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“Not for having to put up with assholes,” he said, throwing me one last smile over his shoulder –
And a wink.
My heart skipped a beat.
And then he and his right-hand man were gone.
As they walked across the parking lot, the trucker scrabbled away from them across the asphalt like a rat afraid of a wolf.
I watched them go, waaaay more turned on than was appropriate.
“Damn, honey,” sassy 50-year-old Vera said at my elbow. “When life goes handin’ you chocolate, don’t go makin’ lemonade.”
I frowned at her. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, when Jack Pollari steps up like a white knight, don’t go throwin’ it back in his face.”
“Who the hell’s Jack Pollari?” I asked.
Another waitress named Rose shook her head as she walked past. “Dumb as a thumb.”
I scowled at the comment and looked back at Vera. “What was that all about?”
Vera sighed. “The guy who just stepped up for you was Jack Pollari.”
“So?”
Vera leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “So he’s probably the most powerful man in this town.”
I did a double-take at the two figures crossing the street. They were walking towards a parking lot and one-story building filled with mechanic’s bays. All around the parking lot was a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Not coincidentally, the sign out front said “Pollari’s Body Shop.”
“That guy?” I scoffed. “That guy’s a mechanic.”
Vera’s lowered voice dropped to a whisper. “That guy’s the head of the Midnight Riders motorcycle gang, and you’d be wise not to cross him.”
Holy shit.
Jackpot.
Fate – or maybe Ali, lending a helping hand – had put me in exactly the right place at the right time.
Now all I had to do was figure out how to use it to my advantage.
7
Jack
As Kade and I walked back from Charlie’s Diner, I couldn’t get that brunette out of my mind.
She’d been a hot little number. Tall, lithe, firm where it was good and soft where it was better. Great ass, better rack. Even her waitress uniform hadn’t been able to hide that.
Loved her hair. It looked long and thick, but she’d worn it pinned up on top of her head, exposing that gorgeous neck.
And her face… Jesus. Perfect. Beautiful grey eyes, long lashes, pouty lips. Minimal makeup, which is how I like ‘em. I see too many chicks – Seven Veils girls and the bimbos hanging out at the Roadhouse – tarted up like streetwalkers.
Sloane was like that. Wore her makeup like a battle mask.
Thank God I didn’t have to see it anymore. Or at least not often.
