Page 9 of Her Dirty Biker
She steps closer. “You always this bossy?”
“Only when someone I care about is in danger.”
That stops her cold. “You don’t know me.”
“I do.”
Silence again. And then, her voice—whisper soft, cracking at the edges. “Okay. I’ll tell you what I heard.”
Chapter three
Willow
I don’t know what I expected a biker club’s safehouse to look like. Maybe something grimy. Windowless. Chains on the walls. A torture table in the corner.
What I didn’t expect was a small, square cabin with creaky hardwood floors, a faded leather couch, and a lingering scent of cedar, motor oil, and the cologne Diesel wears that clings to the walls like heat.
It smells like him in here.
Itfeelslike him.
Dangerous. Clean-cut chaos, wrapped in a tall, muscled body with eyes that see through lies and skin that makes my fingers itch to touch.
I shouldn’t be attracted to him. I know that.
He’s too old, too intense, too close to the things I’ve been trying to avoid my entire life.
But here I am, locked in a cabin with him. Watching the way his broad shoulders stretch his black tee as he paces. Feeling theweight of his stare when he thinks I’m not looking. Noticing the flex of his tattooed forearms when he grips the counter, knuckles pale, jaw set.
He hasn’t touched me.
I would let him, though, and that scares me almost more than any gang or cartel threat ever could.
“So.” His voice cuts through my thoughts like a hot knife through butter. “You said you’d tell me what you heard.”
He leans back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, muscles bunching beneath ink and cotton. God. It’s like gravity pulls me toward him. I force my gaze to his boots.
“I didn’t catch much,” I start, sitting on the edge of the worn couch. “I was serving drinks to a high-stakes table in the back. I’m new, so I keep my head down. Don’t ask questions. Don’t get involved.”
Diesel doesn’t speak. Just watches.
“The guy with the greasy ponytail—”
“Guardrail,” he supplies, voice rough.
“Well, he was whispering to some guy in a suit. Slick. Expensive. Probably had a mirror in his pocket to admire himself between sentences.”
Diesel’s lips twitch. Almost a smile. Almost.
“They didn’t notice me. I was wiping the table beside them. It sounded like something big was about to happen soon. Something about a shipment. I heard ‘clubhouse’ and ‘Savage Kings will pay.’ That’s it. Then he saw me.”
I shiver at the memory of Guardrail’s smirk—the way his eyes dragged down my body like a roach crawling over silk.
“Later, he cornered me in the parking lot and asked me to come to the party. Grabbed my arm. I was going to lie, say I had somewhere to be, when you showed up.”
Diesel’s jaw flexes. “He touched you?”
“Not for long.”
