Page 7 of Kick

She smiles with her eyes. She smiles with every single muscle of her face. I exhale sharply. “You might wanna give me some breathing room”—She glances down at my cut, to the nametag sewn into the soft leather—“Kick.”

“Baby, the only breathing room I wanna give you is when you’re coming up for air after sucking me off. And even then I’d rather you just gag on it.”

She laughs, but there’s heat behind her gaze, and I’d bet my left nut her panties are as soaked as my dick is hard.This bitch wants me bad.And I’d about give my right nut to have her rolling around between my sheets, taking my cock in her mouth, and my cum in her cunt.

“You bikers are all the same. My friend Cece and I were just trying to get out of the heat and grab ourselves a drink, and here you two are, spoiling our fun with your pathetic display of machismo.”

“Pathetic?” I give her an incredulous look and turn to Tank, but he and the petite blonde are already dry humping one another up against the pub wall.Damn, that fucker works fast. “Looks like your friend found refreshment in my brother’s mouth.”

“Jesus,” she mutters and glances across the road to the Severed Sons MC charter, where their president—who looks about ninety in the shade—stands, arguing with a big burley dude in his thirties. His long black hair is tied back, bringing attention to his hook-like nose. Several of the Sons turn to face us.

“You an old lady?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not gonna get my head beaten in for doing this?”

“Doing what?” she asks warily.

I snake my hand around her waist and pull her to me, covering my mouth with hers and kissing her with brutal force. She doesn’t fight like I expected her to; instead she kisses me back, driving her tongue into my mouth before shoving me away from her and punching me square in the jaw.

“Ow!” I cup my aching jaw, flexing it side to side to ease away the sting. “What the fuck was that?”

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, much less clean out my oesophagus.”

The old man and the greasy Italian dude who were arguing only moments ago, shove her out of the way and get up in my face, ready to beat my head in. “You touching my daughter, motherfucker?”

“Yourdaughter?” I glare accusingly between her and her old man. “You’re a club brat?”

“Don’t fucking talk to her, arsehole,” the old guy says, and I’m not gonna lie, the dude’s still pretty fucking scary. “Talk to me.”

“I didn’t know. She said she wasn’t an old lady.”

“Because she’s the fucking Prez’s daughter, you fuckwad. No dirty Angel scumbag is good enough for our girl.” The big Italian dude steps closer to me, and then he glances at his president. “Can I kick his head in now?”

I give her a once over and shake my head. The bitch just fucked me silly sideways. She may not be an old lady, but she’s an MC brat, and not just any MC brat, but the fucking Severed Sons’ princess, which in some ways is worse than hitting on someone’s old lady.

“You set me up,” I accuse. She smiles again, and her whole fucking face is in on the seduction: eyes, lips, a single dimple in one cheek, everything. I gotta get this woman on the back of my bike and in my bed, because I haven’t met a bitch yet that can best me at my own game.

Or I hadn’t.

Until her.

“I’ll get you back for this, and you’ll be beggin’ for me to ram my co—” I don’t get to finish that sentence because the next thing I know the old dude’s meaty hook is pounding in my face. He has a fist full of heavy silver rings, and I feel the sharp edges of every single one of them.

Tank is beside me in another beat, throwing full-grown men away from him. The ruckus attracts the rest of the Angels, not just our chapter, but our associates too. My dad is suddenly beside me, pulling the old coot away from me as he pounds his fist into the old bastard’s face and screams, “Couldn’t keep your fucking nose clean for one goddamned rally, could ya, kid?”

I king-hit the Italian, bringing him down with one hard blow to the head and glance around for the girl. I can’t make out anything, not the patches of my brothers, or those from rival gangs. I turn around and see her and her friend huddled against the outside of the pub. I should leave them there. It would serve the bitch right. She doesn’t look at all fazed by the violence, but her friend is squealing like a frightened piglet.

The cops are already moving in, hosing us down with a shower of batons and pepper spray. I can’t see Tank anywhere in the fray, so I flee in the opposite direction, heading for the girls and taking down two motherfucking Sons that get in my way. I don’t even stop when I reach them—I just clasp Blondie’s hand with the princess and drag them off towards the alley. Or at least, I try to drag them off towards the alley. Princess has other ideas.

“Let go of me,” she demands snatching her hand from mine.

“I’m trying to fucking help you, bitch.”

“Oh, I can see that,” she says caustically.

“Your dad’s having some pretty new jewellery slapped on his wrists right now, Princess. What happens when a fucking hot bitch like you gets left alone with no club protection at a biker rally?”

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