Page 2 of Bear

“Actually, I’m four feet, eleven inches. And one hundred and six pounds.” She rolls her eyes and moves to the tailgate, lowering it before she turns back to me. “Wet or not.”

A smirk steals across my lips. “Alright, Tink. You got a ramp and a ratchet strap or two?”

“Yep. I’ve also got a wheel chock.”

“You ride?” It would explain how she knows so much about bikes when even most mechanics don’t know jack shit.

“No, but we have an awful lot of bikers in this town. Who do you think they call to come pick them up when they break down?” She shrugs and climbs up into the bed of the truck like she’s done it a million times before. “Besides, I prefer burning rubber on four wheels.”

That does get a rise out of me, but before I can respond, she turns to me and snaps, “Now, if you’re done with your little interrogation, can we get this goddamn bike on the truck?”

I take the small ramp from the bed and unfold it. Tinkerbelle gathers together a couple more ratchet straps and jumps down, her boots sending up a cloud of dust when she hits the gravel. Then she crouches and hooks the strap under the towbar, threading it through the rungs on the ramp and securing it to the Chevy. I smirk as I watch her.Definitely not her first fucking rodeo.

“Alright, let’s get that pretty baby on board.” She climbs into the truck bed again as I head to my bike, flip up the kickstand, and wheel it toward the ramp. She’s a beast of a machine, and not as easy to maneuver as I’d like, but once I line it up correctly, I push forward and hold the weight of the bike when it hits the bumper. Tink grabs the handlebars to hold it steady while I climb into the truck and we both drive it home into the wheel chock.

“You wanna climb on to steady the bike while I fasten it?” I tilt my chin toward my baby.

She gasps in mock surprise. “And here I thought bitches were only supposed to sit on the back of your bike.”

“You got a man in the club?” I’ve been here for a few weeks now, and I’m pretty sure I would remember seeing this little sidepiece hanging around.

She laughs, and I have to fight my irritation, because I don’t see what’s so goddamn funny about that. “No. I don’t date club brothers.”

“We beneath you or somethin’, darlin’?”

She grins, grabbing onto the handlebars and sliding one leg over the bike. I have to suppress my growl of appreciation ... because I’m sure this little angry feminist would just love that. “Does it look like a brother is beneath me?”

Not yet. But I promise you I’m working on it,baby doll.

“You know, for a woman who’s not property of a club brother, you sure seem to know a lot about club life.”

“You’re not from around here, huh? This is Uprising. You make it your business to show the brothers respect or the club teaches you some. At least, that’s apparently how it was before Chaos took over. I think most of the town is still adhering to that and are just trying to stay out of their way.”

“But not you?” I fasten the strap to the frame. The suspension shifts as I use the ratchet. The movement jostles her perfect tits, and I suddenly have a hard time concentrating.

“My daddy didn’t like doing business with the Kings, but their money’s just as green as everyone else’s,” she says. “Besides, they’re not that scary once you get to know them.”

I arch a brow and set about fastening another ratchet strap to the main frame and tying it off on the truck. “I’ll be sure to tell Chaos you said that.”

“I came up in school with Sterling and Ruin. They weren’t as scary as they pretended to be either. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I could fight my own battles and kick anyone’s ass who needed kicking.”

“I’ll bet.”

“So, you got a name? Or shall I just write inbred, misogynistic biker on your docket?”

I narrow my eyes. “Bitch, you sure are mouthy.”

“And you sure are insolent for a man stranded on the side of the road.”

I scoff and fold my arms over my chest. “You can call me Bear.”

She actually rolls her fucking eyes at me. “You got a real name and an address, Bear?” She says my road name with particular disdain.

“Nope.”

“Where is that accent from?”

“Tennessee,” I bark. “Where does your attitude come from?”

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