hair, pulled away from her make-up free face with a cream-colored, paisley-patterned bandana. Her olive green, short-sleeved shirt was loose enough to drop off one shoulder, exposing a black bra strap.

She most likely wore the outfit around the house for comfort, but it was still sexy as fuck.

At least on her. He didn’t give a fuck what it would look like on anyone else.

When she stopped in front of him, she tipped her deep brown eyes, full of curiosity, up to his. Since she was barefoot, she was only about three inches shorter than his six-foot-two.

He’d never been into tall women.

Until now.

He didn’t get it. He hadn’t been attracted to any woman—sexually, physically or even mentally—since Jackie died. That was not the case with the woman in front of him. And he had no fucking clue why.

She’s still waiting for an explanation on why you’re standing in her damn driveway, dumbass.

He shook himself mentally and finally remembered the object he was close to crushing in his hand. “To drop off your container.” He held it out to her.

Instead of looking at it, she kept her eyes locked with his. “It could’ve waited until this coming week’s meeting.”

“I won’t be there, remember?”

“Mmm hmm.”

He jammed it into her chest the same way she did to him the other night. “I figured you wanted it back since it has your name on it.”

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