Page 7 of Johny B

“I’m just teasing.” I laugh. “Besides, if I were to become your lawyer, at least it would give me the chance to still be involved with the club without raising too many questions.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” he says sincerely, “but it’s still too dangerous, and if anything ever happened to you because of my past, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I still have blood on my hands from your mother’s death. If anything happened to you, too…”

I step up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, so my front is to his back and hug him with everything I have because words won’t cut it. I can sense the pain as it vibrates from his heart, making his whole body tremble. It’s the same heavy hurt I feel in mine, but his is laced with blame and self-hate as we both still grieve a major loss in our lives: death caused by the hands of those who held a grudge against Smoke and the MC.

One day, he and his brothers will reap their revenge. That I don’t doubt for a moment.

Chapter

Six

Scarlett

Isip the hot, rich coffee from the China cup, letting the dark nectar tease my taste buds before I let it slip down my throat, warming a path to my eagerly waiting stomach. Coffee is my go-to breakfast, while actual food can wait until later in the day. It’s been two days since Smoke dropped by, so as I lean against the kitchen counter, I’m not surprised when I hear the distant rumble of motorcycles. I glance at the clock on the microwave and see that it’s exactly the time, to the minute, that he said he’d be here.

“Punctual as always,” I murmur to myself before draining the last of my coffee and placing the now empty cup into the sink.

When the rumble grows louder, I walk towards the back door and slip out into the early morning sun. Since this place is alive with people coming and going in the evenings, Smoke and I decided that the crack of dawn was the best time for our guest to arrive. My girls are still in bed, and most of them sleep like the dead, so at least it will give me time to settle the new arrivalundetected, saving me from being hit with a hundred-and-one questions.

Smoke is already off his bike and standing with his back to me. His authoritative stance tells me he’s having harsh words with our guest, yet all I can hear is a dull droning. It’s not until Smoke has turned and walked toward me that I catch sight of the man I’m tasked with holing up, not only under Velvet Reds roof, but in my own personal quarters for God knows how long.

The image I had conjured up in my head—middle-aged biker, dirty jeans, scuffed boots, and a distinct lack of grooming—couldn’t be further from the truth.

He steps closer, eclipsing the bright sun that obstructs my view, leaving a bright halo of light behind him, and I see him.

Sure, he has the leather cut, the boots and, of course, the motorcycle, but everything is so clean and pristine: sharp jeans, crisp white T-shirt, the one per cent patch on his rich, leather cut spotless, looking like it’s been freshly laundered. There’s not a speck of dirt to be seen, and the high shine on his boots is one any military man would be proud of.

Young, so much younger than I’d envisioned, around twenty-two, maybe twenty-three years old. His hair, every strand, is in place with a height to his quiff which is unreal, considering he’s just been wearing a helmet.

Holy Jesus, am I going to have my work cut out keeping him under wraps because he is fucking sex on legs? With the body of an athlete, packing a little extra muscle bulk, and a face that resembles a sixties rockabilly heartthrob, if my girls get their sights on him, they’ll be offering him freebies like it’s Saturday at Costco.

His Nordic blue eyes are bright against smooth, tanned skin, and his rich, dark, almost black hair. Even if hit by a cyclone, I’m sure it won’t move an inch.

What products does he use, and how many does it take to keep it looking like he’s just stepped out of an expensive hair salon? I need to know this magic.

Once I’ve gathered my wits about me, I step forward.

“Hi, you must be JB.” I hold my hand out to him in greeting. “Welcome to my home, seeing as Velvet Reds will be out of bounds for you.”

“You must be Scarlett.” His smooth, sultry, almost lyrical voice dances in my ears while he takes my hand in his, wrapping his fingers around it in a gentle but firm way. My disbelieving eyes drop to where we connect, searching for the reason behind the zap of electricity that sizzles against my skin—the kind you only read about in cheesy romance novels. When I find nothing, I raise my gaze to his to be met by a devilish gleam in his eyes and an expression that can only be described as pure hellraiser. Believe me, I’ve met my fair share of cocky assholes in my time, but he’s beyond belief.

“Motherfucker,” Smoke growls, punching a fist into JB’s upper arm. It has the desired effect as instantly JB releases me, breaking the unorthodox connection between us, pulling his arm back to rub the area that now must be throbbing like hell. “Didn’t you listen to a word I just said to you? Out of fucking bounds, asshole. Don’t think I won’t follow through with my threat.”

“And what threat is that?” I chuckle at Smoke, raising an eyebrow at his overzealous reaction.

“Let’s just say that if he doesn’t keep his dick in his pants, he won’t be needing any new tighty-whities to hold everything in place because there won’t be anything left hanging.”

“Then we better get him inside my apartment before any of the girls wake and get a glimpse at pretty boy here, and start taking bets on who gets to be the first to put his chance of ever having a family at risk.”

“For the record”,—JB pipes up, dramatically covering his crotch with both hands as he shuffles from one foot to the other, as if in pain — “having kids is not one of my life goals, but keeping a firm hold on my junk is, so lead the way.” His face scrunches up, but it barely diminishes his handsome good looks.

I can’t help but laugh at JB’s dramatics. Even Smoke—despite his seriousness in making sure that JB knows that keeping a lower profile is imperative not just for him but also for the safety of everyone at Velvet Reds—has a slight upturn to the side of his mouth. That tells me that regardless of JB being a liability, he likes the guy.

“Smoke,” I place a hand on his chest, stopping him when he moves towards the house. “I can take it from here. Best make yourself scarce. If you hang around here at this time of a morning, you could end up raising some awkward questions, too.”

“It’s my fucking place,” he grits out.

“Shit, Smoke. You drop by once in a blue moon to check on things. Usually, you send one of the guys, but you’ve been twice in a matter of days. Trust me, I can deal with this.”

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