Page 77 of Desert Heat

This war between us was ancient. The feelings he invoked in me were the kind that make women do crazy shit like burn their ex’s clothes in the middle of the street, slash their tires, or stalk their new girlfriends so they can be confronted—and bitch slapped.

I couldn’t help my smirk. I was going to smack the shit out of this hoe.

No doubt.

The only question was before or after I dealt with River?

The way he made his way so deep under my skin that I still feel the burn of his touch; am haunted by the ghost of his hips flexing right before he drove the tip of his heat into me. I shifted my weight, hating that I craved him still.

Needed his touch.

I slammed my phone down on the coffee table not caring my screen shattered, tiny bits of glass shards falling to the floor.

The thought of that bitch getting what used to be mine; feeling what was mine… was enough to make me lose any shred of self-control.

I knew where he was…what he was.

I still wanted him anyway.

But my loyalty to Papa and the Club came first. I could never have both. River and be the Outlaw Princess.

I could never betray my patch.

I hated traitors.

The ones who turned on us for money, drugs or jealousy. Hell, I watched when my father 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. But I knew without a doubt he’d still lose his shit if he ever found out about me and River.

I padded around the wooden floors on bare feet.

The snow was still falling.

It always fucking snows here. Truthfully, I’m sick of it. I miss the desert heat, the way the stars hang in the silky black sky at night… I miss authentic margaritas, a good peyote joint… I miss….him.

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 the MC parties 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. But I knew it was a guilt gift for the shit he pulled last year. When he disappeared making me think he was dead.

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