Page 8 of Property of Kevlar

“Hand on my shoulder and climb on like it’s a bicycle.” He turned to face straight ahead and kept ahold of the grips of the handlebars. “Put your arms around me and hold on tight. All I ask is that you lean with me. If you fight it, we’re both going to wipe out. I haven’t laid a bike down since I got hair on my balls. I don’t want to start now.”

Swallowing hard, she nodded vigorously, not sure what she had just agreed to. All she knew was she was out of options. Doing her best to cover herself with one arm, she followed the directions and mounted the bike.

It was a hell of a lot thicker than any bicycle she had ever ridden. As she lowered herself onto the seat, her knees bracketed his hips. There wasn’t much in the way of space, so her front pressed against his back, covering the Royal Bastards curved patch atop a bearded skull wearing a crown, with wings and motorcycles on either side. It scratched her unintentionally bare skin.

The warmth of his hand on her thigh startled her. She tensed and dug her fingers into him.

Turning his head, he met her gaze. “Around my waist, Kitten. I don’t want you to fall off.”

Kitten? Her cheeks flared in a blush. He called her Kitten. Kitten was such a soft term of endearment for a grungy brute of a man to use.

Why did she like it?

Before she could think too much about it, the roar of the motorcycle’s engine rattled beneath her. Every cell in her body vibrated, and she squeezed him tighter.

Holy fucking shit.

She might as well be sitting on a damn Hitachi. Instantly, Kelsey understood the appeal of riding on the back of a motorcycle with a bulky, badass Adonis driving. Maybe Carrie was onto something.

“Where are we headed?” he asked in a deep baritone that stroked her soul.

Curling her toes within her shoes, she did her best to concentrate on speaking and not the sensations zinging through her as she relayed her address to her steel horse-riding knight in leather armor.

5

Kevlar

Kid would give him hell for this. But what choice did Kevlar have? How else were they going to get this chick home? Did Kid really think some Uber driver wouldn’t take advantage of her in that state? This was the only choice they had.

Though Kid would argue she wasn’t their problem. He’d be right. She wasn’t directly, but this was their new turf. They had to stand up and set expectations.

When she ran into Kevlar’s arms, they’d been forced to intervene. His response to her didn’t mean they had to do anything other than run off the Bloody Scorpion. This was above and beyond what was necessary. Putting this woman on the back of Kevlar’s bike was fucked up.

That seat wasn’t for any random lady. The position was solely reserved for an old lady—something Kevlar didn’t have. He didn’t know this woman. So, she couldn’t be his. He wasn’t against them. His mother had been fine enough as one, but there was always a lot of drama with women.

He’d been trusted with establishing a new chapter of the Royal Bastards. His head had to be squarely in the game. Especially since he didn’t have to only contend with the local riffraff, but the Bloody Scorpions as well.

His situation would not be easy. He couldn’t afford any distractions. He didn’t care how curvy they were or how her swollen, pouty lips begged to be taken. The fact that her soft body melted against him as he turned out of the parking lot was inconsequential. She was an excellent backpack—almost like she was made for the position.

None of that mattered.

He couldn’t focus on how amazing she felt. She was a complete stranger. A woman in trouble. They were a dime a dozen. He’d helped her out. So what? They wouldn’t even see each other after this. Tonight was a onetime thing.

Absentmindedly, as they rode, Kevlar ran his hand back and forth over the smooth flesh of her thick thigh with his left hand. The sensation of her legs around him, squeezing now and then, had given him a slight chubby.

Having a woman on the back of his bike was a first for him, but he shouldn’t get too comfortable. This was a one-and-done situation. There was already enough on his plate. Woman drama was the last thing he needed. Especially one who had a tendency to go to biker bars and get groped by a Bloody Scorpion.

A flash of rage flared in his chest. His eye twitched. That douche canoe had touched her. Kevlar gritted his teeth, wanting to spit the image out of his head. That cock knocker had no business putting his hands on—he cut that line of thinking right off.

Apparently, she’d had a lovers’ spat or a bad date. This was none of his business. Kevlar was a Good Samaritan for once. He had to leave it there. When he dropped her off, that would be the end of their interaction.

He didn’t even know her name. Hadn’t told her his either. Sure, she read the patch on his leather vest, but that didn’t count. No one would name their kid that. This was just an act of kindness from an anonymous man who had a tendency to pluck the eyes out of people for looking at him the wrong way. Totally normal.

Far too soon, he made a left into the parking lot of an apartment complex.

Kevlar scanned the numbers on the doors until he spotted the one he sought. A spot wasn’t available directly in front of it, so he pulled in a few spaces down. Kid continued on a bit, turned around, and paused behind him—waiting.

Time had come to say goodbye. Kevlar’s back would be chillier when she left. Nothing that he wasn’t accustomed to. He’d get over it. There were bigger fish to fry than a cold rear.