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Holly
“Kobra!” I shouted for my brother’s attention across the lot. Textbooks were weighing me down. My first semester at university and I was drowning under the workload. Adjusting the strap of the bag, which was filled with print offs, I could see Kobra wasn’t leaving the conversation he was having with a club girl, so I picked up the textbooks from the picnic table, dropped one, and bent over to pick it up. As I did, the bag with my papers slipped down my shoulder to the ground and broke open. I had spent two long hours printing them all off, and now my printouts were spread across the greasy concrete.
Groaning, I put the textbooks down and started collecting the course work. This wouldn’t have happened if I had done two loads from the car. But no, me saving time, I forced myself to carry at least ten kilograms of books and a bag weighing the same as a cannonball.
I sat on my knees, my feet stinging with pain, reminding me I had just spent the last five hours on them without sitting down or resting. Now I was on the ground, and I didn’t want to get up. Looking around at the scattered paperwork, I guess I was getting my wish.
As I continued to collect the paperwork, I felt someone kneel beside me. That was when I caught a glimpse of a tattooed hand, helping with the mess.
“Took your time, as usual. I swear to God, you are never there when I need you.” I huffed, still trying to collect the ruined papers. I took my anger out on my brother like it was all his fault.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think we’ve met.”
My head snapped to the side when I heard that deep rough voice. It wasn’t my brother’s voice, that’s for sure. It was then that I look up and my body flooded with a reaction I wasn’t expecting nor was I used to, but one look into his smouldering deep ash-grey eyes, and I was pulled in. His shirt was low cut, showing off his desirable muscles, but it was his tattoos that struck me. I was used to muscular tattooed men. I mean, I grew up around them. But I wasn’t used to this type of man.
One look at his tattoos and I knew they were created by an artist, not a backyard wannabe tattoo person or his cellmate who had made a tattoo gun. No. This man’s tattoos were beautifully finished pieces of art. Whoever did them knew what they were doing.
Now bikers, they all had this sex appeal based on being “rough” around the edges. This man, if he weren’t wearing a club cut, I would have bet he had just left a photoshoot. He had those player looks, not the rough looks.
This led me to one conclusion—he was new.
“Sorry,” I finally bit out. “I thought you were—”
“Yeah, man, clearly.” He smirked at me, and it was mind-blowing. Like, I couldn’t think a clear sentence in my head. I couldn’t even correct him. It was as if I were meeting Machine Gun Kelly—that was how awe-struck I was.
He frowned for a moment. “Thought universities did their course work online now,” he said. He was watching, his stunning gaze still locked on me.
“They do. I just like hard copies.” My voice came out strained. That was when I saw movement over his shoulder, and I saw my dad storming towards us.
This boy allowed his gaze to roam over me, but when he looked me in the eyes again, I swear something inside me melted. And I didn’t even know that was possible.
“I know you’ve got a boyfriend, but you can have my number if you like?” His eyes stayed locked with mine, but it was his smirk that seemed to do wild things to me. “You know, in case you are ready to upgrade to a real relationship.”
I couldn’t stop the smile, mainly because my dad was standing behind him with the look that would match the expression of wrath on one of the four horsemen’s face.
“Ain’t no way my daughter is ending up in your bed, prospect.” Dad harshly growled down at him, and he didn’t even glance back to address Dad.
His eyes did widen slightly, though, when he heard Dad’s growl.
“Hade’s daughter?” he said, looking directly at me.
I just nodded my head with a wide smile.
He cursed under his breath, running a hand over his head before looking back at me.
“My luck, but fuck, you’d be worth the death wish.” He then winked at me, and I don’t think he was surprised when Dad threw the wrench that he had been holding at him.
I giggled, and that was what sparked my dad to go from mad to furious.
“Fuck off now, Creed, before I make sure you never wear a rocker.” Dad roared and Creed, being the expected biker, clearly had an ego because he winked at me again, not even caring that Dad would be making his life harder by even speaking to me.
I liked to think I was immune to bikers—their charm, alpha tendencies, and those tattoos. I was sixteen when my sister, Ivy, declared at the family table that there was something wrong with me because I didn’t have a crush on any of Dad’s members. Ivy fell head over heels in love with one of Dad’s men, Taron, when she was fourteen. Long story short—he left to another table. It wasn’t Dad’s influence, either. Hell, Dad didn’t know about Ivy’s crush, nor did he know that Ivy started fucking him on her sixteenth birthday. They didn’t end up keeping the relationship behind Dad’s back, either. Nope, they went public.
It was within a year of going public that Taron decided a relationship wasn’t for him. He ended things just before he patched to another table.
So I turned sixteen and still hadn’t fallen for one of Dad’s men, so Ivy thought I was an alien on this point.
To be honest, not one biker interested me.
