Page 2 of Desert Heat

The ones who turned on us for money, drugs or jealousy. Hell, I watched when Papa took out Grease for snitching to the cops. I didn’t even flinch once when he pulled the trigger and Grease fell back onto the rough desert strewn with dried rocks. His running blood was the only thing wet the soil had seen for months. It seeped right in. The fucker got what he deserved when his snitching cost Papa two years behind bars. Two years I missed with him.

I padded around the wooden floors on bare feet.

The snow was still falling.

It always fucking snows here.

Last time I went out the drifts were as high as the front windows. Beams of light cut through them reaching across the room. A tall figure gets off his snowmobile. I opened the door wearing nothing but my oversized shirt, purposefully cocking one hip to make it ride up my thigh three inches.

Dean Smith was a fine fucking man at six three with a full beard the warm color of maple syrup and eyes as dark as a hot espresso. The son of the Devil’s Glen Prez wanted me badly. He’s been there for me during some of the worst times of life this past year. My father had called the MC that patrols the border between Canada and Maine to be my deFacto protectors. Dean was the one given the job.

“Hey little lady, wanna go for a ride?”

“That’s the best line you got? Heard that one so many times.” I faked a yawn, turning away.

“Come on Sav, I don’t bite.”

“I know you want to.” He came closer. I moved my long hair off my neck, arcing it to the side. “Eeeek! Stop!” I giggle-screamed as the tip of his ice-cold nose ran alongside my skin.

“You wanna warm me up?” I stepped back, swatting his gloved hands away. “No worries. I’m already burning up for you anyway.”

The image of River and that skank flashed again in my mind. “Where are we going?”

“Alpha Omega bonfire at the lake house.”

“A frat party? Damn, I haven’t been to one of those in forever.”

“I know they are lame as fuck compared to an MC party but it’s the best I got.”

“I’ll be ready in five,” I replied as I disappeared into my bedroom to pull on a pair of fleece-lined skinny jeans and stuffed my feet into a pair of Sorel boots that cost as much as my first used Harley. My waterproof down, Canada Goose coat set my father back over a grand. “Nothing’s too good for my princess,” he had said.

Sighing, I stuffed a snow-white ski cap on my head complete with a faux-fur pompom on top. My skin was always tan after years soaking up the desert sun. A quick coat of gloss slicked on my lips and a check in the mirror confirmed what I already knew.

I was not an Outlaw Princess out here. I had transformed into a well-dressed, dare I say, hot as fuck college girl. But I still wore my beloved desert jewelry fashioned with chunky turquoise stones.

No hint of the wild that lived inside me showed in my designer winter clothes. No one would guess of the shit I’ve seen and lived. No preppy as fuck frat boy could ever get me. I swallowed hard.

He got me.

I climbed into the rear seat of Dean’s shiny snowmobile and wrapped my arms around his muscular back. Fuck River with his new piece.

I spent the rest of the night going shot for shot with Dean and his boys while frat boys and jocks competed for my attention. The girls narrowed their eyes all wondering what it was that I had. The answer was easy.

Zero fucks.

I downed the rest of my drink. My fingers were past numb. My cheeks, too. The alcohol burned as it went down. I threw my head back to gaze at the mid-winter sky.

The stars shone like diamonds just like they did above the desert. I missed home. Missed the fine silt of red dust that would somehow make its way through the cracks between doors. Missed the howl of a lone coyote wandering through the brush.

I missed the men–even the friggin pencil-necked pledge who annoyed me to no end. But going home to the dustbowl town somewhere between Vegas and Tijuana wasn’t an option.

It was a war zone.

Little did Dad know the battle had followed me north. River left as suddenly as he had appeared.

He knew I’d never snitch on myself. Telling your father you lost your V-card to the young hotheaded Prez of our rival MC would wound him more than a bullet ever could.

River knew that.

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