I gasp and struggle for words, but instead Hammer grabs me around the waist and picks me up against his hip like a child, and yanks my cart away from the now moaning heaps of man-trash, carelessly running one of them over with two of the wheels before working us both away and down the aisle.
“Uh, put me down?” I manage, pushing on his arm, which feels like iron and my head is spinning from what just happened but also from his scent.
Jesus, I can’t even identify what he smells like, except that’s it’s some sort of testosterone sex juice that has my head spinning and my heart in my throat.
He marches forward until we are half-way through the meat section before slowing his pace and finally putting my feet back on the ground. I glance back to see the three guys now standing, looking pissed, as they jerk their heads, swearing and stomp away in the opposite direction.
There’s a couple of twenty-something girls also watching them, and us, but they are doing more than watching. One has her phone up and from the looks of it, she’s recorded at least some of what happened, which may not bode well for Hammer.
“You just assaulted those guys, you know that, right? They’re probably calling the cops on you right now.”
I brush my hands down the front of my tank top and try to ignore the fact that my nipples are making a grand entrance—and it’s not because of the humming freezers all around us. I’m in my Saturday best. Khaki shorts about three sizes too big, a white tank top and my Tom’s with black and white cat faces I stamped all over them trying to be crafty.
“Doubt it,” he grunts back, not hiding that his eyes are stuck on my boobs and their protruding pebbles.
“Hey.” I snap my fingers in front of his face. “I’m up here, talking to you.”
He slowly raises his eyes, those green eyes that invade my dreams day and night thinking of him looking down at me from his position on top. Holding me there. Holding me down while he—
“So, talk,” he adds, and I shake away the fantasy, scratching my wrist as I try to re-claim my composure.
“I’m just saying, you didn’t need to do that and now you are probably going to be getting a visit from Sheriff Ramsey or one of the deputies any second. And I’m going to have to tell the truth. I wasn’t in danger, so what you did is assault.”
“I disagree.”
“With what?” I let out an exasperated sigh at his ridiculous calm.
“With most of it, but especially the part that you weren’t in danger. Matter of opinion.”
“No, it’s a matter of the law. Something I happen to know a thing or two about.”
He sniffs on a half-smile and it shoots bolts of anger and lust through me.
Anger because I don’t want to feel this for him. For anyone, for that matter.
“Maybe.” He nods. “But, they ain’t callin’ no cops. Not on me. If they know what’s good for them at least.”
“Well they should. I would.”
“Yeah, well, my money’s on they don’t.”
“Well, I’m not giving you legal advice, but I would probably recommend you learn to control yourself.”
Even as the words slip from my lips, my mind is spinning with thoughts of him losing control in a different way.
“Duly noted.”
As I push my cart forward, leaving him standing behind, my hands are shaking, my brain is buzzing and yes, I’m soaking wet.
Chapter 3
Hammer
It took all my strength to let her walk away pushing that fucking grocery cart.
But I did it for a couple reasons.
One, I made sure the fucks that messed with her got some choice words before I followed them out the door and made sure they were on their way elsewhere.
Second, I can’t risk getting close to her. I can’t risk I could bring any potential danger into her life.
Life has been quiet since I landed in Seneca, and as much as I hope that will continue, I’m always looking over my shoulder. Ready to bug out and re-invent myself yet again if needed.
Because there are people, bad people, that would love to know where I am and settle old debts.
But, the longer I’m here. The more time I spend watching her, the weaker I become.
We have a habit of turning up in the same places. It started that day at the courthouse and it’s like fate is doing a full court press to get us into the same space. Which I appreciate, but it hurts down deep not being able to have her. Take her. Give her everything I can.
But there’s the other problem. What can a biker on the run, occasionally going outside the law, living on cash and trying to leave no imprint, give to a girl like her?
She’s the entire package. Brains. Looks. Tough. Self-confident. Funny. Kind.
As much as I dream of her being mine, fuck all if I honestly know what I would do with her once I got her.
Since it’s three am and I can’t sleep, I shake away the near constant barrage of thoughts about her today at the grocery and grab my overfull laundry bag as I head out the door, strapping it to my bike and riding the half mile down the road to the twenty-four hour laundromat. I’m renovating the garage at my place, which contained the washer and dryer, so for the last couple months it’s been coin-op for me.
I like coming here in the middle of the night. There’s usually no one else around, so you get your choice of machines and I’m fucking picky about which ones I use. I always run my first load of whites through the same machine, making sure there’s enough bleach to kill any lingering whatever from anyone that may have used the machine since I was here last.
I’m sort of obsessively clean. Everyone at the club busts my chops about it. I never wear the same clothes two days in a row, even if it’s hard to tell because my wardrobe consists mainly of white t-shirts and Levi’s 505’s.
I’m a button-fly kind of guy.
I get my first load going and take a seat on the floor next to the washing machine, leaning against the cool metal as it shakes and lurches. The buzzing fluorescent lights above aren’t soothing but they are fucking bright enough for reading, so as usual I’ve brought a book. I’m about three quarters of the way through Pride & Prejudice, my mother’s favorite.
She read it to me the first time when I was probably ten and I groaned and complained every night. I’ve read it a couple times since, because it makes me feel close to her when we are so far apart. Fucking Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth can’t get the fuck out of their own way to make things happen.
My mother was a high school English teacher, and from as far back as I could remember, she always read to me. And not kids’ books, either, we’re talking classics. Adventures and angst. Love and betrayal. I’d battle with her to read me what I wanted—fun, kid stuff—but she always told me I was better than that.
If she could see me now, not sure she would still agree.
My father was a working guy and always said he married above his pay grade with my mom. He was crazy for her, and she was for him, even though their beginning was hard. She was from the other side of the tracks, the rich side as they say, and got pregnant with me when she was just seventeen.
Her family disowned her when she and my dad ran away and got married. I’ve never met them, and they never spoke to her again. The hatred I had for how they treated her was a ball of fire in my belly from when I was old enough to understand what happened.