Page 11 of Ridin' Free
“Got into it this mornin’. Let me know when you crack it open.”
I wasn’t nearly as fast a reader as he was—but he was the one who got me into this particular author. I was more of a crime thriller kind of gal, but a gripping fantasy novel had a certain appeal on occasion.
It was nice, getting to share a little part of me with someone. We barely knew anything about each other, except for this. It made us more than strangers, more than co-workers, if less than friends.
We’d finished the last of our prep when Mustang arrived looking tired as hell. On his best day, he wasn’t the rowdy kind. Usually, he was laid back and even tempered until provoked. Yet, even in all his chill, he had a strut to his stride that spoke of his confidence as much as his love for the job.
“No offense, boss-man, but you look like the walking dead.”
He didn’t even bother to appear offended as he reached up and raked his tatted fingers through his overgrown, chestnut brown hair.
“LJ had a rough night,” he said on a sigh. “Tess needed the sleep, so I was on duty.”
I folded my arms across my chest then nodded in the direction of the office. “Inventory’s handled. Weekly order hasbeen placed. I’m sure you’ve got shit to do, but we’ll be just fine should you need to squeeze in a power nap.”
He jerked his chin in a silentthanks, then I watched as he disappeared through the swinging door, leading to the back hallway.
I didn’t hang out with Mustang outside of work anymore than I hung out with any of the other Stallions—but it didn’t surprise me in the slightest that he’d offered to take the night shift with his baby girl so his wife could get a little shut-eye. That’s who he was.
I was around before Tess. I’d witnessed some of the drama between him and the mother of his firstborn. I knew he was the kind of father who loved and protected his little girls. Moreover, I saw him with Tess often enough to understand the way he doted on her.
But I judged his character on more than what I’d seen from my years standing behind the bar.
The way he let me keep my secrets. The questions he never asked. The chance he gave me when I walked through Steel Mustang’s front doors—he was good in a way that was hard to describe. I trusted him, and that meant a hell of a whole lot.
Men like him were easy to spot, but harder to find.
That’s how I felt about many of the Stallions. None of them were perfect, but most of them were good. Not nice or kind. They were rough and rugged. They were outlaws—but they were good down to their cores.
They were loyal.
They were family.
Not mine, of course. I wasn’t one of them—but I was respected by them, andthatwas something I’d never had until I ran from my previous life, chasing freedom. It’s part of the reason I decided to make Gillette my home. For now, at least. These men, and the women they loved, they mattered to me.They made my safe haven a real place—a place that existed outside of my mind.
It might not have been enough for some people, but it was more than I could ask for.
Before Mustang, there’d only ever been one man in my life I could truly trust, and he was dead.
It wasa quarterto eight when Twister walked through the door. The band had recently started up again after a short break. We weren’t slow, but we weren’t busy, either, which was why I noticed him in the first place.
I hadn’t seen him since I left him alone in bed early Sunday morning. Then, he was naked and on his stomach. Then, I’d seen what I assumed was his last undiscovered tattoo—a mountain-scape etched across his shoulders.
I shook away the memory, forcing myself into the present. He was in his kutte and a Harley-Davidson muscle tee with a pair of black jeans—holes cut across both knees. No more chinos. No more button-up. He was in his element as much as I was in mine.
Nevertheless, there was a nervous twinge I felt in my stomach as I watched him survey the room. Frowning, I looked away, searching for a task to busy my hands. I had no reason to feel anything at the sight of him. We had sex. It was no big deal. I’d had my fair share of one-night stands over the years. Not enough to leave me diseased, but enough that I couldn’t count them all using only my fingers.
Though, fucking Twister hadn’t been like any of the others.
I never slept with men who bellied up tomybar; men I thought I might run into again.
I wasn’t usually so drunk when I agreed to sex, either.
I didn’t notice his approach as I loaded the dishwasher with a few empty pint glasses, but I recognized his voice when he addressed Mustang.
“Shot a tequila and a Corona,” he ordered.
I glanced in his direction. This time, his brown eyes found my green ones. My stomach clenched, as if in anticipation of a reaction—from him or from me, I wasn’t sure. Only, nothing happened. He jerked his chin in a subtle acknowledgment of my presence, then one of his brothers called his name, and he redirected his focus elsewhere.
