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She gasped, the move nearly toppling her over. Just as Rocket was about to break his rule and scoop her up, she grabbed the seat of his bike for support. “What?” she whispered. “No. I want him found. I want him in jail for what he did to me. He-he’s a monster.”
The urge to stare her straight in the eye was almost too much to ignore, but he managed to keep the face shield in place. “He’ll pay, Chloe. I personally promise you; the man will pay in ways you can’t even imagine. Might take us some time, but we’ll get him, and we’ll destroy him. Can’t do that if the cops are sniffing around my club. You can’t talk to a therapist either. No one can know what happened. Lives depend on it. Are you going to be able to keep this to yourself?”
Sugar coating, being warm and fuzzy, all that shit wasn’t his style. Straight and to the point. No bullshit. That was him.
Chloe stared at his face mask and even though she couldn’t find his eyes, he swore she gazed straight through them and into his soul. So many emotions flittered across her face before she finally gave him a single nod. “I can do that. Y-you’ll get him?”
Rocket threw his leg over his bike. “I’ll get him.”
“Okay.” Chloe stepped close and lifted her leg with a flinch Rocket tried and failed to ignore. A soft whimper left her as she settled on the bike.
Maybe he’d deliver Lefty’s dick to her, let her toss it in her fireplace. Seemed fitting payback for what he’d done to Chloe.
“You good?” he asked when he felt her arm close around his waist.
There was that disbelieving laugh again. “Fuck no, I’m not good. But I’m on the bike, so get me the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER ONE
WHAT THE HELL was the infuriating woman doing?
Two months of this bullshit, and Rocket still didn’t understand what the fuck her deal was. He wasn’t a man that appreciated unanswered questions. He tended to dig and dig until he uncovered what he wanted to know. That tenacity was a part of his personality and it had served him well in the past, but sent puzzles like Chloe to obsession level.
“What’ll it be, man?” the bartender asked. Rocket spared him a quick glance. This lounge had one man and one woman working the highly-trafficked bar. Smart business move. A broad to subtly flaunt her tits and draw in the men, and a dude with the sleeves of his collared shirt rolled high enough to show his tatted and bulging forearms for the ladies. Rocket’s friend’s ol’ lady, Toni, had described the look as badass gentleman or some shit. Guys who dressed all proper and suave, but under the pricy threads were bad to the bone. Apparently, the look worked to get women’s motors revving. At least the women he knew.
According to Toni, when Rocket dressed up—which was usually rarer than a hot pink helmet on one of his bothers, he had much of the same look. Might explain the table of women currently eye-fucking him. With no choice but to blend in with the professional crowd, he’d slipped into some slacks, a tailored shirt, and a tie.
A fucking tie. Noose, more like it.
Enter the table of late-twenties women sending him come-fuck-me vibes. Whatever. While the release would be nice, they weren’t a part of his plans for the evening.
“Jack Daniels.” He held up two fingers, and the bartender nodded before turning to the bottle-loaded shelves.
Rocket’s attention strayed back to the woman who’d set up camp in his mind almost five months ago and had yet to leave.
Chloe Lane.
Five-foot-nine-inches of sex appeal wrapped in a curve-hugging purple dress. And damn, did that woman have curves. Instead of sleeves, the dress had thick straps and a low square neckline showing off her tits in the most appealing way. Every man in the bar got an eyeful of creamy white cleavage, but not too much of it. Classy, while still being erotic as fuck. But it was the color of the dress that had half the men in the room slobbering into their martinis. The deep purple made those green cat-eyes ten times more intoxicating than the overpriced liquor.
Like some kind of witch, she cast a spell over every man within a ten-foot radius, Rocket included. When the hell had he even noticed the color of a woman’s outfit, let alone what it did to her eyes?
The fact that she was currently conversing with a man didn’t seem to matter in the least to the other dogs in the room. Nor did the fact that many of them had dates or at least hook-ups of their own. No, all over the damn lounge, eyes strayed in her direction, fixating on those small but high and perky tits. Or maybe it was the short skirt riding up a pair of toned thighs that did it for them.
