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After Atlas and the team head out for the job, I head back inside to Opal. I find her sandwiched between Reaper and Flay, guarding her like faithful watchdogs. MC life can be dangerous. The crew never leaves an MC woman unattended. Even though their presence is there for protection, I hope they haven’t frightened her. They’re not exactly the warm and fuzzy type, and their gigantic size can intimidate anyone.
To my surprise, I find her engaging in conversation with my brothers. “Why are you called Flay?”
“My real name is Flayde Taylor—it’s English,” he explains. “But like most of the crew, my name has a double meaning. I was a medic in the Navy.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not following,” Opal admits. “What’s the double meaning?”
Don’t answer that!
Reaper chuckles. “Because he’s not afraid to slice and dice some bad guys.”
Opal’s eyes go wide.
“Alright, sharing time is over,” I interrupt hurriedly. Fuck, if the guys aren’t careful with what they say around her, she may flee before I get her out of the city. I lasso the air with my finger. “Let’s ride.”
Like some gentleman I’m not, I offer my hand to Opal, sighing with happiness when she puts her hand in mine. “You ride with me, Gorgeous.”
She peeks up at me through her pale lashes. “Only you?”
“Always,” I state evenly. There’s no way in hell I’m letting her get on the back of anyone else’s hog so long as I breathe. That honor is mine and mine alone.
CHAPTERELEVEN
OPAL
The nearly seven-hour drive to Fort Collins, Colorado, was the furthest I’d traveled from where I grew up in Utah. Gauge stopped every hour so the crew could rest. Triple, one of the other bikers, smiled, explaining Gauge was stopping more for me since I’m not used to riding on a motorcycle.
My heart flipped, and my backside was extremely grateful for Gauge’s thoughtfulness. There’s no way I could have made the trip going that long between breaks.
After Triple tipped me off, I paid attention to Gauge’s actions, noticing several sweet gestures during the journey. When I shivered from the cool fall air, he immediately pulled over, shrugged out of his leather coat, and helped me into it. His hand would often run up and down my calf, giving me a gentle squeeze to let me know he was thinking of me as we cruised along the highway. And every time we stopped, he made sure it was at a place where the woman’s restroom was clean and safe.
It seems reckless after just meeting yesterday, but I can’t help but feel like this man truly values me as a person. His eyes follow me everywhere, and if he isn’t holding my hand or has me at his back, then he’s so close I can feel his breath on my neck.
I’m walking a thin line where I can easily see myself falling hard for this handsome stranger. I didn’t even bat an eye this morning when he offered to make love to me—Me! The shy girl, afraid of every shadow, was willing to give her virginity to a man she barely knew. He was so gentle, treating me like spun glass. The attention he gave my body pales compared to the effect he was having on my heart.
This thing between us is more than physical. We had a connection from the moment I laid eyes on him. And every second I spend with him, our connection pulls us closer together, sewing my heart to his with unbreakable thread.
I’m struggling to keep my eyes open when we pull off the highway into an older neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses. Gauge pulls into a driveway of a small ranch, his brothers parking behind him.
Gauge cuts the engine on his bike. He looks over his shoulder at me with a crooked grin. “Welcome home, Opal. It’s not much, but it does the job. The rental is our temporary headquarters ‘till Atlas builds our permanent home.”
“It’s—” I’m at a loss for words and I don’t want to seem rude, “—cozy.”
My biker hero barks a hearty laugh, throwing his head back like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “You’re too precious.”
As Gauge helps me out of my helmet, three seductively dressed women exit the house, sauntering up to the bikers.
A leggy redhead makes a beeline for Reaper. His smile couldn’t be brighter if it was the sun.
A raven-haired woman with curves to die for greets all the men with a, “Hola, chicos.” She saddles up to Punk, nudging him in the side playfully.
He throws a lean, tatted arm around her. “Hey, Ebony. You ready to party tonight?”
She beams. “Always.”
Nothing phases me after working at a strip club, but I don’t understand the dynamic these women have in the club or their purpose. Are they old ladies or members of the MC?
As I’m caught up in my thoughts, a vixen with bubblegum pink hair approaches Gauge. She leans into him, planting her hands firmly on his chest. “Welcome home, VP.”
