Page 51 of Ronen
I heard the roar of the motorcycle well before it whizzed by me, knowing before it flew past me that it was a Harley. Nothing else sounded like that; like a deep throated, fast paced vibration of power. The motorcycle screamed past me in a blur of black and chrome.
Me:Gotta go! Speeder!
Flipping my lights and siren, I made sure there wasn’t any traffic coming before pulling out behind him. This road was off the highway, not far from my place, and didn’t see a ton of traffic this time of night. Still, no one needed to be going that fast, especially on a motorcycle. Damn fool was going to get himself killed.
It took me a minute to catch up to him, my foot pushing the accelerator up to ninety. I was about to call for backup, when the rider tossed a look at me over his shoulder, flipping the visor of his helmet up, before quickly slamming it down.
“Mother fuck!”
I was pretty sure that was my mate whipping down the highway at breakneck speed on a death machine. How he even managed to turn around to look at me and flip his visor up and down, while keeping control of the bike at the speed it was going, was a miracle.
Ronen flipped his blinker on, the bike slowing down in front of me. I slowed my own speed, not wanting to run up on him, because it took a minute for the bike’s speed to diminish. He gradually pulled to the side of the road, kicked the stand down, and casually pulled off his helmet.
Slamming my door, I stomped up to him and yelled, “Are you trying to kill yourself?”
Ronen tossed me a crooked grin, fluffing his wild hair up with one hand where his helmet had smashed it down. At least he was wearing a helmet.
He was dressed in black from head to toe, reminding me of how his dad usually dressed. Boots, leather pants, leather jacket, helmet. Hell, even the bike was black.
And fucking hell if he didn’t look good straddling that bike, tight leather encasing him from head to toe, his body relaxed.
Sexy, my dragon breathed, and I had to agree.
Ronen Sinclair was about the sexiest thing on two legs I had seen in a very, very long time.
And he was mine, even if he didn’t realize it yet.
“I hadn’t even hit a hundred yet,” Ronen scoffed. “Relax, Sheriff, I know how to handle myself and my bike.” He held out his hand, his helmet balanced on one thigh. “Just give me the ticket, Mason.”
“Ticket?” I huffed, “You’ll be lucky if I don’t arrest you for reckless driving.”
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Technically, you could. But do you really want to have to deal with my cousin this time of night? Because you know she’d wake up every judge in this town to get me a bail hearing. Rory is like a rabid beast when it comes to family. And, I’m the baby of the family,” he winked–winked!–“so you’d likely have the entire Sinclair clan up your ass. We’re a protective bunch. Do you really want that? Make good choices.”
Make good choices? Was he fucking kidding me right now? I wasn’t the one acting like a speed demon on a death machine.
Cocking my head to one side, I ground out, “Did you just threaten me?”
“Just with the truth,” he gave me a full-blown smile, this one larger and brighter than he had used on Mrs. Everett that day in the library, and for a second, I forgot my name. Forgot to breathe. Forgot this man had fucked my brains out, and then left me, without so much as a single word.
Sure, he’d tossed me his sexy, little crooked grin once or twice, but this? I had thought seeing his smile that first time, in the library, had bowled me over. But he hadn’t even been trying hard that day.
Because this smile? This smile was in a completely different league.
Ronen Sinclair’s smile was lethal. And by the mischievous gleam shining in his green eyes, he knew it.
“You have met Rory, right?” He was still talking but all I saw were his lips moving. No sound was making its way into my ears.
My eyes were locked on his full, pink lips, the perfect bow shape of them. Remembering the way they felt beneath mine. The way he tasted.
I was fixated on his straight, white teeth, and that smile that made him look…radiant. Breathtaking. Beautiful.
Shaking myself from the spell of his smile, I muttered, “What? Oh, yeah, I know Rory. She’s…”
My brain searched for an adequate word to describe Rory Sinclair without insulting Ronen’s cousin and I came up with absolutely nothing.
“Fierce?” Ronen helpfully supplied. “Savage? Kick ass lawyer?”
Rolling my eyes, mainly because all of those described her, I held out my hand. “License, registration, and proof of insurance. Please.”
