Page 44 of Thug

Right, wrong, or otherwise, I’d never had a woman on the back of my bike. It wasn’t an “etched in stone” rule, I’d just never met a woman that I felt had any business on the back of my bike. It was an ongoing joke with the club.

She walked in my direction. “Okay. Fine Have it your way with the bike.” She stepped within inches of me. She folded her arms over her chest. “You can ride with me.”

I spit out a laugh. “I don’t ride in cars.”

Her face contorted. “Ever?”

“Ever.”

“So, it’s follow you, or nothing?”

“Yep.”

“If I’m going to follow you, I need you to do something for me,” she said flatly.

Her coercive tactics were back in full force. I smirked. “What’s that?”

She looked me dead in the eyes. “Kiss me.”

No different than allowing a woman on the back of my bike, I considered kissing to be taboo. Short of kissing my aunt on the cheek and a few drunken kisses in high school, I hadn’t kissed a woman. I damn sure hadn’t kissed one in the fifteen years that I’d been in the MC.

I was exhausted, hungry, and didn’t feel like arguing.

“C’mon, I’m starving,” she said, closing her eyes as she spoke. “Kiss me, already.”

She did have fantastic lips.

So, I did the unthinkable.

I kissed her like doing so was going to save me from myself.

13

Gray

Our night together was short, simple, and satisfying. I wouldn’t have guessed something like that would have ever happened. Not with Price McNealy. Then again, I wouldn’t have predicted the kiss, either.

I’ve never placed a tremendous amount of value in kisses. People claim the quality of a kiss can predict what a relationship might hold, or that a good kisser is sure to be fabulous in bed. The world I lived in was filled with men who could curl my toes with a kiss yet couldn’t keep my interest in bed long enough to perform the act. Conversely, there were a few men who left me speechless in bed and kissed with the precision of a Saint Bernard puppy.

Price’s kiss was difficult to categorize. It had been twelve hours since our embrace, yet the kiss remained in the forefront of my thoughts. How it earned that top spot was somewhat of a mystery.

It was aggressive, but not overly so. Although I would categorize it as a sensual kiss, it wasn’t one that filled me with the irresistible desire to proceed with sex. In the end, it left me confused and wanting more. I knew better than to ask. When—and if—the time was right, he’d kiss me again.

We talked over street tacos that were small in size and big on flavor. Surprisingly, Price’s drink of choice to accompany the food was Coca-Cola. He swore the restaurant’s product—which was bottled in Mexico—was different than American Coke. Eventually, I succumbed to his desire to have me try it. Just as he claimed, the drink was the perfect match for the restaurant’s specialty, tacos al pastor.

I let Price decide the topic of our discussions. Food and music appeared to be his limitations. He was a private person, so I didn’t pry with questions regarding his life’s accomplishments, desires, or goals. At least not yet.

The night was a brief glimpse into the life of a man who hid behind an expertly crafted mask. I wasn’t certain what lied beneath it, but I was willing to devote the time needed to find out.

Obsessed with the idea of eventually peeling away Price’s disguise, I stared blankly at the bar’s demolished kitchen.

“It’ll be easier if we do it this way,” Panzer assured me. “Believe me.”

The shocked look plastered on my face was impossible to hide. “I’m not doubting you,” I said, surveying the room with wide eyes. “It’s just…”

The kitchen had been stripped of everything. The floor was bare, the wall studs were exposed, and the false ceiling was in a pile outside the open back door. Two men were sweeping the floor. The airborne dust made it difficult to breathe.

“This isn’t going to be too expensive?” I asked. “More than you were thinking?”