He turned and left, and she stood there watching out the front window as he straddled his bike and put his skull cap helmet on. And then there was that roar of life from his bike she could hear over the pounding bass of the music overhead.
“You got a thing for him or something?”
She turned and glared at Ziggy, who wore this goofy-ass smile on his face. “Fuck you. I have a boyfriend.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t look.” He winked and headed toward the front door to lock up.
No, it didn’t mean she couldn’t look, but the thoughts she had were totally inappropriate, so she told herself from that moment on she was going to put any and all thoughts concerning that big-ass biker out of her head.
2
Booshie took the winding backroads of Steel Corner, and although he should be focusing on the road, all he could think about was Naggie looking fine as hell back at the shop. He wasn’t ashamed to say just looking at her in that tank top that showed off her arms that were covered in ink, tattoos that were of flowers, skulls, and even birds thrown in the mix, gave him a hard-on that rivaled all others.
She was small, in stature and age compared to him, but she was hot as fuck. The problem was he knew she had a guy, had even asked Cadeon about her. But Booshie didn’t mess with taken women, because even if he could take on any guy if he really wanted something—and he really wanted Naggie—he wasn’t about to go there.
She wasn’t even what he normally went for, not with her pixie-cut blonde hair, thin frame, tattoos, and even the eyebrow piercing, but there was something about her that got his engine going. The bad thing was he had even jerked off to her. It was wrong and dirty on every damn level.
He had been seeing more of her due to Cadeon being with Stella and working more out of his shop, and Booshie had gotten this fixation on Naggie. Hell, he had even wanted her to give him some ink just so he could look at her more and talk to her. But he wasn’t a bastard, despite his club’s name, and would never overstep his bounds. Naggie seemed like a wild child with a fierce temper, but she was also honest and decent.
Booshie pulled into the driveway of the Vicious Bastards’ clubhouse. There were a few members hanging around right outside the front door. Little had one of the club pussy girls hanging off his arm, and Ranger, one of the original Vicious Bastards, was leaning against the brick wall smoking a cigar. Scars, the president of their MC, was on his cell a few feet away, and just by the way he paced, Booshie knew he was pissed.
He cut the engine, climbed off his bike, and removed his helmet. Tilting his chin in greeting toward Tank, the sergeant at arms and whose reputation matched his nickname, Booshie moved toward the rest of the guys. He kept his eyes on Scars, trying to gauge his president’s emotions. Shit was obviously going down, especially when he heard Scars raise his voice and throw out some choice words.
Little whistled out low when Booshie stopped in front of them. They were all now watching Scars, and when the president got off the phone and headed their way, there was a draft that followed in his wake.
“Hey, what’s up?” Booshie asked while getting a cigarette out of his cut. He really needed to quit smoking, but it was hard when everyone around him did it, and when the nicotine helped to calm him when he was feeling especially homicidal. Not literally, of course, but close enough when shit went down, or if he was sitting around bullshitting with the guys.
“That motherfucker over at O’Henry’s is trying to get out of paying their weekly dues. John said he doesn’t need our protection any longer, and that some other pricks are taking over that area.”
Booshie lit the end of the cigarette and inhaled deeply. “John doesn’t have anyone else, and there aren’t any other dumb assholes who would dare come onto our territory and try to collect on shit that isn’t theirs.”
“Yeah, John just knows those punk-ass bitches who started shit with him, and the ones we have been keeping in check have moved on and therefore aren’t a threat to his douche bar,” Tank said, but the hard tone in the biker’s voice was filled with menace.
Booshie thought about what Scars said and then looked at Little and Tank. “You want us to go over there and give him a little heart-to-heart?” He grinned around his smoke, and Little and Tank grunted in amusement beside him.
Scars sighed and turned to the side. It was still early enough in the day that the sun hadn’t set yet, and when the light slashed across the side of Scars’s face, his scar became even more prominent. It might have been twenty-plus years since he had gotten that scar, but the reasoning on how it happened and what he lost was still as fresh and painful as if it happened yesterday.
Scars might have been the one to bear the mark, but they were one big family, and when one member hurt, they all fucking did. Scars didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and neither did the rest of the guys. Their president got a joint out of the inside of his cut, lit the end, and stared at the mountains that were in the distance.
“That motherfucker has been coming up with excuses on why he doesn’t need our muscle anymore and why he wants to stop paying the fees,” Little said right before he spanked the club pussy on the ass and sent her on her way. “But when Tank starts cracking his knuckles and rolling his head around on his neck, that little prick John nearly pisses his pants.” Little started laughing and elbowed Tank in the chest, and the sergeant at arms grinned and nodded.
“Yeah, good fucking times, but John is either high as fuck or has something else set up if he thinks he isn’t going to pay us.”
John O’Henry was a second-generation Irish bar owner in Steel Corner. His old man came over from Ireland back in the day, started O’Henry’s, and the bar had been passed down to John and his younger brother, Stevie. But a year back, there had been a pansy-ass gang of college kids who had broken into John’s bar, trashed the place, and stole a bunch of shit.
The Vicious Bastards had set those fuckers straight who had vandalized the bar and helped John get his place up and running again, but in return, he would pay them a weekly fee to not only make sure no one messed with him again, but to also add some cash to the Bastards’ pockets. It had been going good for the last year, but now it looked like John was trying to get out of the deal just because the original threat was now gone.
“We did a lot for that asshole,” Tank said again. “Those pussy-ass punks may have left Reckless months ago, but we put a lot of money and muscle into helping John rebuild that place and making it known that he wasn’t to be touched.”
Scars sighed and inhaled from his joint. “It’s a damn shame.” He turned and looked at them, but he took two more hits before speaking again. “I liked John and his family, but we had an agreement that he’d keep the cash flowing. It isn’t like he’s hurting for money, since he gets a shitload of people coming in from River Run and Steel Corner that want the rare and imported beer and liquor he supplies.”
Scars took one more hit and then flicked the roach into the trashcan by the front door. He looked at the ground, and Booshie knew he was thinking of what to do. If it was up to him, Booshie would have gone over there right now and beaten the shit out of John for thinking he could screw them over.