Page 4 of Magnum, Volume 1

She was already on the way to us when Bud turned to motion her to come, and I breathed in her scent to be certain she was human.

Turtles and wolves get different things from our sense of smell. We’re more susceptible to poisons and toxins, so we pick those up better, but wolves can sense other things better than us. A single sniff, however, left no doubt that this woman was human.

Had she fucked the wrong person and learned too much? It seemed the most likely, based on the tits fighting to escape a nearly soaked-through tiny shirt that ended long before the slim stomach began.

There had to be a reason why Bud wanted her to wait to tell her story, and I’d hold off on any decisions until I heard it, but I wasn’t inclined to want to jump on board just because she has a rack most men would worship.

- - - ❖ - - -

Storm

“Magnum, this is Storm. Storm, Magnum,” Bud said when I reached the men.

“Welcome,” Magnum told me, and I tried not to stare because up close, Magnum was beautiful in the most macho way possible. He also moved with a grace that reminded me more of the way a lion walks than a human. Heavy and light at the same time.

He wasn’t at all catlike, but he moved with the same kind of lethal fluidity one associates with feline apex predators.

But I’d come down to ask Bud a question, so I gave Magnum a friendly smile and asked Bud, “Can I get my toiletry duffel out of your bike? I don’t want my things to cook. Plus, I’d really like to change out of these jeans into shorts.” Because fuck, I might die of heat stroke if we didn’t go inside soon.

Bud handed me his keys, and I walked back to the bike to get my things. I wasn’t sure who the jeans belonged to, but they weren’t mine, so I decided to shimmy out of them and step into a pair of loose shorts. I kept the bike between me and the men, and no one could see me from the road. It seemed safe enough, and it let me put the jeans into the compartment my toiletry duffel had come out of.

Less than five minutes later, we were in an air-conditioned boathouse party room, complete with seating areas, a bar, and a kitchen — and two bathrooms.

“I keep the a/c at seventy-five when no one’s down here, feel free to crank it down,” Magnum told us. “Plenty of frozen party food in the freezer, but I don’t keep anything down here that’ll spoil. You’re welcome to heat anything up you find. Mad Dog’s on his way, and Squatch isn’t far behind. I figure thirty minutes. I’ll just run up and get a shower and get dressed.”

The southern accent was strong, but he was a good host. It upped my opinion of him a little, but mostly, my girly bits were still admiring the fuck out of this man who was sexier than anyone had a right to be, though the responsible parts of my brain were reminding me he was probably just as dangerous as the men who were after me. He hadn’t earned the money for this place by being nice — of that, I was certain.

I wanted to get down to business, to tell Magnum the problem and see his reactions, but Bud had been clear on not talking about why we were here until he started the conversation.

- - - ❖ - - -

Magnum

The first thing I did once I made it to the house was watch the security cam feeds of their arrival, and listened to what they said to each other once the bike was shut off. I trust Bud, but I don’t know this woman, and all information is valuable.

Unfortunately, they didn’t talk once he killed the engine, which means Bud had probably said everything to her through the helmet mics before they arrived.

I fast-forwarded through the action and then froze the feed and rewound when she stripped out of the jeans, because she was wearing a crimson G-string that disappeared in the crack of her ass, and she had the most spankable ass I’ve ever seen.

Fuck me.

If this bitch was going to live here, we’d have to bring Giggles or another sweetbutt out twice a day for me to empty a load into — because I can’t be fucking someone I’m protecting.

Probably not the best to bring other people to the property for opsec, but damn, it was going to be hard to avoid that ass and those tits without another outlet. Also, I hadn’t agreed to house her and protect her. It wasn’t a given. At all.

And what kind of a name was Storm? Fuck.

My instincts were to protect her, but I’d learned the hard way not to trust those particular instincts. But the club sticks together, and Bud is the Prez in Atlanta. Plus, I didn’t think he’d bring trouble to my door without a damned good reason, so I’d hear them out.

I was tempted to look her up online, see what kind of reporter she is, but depending on what she’d stumbled onto, a search might draw unwanted attention, so I didn’t.

I showered, pulled my hair back, and dressed in a pair of loose black swim trunks. My brothers like to tell me bikers don’t wear shorts, but some of us motherfucking-well do when it’s damned hot outside.

When I made it back to the boathouse, Storm had found my binoculars and was sitting near the French doors, her knees bent with her feet in the chair, her arms propped on her legs, looking off in the direction of the eagles’ nest.

“So much wildlife,” she said without lowering the binoculars. “I’ve seen red-tailed hawks, an osprey, and I followed an eagle back to what I’m pretty sure is the nest — and fuck, it’s huge.”

“I tried to show her a fox,” Bud said, “but it was too fast. Gone before I could point it out.”