He can’t be serious. I blink up at him a couple of times making sure I heard his alpha chest-thumping demand correctly. “The hell I am.” I keep my tone even, but firm. Yay me! Because what I really want to do is chuck this heavy book in my hands at his head.
I hold back a snort. I’d probably have a shit ton of bikers on my ass if I hurt their precious president.
I round the counter and start picking up one book and then another. I slam each of them down on the counter and glare at him. Who the hell does he think he is?
He’s on my ass and practically breathing down my neck. His cologne warps my senses. “Yes, you are. You can slam all the shit you want, but you are coming to the compound where I can keep you safe. No argument.”
“Brute. Fucking. Animal. No,” I hurl at him and continue keeping my hands busy so I don’t wrap them around his neck.
I think I surprise him because for a second the only sound I hear is the rain on the pavement outside my broken window.
“Why are you even here?” Irrational rage rolls through me like untamed fire. I feel an uncontrollable amount of anger and frustration dig into my muscles and knot them from the inside out. Not only because Reaper shattered my front window but because this is exactly what I didn’t want. Bikers ruining the life I am working so hard to build for myself.
Reaper bends, gathers a few books, and hands them over going in for more.
“I’ve got that.” I jerk the Lord of The Rings from his hand and shoot daggers at him in return for the help.
My chin is in his hand and his lips are on mine the second I take the book from him.
He softens his touch and caresses the pads of his fingers across my cheeks. The move momentarily soothes my ruffled feathers.
“You can’t be riding in here and saving me every time I get in trouble, Reaper. I don’t need a knight.”
He softens his voice to a husked whisper. “No, you need me.”
Before I can tell him hell no revving bike motors cut off my smart remark. Probably for the better, too. I angle my head toward the front to see a truck pull up behind the bikes.
“What do they plan on doing?” I ask over my shoulder. Men bail from the back and surround the store, hammers, and boards in hand. Others climb off their bikes looking mean. Hearing the news of a Chaos Rider getting through their defenses probably rubs their egos the wrong way.
Reaper passes me and joins his men.
I can’t tell what he’s saying, club business most likely, but a few minutes later he’s back inside and the hammering starts.
“They are going to cover the window for now.”
For now? Meaning there is more to come. “I’m not here to start some freaking war. Or land in the middle of a turf war. Been there, done that. Not going back to that kind of hell ever again,” I huff, dropping my hands to my sides. It’s better than slapping that passive arrogance off his face.
He doesn’t respond for a long moment. I think he’s shocked to hear I don’t come from some hippy family out west with my flowing skirts and easy-going vibe.
His expression turns pensive and his lips are white from him pressing them into a thin line. He has questions, I can see it clearly on his face. But instead of asking them, he says, “They will stand guard over that front door until I give the order they can stand down.”
In other words, he doesn’t care what I say. He’s going to do this his way.
He prowls across the front of my bookstore and suddenly I feel a lot like a rabbit being hunted by a wolf.
I take a step back. Then another.
“Huh, is that so?” I purse my lips and consider my admittedly limited options, not feeling as bold as before.
His smirk turns animalistic. “It is.”
The husk in his voice dips to shiver-inducing levels.
I take another in the opposite direction. “What if I say no?”
The enormity of the moment crashes over me. I run and he’ll give chase and when he catches me then what?
“You can try. They won’t listen. The Sinners only take orders from their president.” It’s small, almost unnoticeable but the slight shrug of indifference grates against my nerves.
Arrogant prick. I’m walking in circles, aiming for the front door.
“I don’t need you or your crew.”
“Hey, prez, don’t mean to interrupt. Rock sent me. Said you need me to do somethin’?”
Standing in what feels like the Bermuda triangle of situations precariously hovering over the edge of an unseen abyss, the Sinner to my right looks expectant at the man to my left.
“Patriot, good man. I need you at the door. Rock will explain what’s gone down. Keep your phone on you and stay dialed in with your VP. If you see any Chaos Rider or suspicious activity let us know.”
Shaggy hair falls over a smooth forehead as the young man maybe a year or two older than me nods. “You got it, Prez.” Hard eyes turn to me. He doesn’t look like he’s been in the biker life long. The scent of new clings to him. But there’s a color of darkness that hangs around his aura I’ve grown to associate with a hard life growing up.
I hold a hand up when he starts to walk away. “Wait. You don’t have to do that. Truly. It’s not necessary. The sheriff rides by often and he checks in.” I throw a wide-eyed look at an unmoving Reaper. “Tell him. I’m serious. I don’t need this or you.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, that old-timer is always lookin’ for a way to shut us down. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t take orders from you.”
Blunt.
Okay then.
I whirl on the ball of my foot just in time to be thrown over a massive shoulder.
“Liam Black!” I scream and pound my fists into his muscled back. The front door closes behind Patriot and I am left to defend myself once again.
Good thing I have some fight left in me.
