Page 67 of Rocky Top

Fuck yeah, I was rock hard. “I’ll getdressed.”

Birdie rubbed her arms, looking mighty disappointed, but she didn’t move to stop me as I pulled on my jeans.

We rode back in silence, her arms tight around my waist.

Birdie slipped off the bike and looked up at me.

“Thanks for the ride, Rocky.”

I nodded. “Anytime, Birdie.”

She walked inside.

And I stood there in the dark, the scent of her still clingin’ to my shirt.

And something else. I’d caught a whiff of something in the woods. Something was comin’. War. Blood. A reckoning.

But for tonight? I’d had a taste of peace.

And it tasted like her.

Chapter 17

Rocky

That weekend the Wild Dog was lit up like a damn firework. The boys were back from a recon run. Smokey and Chevy were deep in argument over some supply drop gone wrong, and Knox stood in the shadows, arms crossed, eyes tracking everyone like a fox. Music pounded through the walls, pool balls clacked, and the usual swarm of club girls buzzed around like flies drawn to shit.

But I wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

Not with Birdie sittin’ at the bar in a tight little black number that hugged her curves like a fuckin’ prayer answered. Straight from some marketing meeting at some swanky gallery opening, her hair was up in some kind of twist, sunglasses propped on her head even though it was well past dark. She was laughin’ with Sass and Loretta like she didn’t know the whole damn room turned to look when she walked in.

Mine. That word stirred low in my chest.

I didn’t say it out loud, not yet, but hell if my wolf wasn’t practically pacing every time she crossed her legs or tilted her chin.

“Top,” TNT muttered from behind me, flickin’ a blade open and shut as he leaned against the jukebox. “You got a tail.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know who he meant.

“Delilah,” I said under my breath, already feelin’ my night take a nose dive.

She walked in like she always did, hips first, trouble close behind. Tight jeans, high heels, and a glare that could curdle milk. Her eyes locked on Birdie, then flicked to me with that old fire I used to think was love but now I knew better.

She was here to make a scene.

I moved fast, but not fast enough.

By the time I crossed the room, Delilah had posted up right beside Birdie at the bar, leanin’ close enough for a fight to start without a word.

“Rocky sure has a type,” Delilah purred, real loud-like. “Blonde. Soft. Pretty. Fragile.”

Birdie turned to her slow, smile gone sharp.

“Funny,” she said. “I was just thinkin’ the same thing. Except his type must’ve changed, since he met me.”

Delilah let out a laugh like broken glass.

“Oh honey,” she cooed. “You think this is real? You think you’re gonna ride off into the sunset with him on the back of a hog, wearin’ his cut and makin’ him apple pie? You’re a chew toy. Somethin’ to keep him distracted.”

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