Page 3 of Property of Kevlar

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, this was an opportunity for him to right all the wrongs. He could rebuild his father’s legacy. With his new club behind him, nothing could stop him.

It had been three years since he’d left, and the time had come to go home.

2

Kelsey Beistle

What had started as a double date turned into abandonment. Kelsey would strangle Carrie the next time she saw her best friend. She didn’t care how good the dick was; there was a code—never leave a sister behind. Yet there she sat, in the middle of a dive bar, opposite a man, Pete, who was all but a stranger to her, listening to a horrendous nineties rock cover band, while her friend got her freak on back home. Because why wouldn’t Carrie bring a guy back to her apartment an hour after they’d arrived?

Blowing out a breath, Kelsey lifted the pint glass and sipped at the warm beer she hadn’t ordered. She’d much prefer another cranberry and vodka, like she’d gotten for herself when she’d arrived, but her date hadn’t asked when he ordered the second round. Now she sat there while he droned on and on about… something. She hadn’t listened to the beginning of the conversation, the middle, or whatever part they were at now. Evidently, her participation in this interaction wasn’t required. Pete appeared perfectly content to pontificate uninterrupted. As soon as she got an opportunity, she’d excuse herself and get an Uber out of there.

She’d be polite. This guy was scary with his enormous diamond one percent charm dangling from his necklace. She’d been in Oklahoma City her entire life. She knew what that meant. Carrie might not, or if she did, she probably romanticized it.

Her best friend wanted to be the heroine in one of her dark romance novels in the worst way. More than once, Kelsey had to remind her that reality and fiction were polar opposites. It looked like they’d be having another conversation soon.

Kelsey flipped her phone over and glanced at the screen, hoping to see a check-in from Carrie.

Nothing.

She raised her eyebrows. “Oh shit,” she declared, cutting her date off mid-sentence.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Tapping the screen, she opened an old text conversation. “My co-worker, Tammy, she has Covid,” she lied.

He sighed in obvious disinterest.

“She’s supposed to do a wedding tomorrow,” Kelsey continued.

He arched a brow. “Do a wedding?” he repeated in confusion.

Jesus Christ. Had he listened to anything she said? Clearly, he hadn’t when she placed her own drink order, but he should’ve remembered what Kelsey did for a living.

“Yeah. I’m a makeup artist,” she said while pretending to feverishly return a message. “She’s asking me to cover for her. I could really use the money.” Kelsey reached for her purse and tucked her phone inside it. “It’s an early start. I’ll catch an Uber.”

He shook his head and hopped to his feet.

Oh fuck. Was he going to pretend he was some sort of chivalrous bastard? Both of them knew he wasn’t.

She stepped back, acutely aware that he towered over her. What was he, six-three? At five feet nine inches, Kelsey wasn’t a petite flower. Not to mention, this guy had a good thirty or so pounds on her and seemed to never miss a day at the gym.

She had to tread carefully here.

“No.” She patted his bicep.

Damn. It was hard as a rock. In another life, if he had any semblance of a personality, she might be able to look past that medallion around his neck, but alas, he was a prick.

Head in the game, Kelsey.

“Stay. Enjoy the band. I’m sure Mike and Carrie will be back soon.”

He snorted. “They’re at her apartment.”

How did he know that? Carrie had texted Kelsey. Had Mike, her friend’s boy toy, done the same?

His gravelly voice fit his rugged appearance. The ripped jeans, faded band T-shirt, and bushy beard. This man was the epitome of a badass biker.

She understood the appeal but knew reality. This wasn’t for her.