Page 16 of Her Dirty Biker
“I’m trying not to.”
He nods once, slowly. “Trying’s not the same as succeeding.”
“I’ve got it under control.”
“You'd better.”
I bristle. “You think I’d put her ahead of the Kings?”
“I think youalready are.” He looks me over. “The way it should be.”
That lands like a fucking punch to the gut. Because part of me knows he’s right. Part of me is scaredhe’s right.
“She doesn’t belong in this shit,” I say quietly. “But now that she’s seen it, we don’t have a choice.”
“You saying she’s a liability?”
“I’m saying she’s innocent.”
Rock’s jaw ticks up into almost a smile. “Not for long.”
He turns and walks out without another word.
Later that night, I ride.
The wind doesn’t help. The cold doesn’t bite the way I need it to. I end up circling back to the safehouse, my bike rumbling low as I pull up the gravel drive and kill the engine.
The porch light’s on. A warm, yellow glow spills onto the steps.
And then there she is, Willow, standing just inside the screen door, wearing nothing but one of my old T-shirts that hangs too big on her and clings in all the wrong ways.
Her bare legs are like a fucking invitation to sin.
“Hey,” she says, stepping onto the porch.
“Hey.”
My voice is rougher than I mean it to be.
She folds her arms, shifting nervously. “You were gone a while.”
“Had things to do.”
She nods, but something flickers in her eyes. Disappointment? Hurt?
“You hungry?” she asks.
“I’m always hungry.”
It’s a bullshit answer, but she smiles anyway. “There’s leftover pizza. You like pepperoni?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll eat whatever.”
She tilts her head. “You always this easy to please?”
“Maybe.” I take a step closer. “But you keep feeding me, and we’ll find out.”
The air between us tightens. She’s close now, so close I can smell her shampoo and the faintest trace of vanilla lotion. Her fingers twitch at her side.
