Page 26 of Smoke

With my eyes closed, I lean back into the plush cushions of the couch and let out a frustrated sigh, only for me to suddenly sit forward, eyes flying open wide at the sound of a nerve-jangling purposeful knock at my apartment door.

“What the hell,” I mutter under my breath. Visitors are rare. Uninvited visitors, extinct, so as I make my way towards the door. I can only deduce that it’s one of the neighbors who’s had a temporary loss of sanity and thinks it’s acceptable to bother me. They better have an adequate reason that I would deem acceptable. Life or death situation. Fire in the house. Out of coffee.

When I get to the door, I look through the peephole, but I can’t see a damn thing through it. It’s like something that’s a dirty, yellowy flesh color has covered it.

I slowly crack the door open, keeping my body weight against it in case I need to close it again quickly. Before I even see who’s on the other side of the door, the weight of it pushes me back into the hallway. Knocked off balance, I reach for something to stop my fall, but afirm arm loops around my waist and corrects my stance. Fear and instinct take over, and I lash out with my hand in defense, only for it to be caught around the wrist with firm, tattooed fingers before it connects with the intruder.

“Smoke?” I croak breathlessly when I realize who is holding on to me. Dark, dangerous eyes rake down my body before coming to rest on my face. Thankfully, the towel that’s now dried from my body heat is still in place, albeit a little low at the front and showing the valley between my breasts.

“What the fuck are you doing opening the door when you’ve no fucking idea who’s behind it?” He barks at me. The hand that is still holding on to mine shakes as he holds it in between us.

“I checked but…” I notice the yellow nicotine stain on the skin of his fingers that even spreads over the pad of his thumb from his heavy smoking habit. “You put your thumb over the spyhole.”

“What if I did? You still shouldn’t have opened the door until you knew it was me.”

“And do you really think I would have opened it at all, knowing it was you?” I fire back, cocking a hip while wrapping my arm around the towel so it doesn’t flash my cooch at him.

“Cut the sass,” he growls, flinging my arm free. “And stop trying to get my attention by flashing me your tits. I’m not fucking interested.”

“What the hell?” I snap back, the pitch of my voice way too high. “I’m not.” Clamping my arms around mychest doesn’t help my defense when my breasts move higher, the edge of one of my pink nipples breaching the edge of the towel. I let out a squeal and quickly rectify the placement of the towel by hoisting it up.

“Just go put some fucking clothes on, will you? We need to talk.”

Chapter

Seventeen

Smoke

Shit. When I’d barged into Tenley’s apartment, the last thing I had wanted to do was knock her on her ass. Good thing I have quick reactions. And managed to hook my arm around her waist before she hit the floor.

Fuck. I didn’t expect to find her dressed in a scrap of a towel, that did nothing to hide a gorgeous figure. Her skin was flushed, her pink lips parted, hair still damp and hanging in loose tendrils around her shoulders. I didn’t mean to scare her, still with her eyes wide and full of fear, sick I may be, she was a delicious sight. One that my cock acknowledged instantly and had me salivating at the thought of tasting the sweetness between her legs. And sweet, I bet she is.

When her hand had come out to slap me, it had excited me and infuriated me in equal measure. Herfeistiness was refreshing, and I can only imagine how that could play out in the bedroom. Yet, being who I am, the president of an MC, she was playing a dangerous game, thinking that violence against me could be anything but cataclysmic. No one fucks with me.

I did the only thing that would hide my arousal and diminish any thoughts my deprived brain might fantasize over. I cut her down by baring my teeth and growled at her like a rabid animal, telling her to cover herself up before temptation got the better of me.

I slump down onto the couch once she’s stomped her way into what must be her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

I glance at the laptop open on the table in front of me. The screen is still active, so I lean forward to take a look.

When I see that the last paragraph is talking about members of my club, I scrawl back, skimming over the words until my name jumps out from the page.

Ronan Hale, aka Smoke and the present president of the Young Outlaws, was brought into the MC family as a young boy. Although nothing is one hundred percent clear, it is thought that he is the illegitimate son of the then President, Grimm, real name (still to be confirmed).

The ‘still to be confirmed’ has been highlighted in yellow. I’m guessing that’s one thing Tenley has still not found via web searches. I continue reading.

Despite Grimm being legally married and having an old lady at the time, Angel, his wife, took on the young boy as if he were her own.

My thoughts quickly go to Angel, my mom, my hero, and Grimm, the man who shaped me into what I am today. I’d not seen them in such a long time because I was busy with club business. I need to put that right.

When I hear Tenley’s movement at the other side of her bedroom door, the sound alerting me she’s about to come back into the room; I click off of the screen only to come face to face with an image of myself, looking fucking handsome, even though I say it myself.

As she steps through the door from her bedroom, I sit further back on the couch, a smirk plastered to my face as I watch her eyeing me up, eyebrows bunch together in a frown.

Tenley moves swiftly across the room, immediately reaching towards the laptop.

“Didn’t your mamma teach you that snooping into other people’s business is rude?” She quickly glances at the screen before she slams it shut.

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