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Chapter Two
Jessie
"Whoa," I whisper, pulling onto the Diamond Kings' ranch just as the sun begins to sink toward the horizon. I hit the brake and shield my eyes, gaping at the shirtless brother working out in front of one of the old cabins. Massive ropes, each bigger around than my upper arm, coils around each hand. They're attached to large metal rings welded into pieces of cement. The cement has been embedded deeply into the ground right up against the cabin.
He quickly works each rope in an impressively controlled, rapid motion, the muscles in his upper arms and back rippling and coiling with the movement. Sweat runs in rivulets down his golden skin, glistening in the dying light. His long hair is caught up on top of his head, drenched in sweat, his green eyes blazing with ferocious intensity. He looks like a warrior, all brawny muscle and sheer power.
Fitting in a place like this, I suppose. Most of my brother's MC brothers were in the military at one time or another. They fought and bled for this country before they found themselves on the wrong side of the law. Now, they do things Risk thinks I don't know about. I may be young, but I'm not stupid. I know what motorcycle clubs do. The details of the Diamond Kings' operations may be murky, but I get the gist of it. They're outlaws, one-percenters. That doesn't mean paragons of virtue or pillars of society.
But I also know the kind of men these guys are. Good people do bad things. That doesn't make them bad people. Bad people do good things. It doesn't make them good people. Sometimes, people are just people. Like Risk. He's a good man living an unconventional life.
I'm pretty sure this man is Hercules. Or maybe Hades. As in hot as.
I giggle at my own dumb joke, staring unabashedly as he releases the ropes and immediately shifts into a set of burpees. He moves like a machine, his body flowing from one position to the next as if he's done them a thousand times before. With a body like his, he probably has.
If this is the kind of commitment it takes to build muscle mass, I'm going to be short and chubby for the rest of my life because immediately no. I'm tired just watching him. And oddly…turned on. Is that normal? Is this why women get cute and go to the gym?
I avoid the place like the plague, but if the men there look like him, I see the appeal.
I make a mental note to ask my best friend, Emma. She knows more about this kind of thing than I do. Men are always hitting on her. She turns them all down, but it never stops them from asking. Risk would blow a gasket if I dated. Actually, Risk blows a gasket anytime he even thinks about me dating. For a biker, he's awful dramatic. He's overprotective and ridiculous. It drives me crazy! I'm nineteen, and I've never been kissed. He scares away any and everyone who even looks in my direction.
Which is exactly why I'm here now. We agreed to talk about him easing up over my next break, but enough is enough already! He's been tracking my phone. I went to a party the night before last. I wasn't even there an hour, and he called me, flipping out because I was on fraternity row instead of in my own dorm.
I went first thing yesterday and bought a new phone on my own plan. He can't track it if he doesn't control it. I love him to death, but I'm never going to find my own way in life if he can't get out of my way and let me. It's time he realizes that his baby sister is grown up, so we're talking today, not in a few weeks.
"Crap," I mutter, turning the engine off when Workout Warrior suddenly stops mid-pushup and bounds to his feet. His piercing green eyes tangle with mine, his upper lip curling back from his teeth in a snarl. My stomach clenches, my thighs slamming together on instinct as my clit throbs. Holy smokes. He's like a wild animal, completely ferocious and untamed. There's something dangerous about him, something unsettled. I see it lurking in his eyes as they sweep over me.
Who is he?
I climb from my Charger on shaking legs to go find out.
He charges in my direction like a bull, meeting me halfway across the gravel driveway. "You don't belong here," he growls, his low voice kicking up another heatwave in my stomach.
Great. Risk probably floats my picture around to all the new guys and tells them to send me on my way if they see me. Well, I have bad news for him, but I'm not leaving.
"Says who?" I demand, planting my hands on my hips and tipping my head back to glare up at him. He's tall, his broad shoulders blocking out the dying sun.
"Me." He looms over me, way too hot to be real. Way too sexy to be threatening. Or maybe I'm just too pissed to have a good sense of self-preservation. "If you think you're going in there to offer yourself up like pussy on a platter, think again, baby."
"I…you…" I splutter in shock. He thinks I want to be a club girl? I don't know if I want to laugh, kick him in the shin, or yell for Risk to come and kick his ass for me. I settle on handling him myself. "Listen here, you overgrown jerk," I growl, poking him in his stupid-hard chest with my purple nail. He grabs for my hand, but I yank it back before he can touch me. "I don't know who you think you are, but I'm here to see my brother, baby."
"Shit." His mouth compresses into a grim line.
"Yeah, shit." I cross my arms to glare at him. "Now, would you kindly move out of my way?"
He doesn't move. Instead, his eyes climb all over me. I shift my arms up higher, trying to hide my hard nipples from his gaze. His stare lingers on my chest for a minute anyway as if he knows they're hard enough to classify as diamonds. And then those wild eyes skate down the rest of my body, taking in my jeans and peep-toe heels. They come back to my face slowly.
"You're Risk's sister," he says finally.
Risk and I share the same blonde hair and aqua eyes. The similarities end there. My brother is tall and muscular with tattoos and a perpetual tan. My friends all think he's hot. Gag me. I got my mom's height and coloring. I'm barely five-two. Five minutes in the sun, and I turn red…only to promptly turn the same shade of pale ivory I've always been once the burn fades. I'm not grumpy either. He is. All the time.
"And if you move, I won't tell him you basically called me a whore," I say, smiling sweetly. I'm not one to slut shame. What a woman does with her body is her own business, but I am so telling Risk. Maybe. Possibly. Okay, probably not. For some reason, I think I actually like this overgrown jerk. There's something about him that fascinates me. And Risk would flip about him thinking I was here to become a club girl.
Risk has always tried to keep me away from the club and club life. He says I'm too young, too innocent, too smart, yadda, yadda, yadda. The life is good enough for him, but it's not nearly good enough for me in his estimation. He trusts his brothers with his life, but he trusts no one with mine. He's always kept distance between me and the club. Rationally, I know he does it for my own well-being, but it's always stung a little. I feel like I only get half of my brother.
Try telling him that though. Risk does what Risk thinks is best.
"You aren't going in there," Workout Warrior growls.
