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He could charm the intelligent, successful older women as well. Ones who had been around the block a few times, who knew all the roads and where they led.
They still ate it up.
Personally, I liked my guys with darker hair and even darker souls.
But even I could admit he was hot.
And if he caught me in a vulnerable enough moment, I was sure I could fall for it all too.
My gaze slid around the bar, finding Crow and Detroit having a conversation over a few beers.
Riff and Raff, as usual, were nowhere to be found. The absent biker brothers. Always on the road.
I thought maybe Slash had found a chick to take to bed before I found him near the corner of the bar, watching a trio of pretty chicks whose sashes said they were part of a bachelorette party. The actual bride was part of Sway’s little posse of women.
He seemed to be struggling with his decision for a moment before making his way toward them.
One girl saw him, her face fell, then she’d nudged her friends, who all looked as well, before they all scurried away.
A sigh escaped me as I watched Slash nod his head, as if he knew they were going to spook and run off.
Then he turned, went back to the bar, and sat, shoulders down, back hunched, head down. Dejected.
I’d seen the same scene more than a few times back at The Bog which he and his men frequented.
It never stopped making my heart ache a bit for him, though.
Even if a part of me did understand how the women responded.
Slash was probably, objectively, the most outwardly intimidating man I had ever seen.
He was tall, dark-haired, with a short-ish, cultivated beard, and lots of ink. But it was the scars that scared everyone off.
There was one that split his left brow.
Another cut through his lips.
But the biggest of them, the one that likely gave him his road name, was long, wide, and deep, running from his temple, through his brow, over the bridge of his nose, narrowly missing his eye, and then down the other cheek before it disappeared off the edge of his jaw.
If, somehow, the woman could get past the scars, his voice was something like gargling rocks.
I, personally, thought it was sexy as hell.
But if you were on the edge of being scared of him already, the voice would probably push you right over, and send you running.
I wanted a night away from Shady Valley, and everything it represented for me, but I found myself moving through the bar, then sidling up beside Slash.
His body stiffened at someone sitting down beside him.
“They probably would have been boring lays anyway,” I told him as I motioned to the bartender to give Slash another round, and throw one in for me.
Slash’s head raised, his gaze sliding over my face.
“The fuck you doing here?” he asked, brows drawing low.
“I had to visit my somewhat crazy aunt,” I told him. “I figured I would stop here tonight for some fun.”
“Fun,” he repeated, grabbing his fresh drink with his hands that were tatted enough to almost completely hide the scars over them. “Then the fuck you doing talking to me?” he asked.
