“That’s not a good idea,” I open the door wider and interject. “I don’t think any of you understand what those women have been through. Asking them to remember all the details of the men who hurt them would be cruel.”
“Charlotte,” Roman grits out in warning.
“I’m sorry, but you know I’m right about this! Please don’t subject them to torture just so you can get some black and white images that look like a million other men.”
“For now, we’ll table the sketch artist as a last resort once we run out of leads,” Roman agrees. “We’re still hoping that Danny and his guys will find their faces on a camera, which would be a lot more helpful than a drawing; or better yet, track down their tattoo artist to get a name.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, relieved that he won’t ask something so difficult from Tessa and the other victims.
“Now, will you remove yourself from our meeting, or am I going to have to do it myself?” Roman asks, his words heated because he’s obviously angry at me for interrupting.
“I’ll leave,” I agree when I pull the door almost shut, leaving it like it was before.
“All the way, Charlotte!” comes Roman’s demanding voice from the other side. While I can be stubborn, I decide not to push him farther on this. I close the door completely and then sit down on a stool at the bar to wait.
Roman
Once I adjourn the meeting, I wait until all of the Kings file out before I flip off the lights and leave the chapel. Charlotte is sitting on a stool at the bar, her head lying on her crossed arms. “You look beat,” I observe. “Let’s get back to my place and eat something, then crash early tonight. We could both use a long sleep.”
Charlotte stands up and nods to me, pausing to stretch her arms over her head. The motion makes the thin cotton shirt she’s wearing pull tight over her breasts and exposes a few inches of her stomach over the button on her jeans. When she catches me staring at her, she breaks into a grin and says, “I’m ready. Thank you again for letting me stay with you. Do we need to pick up food on the way to your place, or do you actually keep anything stocked at your house?”
With a snort, I walk past her and lead the way outside to my bike. “I’ve got food,” I reassure her. “I’ll cook up something quick when we get there. I know it’s late in the afternoon, but how do you feel about breakfast for dinner? I didn’t get anything to eat this morning, and I’ve got a longing for some sausage and eggs.”
“That sounds perfect,” she agrees as she swings her leg over the back of my bike. While she straps on the helmet, I climb on and crank the engine, feeling a strange swelling of admiration for how easily this woman has gotten used to riding. She was awkward as a newborn foal just yesterday getting on, but now she rides like an old pro.
The ride to my place from the clubhouse usually only takes about ten minutes; but once Charlotte wraps her arms around my waist and presses herself into my back, I decide to take a slightly more scenic route up Ocean Boulevard. We’re both exhausted, but I’m enjoying having her with me too much to rush home. Weaving through all the beach traffic adds thirty minutes to the trip; and by the time we rumble into the gravel driveway of my beachfront home, I can feel her shifting behind me in agitation.
“Whew!” she exhales when I cut the engine and prop the bike up on its kickstand. “I was starting to wonder how far out in the boonies you actually lived! I figured you would have a place closer to your…what do you call it, your base?”
“You mean the clubhouse?” I grin. “We’re only about five miles from it. The beach traffic slows things down out here, and I wanted to ride by the ocean.”
“I’m glad you did,” she says as she hangs the helmet on my bike. “The smells, the sights, people relaxing and enjoying life…it helps you unwind. You feel so close to all of it on a motorcycle. I always just thought they were terrifying death traps, but I’m starting to see the attraction.”
“I hope I can show you all kinds of things you’ll be attracted too,” I quip as I motion her towards the gate we rode through at the end of my driveway. “This first gate has a code you have to punch in, but it opens automatically when a vehicle approaches to leave. We’ll get your car later and bring it over here. The code is six-seven-three-six. If you forget the numbers, just remember the word Oreo.”
When Charlotte bursts into laughter, I turn to her with my face reddening. “What’s so funny?” I demand.
“Oh god, I must be getting an exhaustion high,” she gasps as she continues laughing. “The thought of your gate code being a cookie…Oreo…” she continues to giggle.
“I’ve got a sweet tooth,” I admit, before stomping past her up the driveway.
“A biker and a stripper with a sweet tooth!” she manages to choke out through her laughter.
“Keep it up, giggles, and I won’t tell you the password for the main gate to the house,” I tease. “I’ll make you ring the bell and wait every time you come home!”
“Okay, okay, I’ll try to behave,” she assures me.
“This one is eight-nine-four-nine,” I tell her as I punch in the code and open the reinforced metal gate leading to the stairs up to my house. “Just remember the word…”
“Don’t tell me!” Charlotte interrupts. “Let me see the keypad…eight-nine-four-nine… Twix!” she says with a clap of her hands, beaming a smile up at me.
“Twix,” I confirm, unable to hide my own grin. “Not even my MC brothers know those codes, I always buzz them in, so you keep these secrets for life, understand?”
“Oh my, do they know about your secret sweet addiction?” she teases as we climb the stairs.
“They absolutely do not, and they will never find out,” I growl. “That’s another secret you will keep. You promise me?”
I expect her to tease me further, or even joke about what great blackmail material I’ve given her; but instead, at the top of the stairs, she puts a hand on my arm to stop me. She turns me around and looks directly into my eyes. “I promise, Roman. There aren’t many men who would help me the way you have. You can trust me with anything, I swear to you.” She leans into me; and when our lips meet, the passion between us ignites instantly into a raging inferno. Her hands wander freely down my chest as I pull her as close to me as I can. After only a few short moments, however, she lightly pushes me back, smiling up at me. “I mean it, Roman. Anything, even your secret cookie fetish.”
“It’s not a fetish, woman,” I growl. My voice is husky from the feelings she constantly awakens in me. “I’m not going to eat a Twix out of your…” I stop myself before I complete the sentence, turning abruptly and leading the way into the house.
“What were you about to say?” Charlotte asks behind me as we step into my kitchen.
“Nothing, I got distracted,” I deflect. “I’m going to start cooking. Do you want to take a shower or change or something?”
“Oh God, you don’t know how good a hot shower sounds,” she moans. “Wait, is that a hot tub out there on the porch?” she asks as she looks out the huge bay windows in my kitchen.