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It was usually a prospect’s job to play lookout and watch the bikes, but Mike was getting up there in years. He preferred to sit his arthritic ass down outside the door and keep watch with a joint in one hand when there was business to settle in here. Pretty soon, he wouldn’t be able to ride anymore, and it was going to be a sad day in hell when that man had to turn in his patch.
Mike opened the door, and Greta Agossi walked in. High heels, fitted jeans. Five feet, nine inches of crazy with killer curves. And when I say “killer”, I mean it. Pretty sure that girl ate men who pissed her off for breakfast.
She headed straight for me, looking over our fish on a hook. When she got to our fish’s eyes, she smiled.
“I bet you’re regretting pissing off this guy,” she said, nodding in my direction.
Suddenly, there was far too much crazy in the room. Between her and me, I had a feeling there was enough to fill up the loony bin, twice over.
“Is there something I can do for you, darling?” I asked, more than ready to get her back out of here quick.
She nodded. “I was hoping we could talk privately, but since it looks like you’re about finished,” she said, turning back to Liam, her eyes assessing. “Do you think we could meet at your bar in an hour or so?”
“I’ll be there.” Even if I’d rather dance on hot coals while watching someone strip my Harley for parts.
“Great,” she said, smiling way too happily.
Every eye followed her as she headed toward the door, but she paused there and turned back around. “What did he do?” she asked, “if you don’t mind me asking?”
“He put his hands on Tate’s old lady,” I said, nodding to Tate. “Roughed her up pretty bad.”
She looked over the guy again, eyes narrowed, shaking her head.
Was that pity in her eyes?
Hot and crazy or not, if she asked me to stop, that was stepping over bounds.
“Hurt him good, Brute,” she said, winking at me and then disappearing out the door.
Long after the door closed behind her, my men were still staring like she might walk back in any second. Hell, I think Dynamite was even drooling.
“You heard her, boys. Hurt him good,” I said, stepping back and letting them finish Liam off.
Suddenly, I had less interest in beating the shit out of Liam and more interest in wringing Gabe Costa’s neck.
***
When I walked into the bar a little more than an hour later, I didn’t have to go looking for the crazy blonde.
All I had to do was follow the gaze of most of the men in the place.
She was sitting at the bar with a glass of amber liquid in one hand, talking animatedly with Colt, the bartender, who seemed to have forgotten it was his job to serve drinks. Apparently, his new responsibilities were limited to topping up Greta’s glass and staring avidly at her tits.
Not that the men here seemed to mind. They were too busy drooling to drink.
I heaved a mental sigh. Not only was the girl crazy, but she was bad for business.
Like she sensed me glaring at her, she swung around on her stool and smiled.
She had an incredible smile, or maybe it was her lips. The kind of lips that would look great wrapped around my cock—not that it was ever going to happen.
“Hey there, stranger,” she said. She hopped off the stool, much to Colt’s disappointment.
Little did he know, I was doing him a favor. Colt was a country boy who’d moved to the city a year ago and shacked up with a nice girl from upstate. No way in hell was he prepared for the kind of girl who flew in and out like a tornado. Didn’t think his girlfriend would like it much either.
“You’re wandering kind of far from home, aren’t you, darling?” I asked, hoping to get this show on the road and the tornado out the door.
She shrugged. “What can I say? I love to go exploring.”
