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“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He flipped up the kickstand and rolled away from the bistro. Her hands lightly gripped his waist, and he clenched his jaw. Suddenly, having her directly behind him, tempting him all day, didn’t seem like such a stellar idea.
They drove slowly through town. He didn’t want to scare her off before they crossed city limits.
“You want to tell me what we’re looking for, or should I figure it out on my own?”
She asked when they stopped at a stoplight. He craned his neck to look at her. “The club’s been searching for somebody who betrayed us. One of the Cutthroat dolls thinks the guy is in Waverley.”
“Shovelhead?”
Brewer swiveled his torso completely, his eyes pinned to her. “How do you know about that?”
“Please,” she scoffed. “Everyone in Snowshoe knows what Shovelhead did.”
“Seriously?”
“No.” She laughed and pointed to the streetlight. “It’s green.”
Releasing his hand, Brewer let the motorcycle glide through the intersection. “How did you find out, then? Macha keeps club business pretty quiet.”
Delphi wrapped her arms around his waist as they picked up speed. “Because I used to date a Cutthroat,” she said over the engine’s hum.
* * *
The factthat he didn’t address her statement for the rest of the drive to Waverley gnawed at Brewer’s gut until he swore it was giving him an ulcer. If he heard her correctly, there was a very likely chance they’d crossed paths before her visit to the bar.But she said it was her first time there.
He shifted gears and hugged the curve of the mountain pass. Delphi’s grip around his waist tightened, sending shots of desire to his groin. Having a woman ride bitch meant something to him. He didn’t let any random girl hop on the back of his motorcycle.But Delphi isn’t somebody random.
The city of Waverley came into view on the horizon. He downshifted with his foot, and Delphi loosened her hold. He’d purposefully worn casual clothes, his Macha cut safely stowed away in his closet at the clubhouse. The last thing the club needed was trouble with the Greenback Cutthroats, the biker club in Waverley. They’d had their fair share of conflict with them in the last year. Rubble would kick his ass all the way to Thursday if he stirred up shit today.
“You ever come here?” he asked, rolling to a stop at a traffic light.
“Oh, yeah. It used to be my go-to place back in the day.”
The light turned green, and he swallowed his automatic response. The city was laid out similarly to Snowshoe, the buildings more antique than updated. Every few years, the two neighbors would get together for a community project. The mayors thought it’d keep the peace between the opposing clubs. The two played along, but the peace both cities craved wasn’t possible at the moment. The Cutthroats were weeks away from appointing a new president even though the FBI had infiltrated their trafficking ring. Macha stayed out of it. Unless provoked, they’d keep their distance, and vice versa.
Spotting the Cutthroats’ bar, Brewer pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine. It was too early for hardcore shenanigans, which meant it was the ideal time for him to snoop around under false pretenses. A meal with a sizzling hot chef fit the bill.
“Why are we stopping here?” She pulled off the helmet, eyes covered by sunglasses she must’ve snuck on somewhere between towns.
“Thought we could grab a bite to eat. Their breakfast burrito is delicious.” He unclicked his helmet and stowed them on the handlebars. “Plus, unlimited chips and dip is one of my favorite appetizers no matter the time of day.”
“Hmm, I guess I can handle that.” Delphi pushed up her sunglasses. “It’s almost lunchtime anyhow, and I only got a small bowl of cocoa cereal this morning since I had to do my hair.
“Which is cute, by the way. Curls are sexy.” He smirked. “Plus, anytime is a good time for food.”
“Agreed.” She walked around the bike and nodded. “So, you’re here to try and get intel about the Cutthroats on the down low.” She said it so matter-of-factly that he knew he couldn’t convince her otherwise.
“Yep.” They walked to the front door, and he held it open. “You hungry?”
“Always.”
The mariachi band over the speakers would have drowned out his immediate response to seeing her ass if he wasn’t already resisting the urge to comment on it. After finding a booth near the back, a waitress brought over two bowls, one filled with salsa and the other with homemade tortilla chips. Once she left, Brewer voiced the question that had been burning in his stomach since leaving Snowshoe.
“So, you dated a Cutthroat, huh?” He dipped a chip into the salsa and took a bite. “Want to go into more detail on that?”
She shrugged and broke a chip in half. “Not really, no.”
“Aw, come on, Delphi. You can’t drop a bombshell like that then act like it’s no big deal.”
