Page 10 of Sexting the Bikers
Dog flops onto the nearest couch, kicking his boots up onto the stained coffee table like he owns the place.
Bishop doesn’t sit. He leans against the far wall, arms crossed, his expression giving nothing away.
I roll my shoulders, feeling the weight of the day still pressing down. “As expected,” I say finally. “Bullshit and posturing.”
Twitch, twitchy as ever, tips back his beer and mutters, “He agree to the deal?”
“The bastard won’t pay up so easily,” I add, my voice low. “He’s playing for time.”
“So what becomes of the shipment?” Rooster asks.
I shake my head once. “He’s stalling,” I say. “Waiting for leverage. Thinks we’re too desperate to walk.”
Dog snorts from the couch. “Guy thinks he’s still king of the old world. Doesn’t see the cracks under his throne.”
Rooster chuckles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You gonna tell him?”
I give a small, cold smile. “No,” I say. “We’ll show him.”
The room settles into a heavy, expectant silence, the kind that always falls before something breaks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bishop staring toward the window.
Dog stretches, popping his knuckles lazily. “At least the visit wasn’t a total waste.”
Rooster raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Dog’s grin turns wolfish. “Met someone interesting.”
I say nothing, but my mind flashes to her—the girl with ice in her eyes and fire under her skin.
Trouble, plain and simple.
Dog leans back against the couch, tossing an empty beer bottle into a trash can across the room without even looking. It rattles against the sides, then settles.
“The girl with him?” he says casually. “Real piece of work. Big blue eyes. Attitude for days.”
Rooster whistles low. “Didn’t think Novikov kept any toys around the house.”
Bishop snorts quietly, the first sound he’s made since we got back. His arms stay folded tight across his chest, his face unreadable.
“She’s not one of his,” Dog says, flashing that cocky grin again. “Or if she is, he’s doing a piss-poor job of keeping her in line.”
I stay silent, but inside, gears are turning. I saw her too.
Not just the looks—plenty of pretty faces cross our path and mean nothing.
It was the way she stood there, calm and defiant, surrounded by wolves and still baring her teeth.
Dangerous.
Rooster chuckles, draining the last of his beer. “So what? You thinking about rescuing a damsel, Dog?”
Dog stretches his arms over his head, easy and slow, like he has all the time in the world. “I’m just saying,” he says, “girl like that…feels wasted in a place like that.”
Twitch grins, twitchy fingers drumming on the bar top. “You sure you ain’t just thinking with your dick again?”
Dog winks. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I shake my head, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at my mouth before I bury it.
