Page 16 of Domino
“Please do,” I say.
As we sit there and I soak in the wonderful atmosphere and the love of a good friend, the sound of a low, deep rumbling fills my ears. I turn and see four men on Harleys slowly rolling by. They’re a rough and rugged looking bunch with long hair, dirty denim, and black leather vests with large patches on the back.
As the second pair riding side by side passes us, the man closest to our side of the street is looking at me from behind dark sunglasses. He’s a big guy, I can tell. His face is square, and he’s got a strong jawline that’s covered by a neatly trimmed beard that’s blacker than night, save for two small patches of white hair, one just below his nose, the other below his bottom lip. And unlike the guys he’s riding with, his is trimmed short and clean, which I find surprising.
He’s definitely looking at me though, because he’s turning his head as they roll by, and I feel my body responding. My pulse speeds up a bit, and there’s a growing warmth in the pit of my belly, that’s making other parts of my lower anatomy uncomfortably damp. He’s just got this primal energy about him, which exudes this sort of raw power that triggers a carnal excitement in me.
My God, I need to get laid.
Across the table from me, Missy is giggling. I whip my head around, focusing on her. My cheeks burn with a heat more intense than what’s flaring up inside of me right now, and I can’t keep the goofy grin off my face, feeling like a kid who got busted with her hand in the cookie jar.
“I totally saw that,” she mocks.
“You saw nothing.”
“Okay, I didn’t. Except that I totally did.”
I squeal with laughter. “Stop it.”
She sits back, her drink in her hand, and smiles, then takes a sip. The look of smug self-satisfaction on her face only fuels my embarrassment even more. Taking another drink, I wipe my mouth and sit up, trying to reclaim some semblance of my dignity. I clear my throat.
“Dark Pharaohs,” I say, recalling the patch on their vest as I desperately try to change the subject.
“They’re our local motorcycle club. Some people call them a gang. It’s like they’ve become the town mascot or something.”
“You sound like you don’t like them.”
She shrugs. “I don’t care one way or the other, honestly. I don’t think they’re anywhere near as bad as some people think they are. Nor do I think they’re the saints other people claim them to be. But the one thing I will say for them, is that we don’t have a drug or violence problem in this city, in large part because of them.”
I cock my head. “How do you figure?”
“Because they’ve got a zero-tolerance policy. They see somebody dealing on the streets, they handle it.”
“And by handle it, you mean, they beat the snot out of them,” I say, a nervous laugh trickling out of my mouth.
She shrugs again. “All I can say is that our streets are clean and safe, and the Pharaohs are to thank for that. Honestly, they seem more reliable than the cops. As far as dating somebody I love, I’d really have to give that some thought. I mean, they are bikers, after all. They may not be doing any illegal stuff here in town, but who knows what they do beyond the city limits? My guess is that’s where they do their real business.”
It’s an interesting summation of this notorious biker club—the rough and tumble criminal sort but with a heart of gold. Not that she needs to worry, though. The last thing I intend to do is bring that sort of influence into Cole’s life. We ran across the country to get away from a bad man, there’s no way in hell I’m bringing another one in to replace him. Cole will only have good examples to follow from here on out.
“Well, that’s definitely not the sort of thing I want to bring around Cole. I want him to have positive role models in his life.”
But even as I speak the words, I can’t help but see that man’s face in my mind. And even though his eyes were hidden behind his blackout sunglasses, I could practically feel the intensity of his gaze sliding up and down my body, making me shudder. And not necessarily in a bad way.
Chapter Eight
Domino
Cosmo, Poe, Derek, and I roll to a bar at the end of Harrison called Ruby’s, but I can’t get my mind off that little stunner I spotted back at the coffeehouse. Sandy blonde hair just past her shoulders, brown eyes, milky skin that looked soft to the touch, and a petite frame that seemed to have curves in all the right places… the woman was fine. This is one of those times I’m glad to have the military training I did that allows me to notice the small details in the blink of an eye.
“You all right?” Derek shouts over the bikes to be heard.
I nod and flash him a thumbs-up. I was a little surprised Cosmo asked him to tag along, but I’m glad to have him here. Derek’s a good man to have if shit goes sideways. And given what we’re here to do, the probability of shit going sideways is extremely high.
Mike Dorsey is the owner/operator of Ruby’s after inheriting it from his own pops. The place has been in Blue Rock longer than any of us have been alive. Although it’s always been a fairly seedy dive bar, the place is an institution. The townies love it as do some of the tourists who roll through the city.
We pull into the lot and park our bikes. After taking off our gloves and helmets and stowing them in our saddlebags, we gather together. Cosmo is our road captain, so even Poe follows his orders out here, which means Derek and I are taking our cues from him as well. Obviously.
“Okay, so we’re looking for a guy called Rip. He’ll be in a blue ball cap with a blue flannel tied around his waist and a black Metallica t-shirt on. We’re not going in with guns blazing, boys,” Cosmo starts.
