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She gasps and stops swinging her arms, changing tactics. Instead she falls limp over my shoulder as if her dead weight would be too much for me. She’s delusional. It’s cute though, how she thinks she can win this argument.
Pushing the door from the kitchen open, I walk into the main bar area. Looking over at Rico and Cole who have busied themselves with replacing the kegs, I nod my head.
“She’s taking a sick night.”
“The fuck I am.”
Both men look at me, too stunned to speak.
“Cramps or some shit. She’ll be back for her next shift.”
Kicking the doors of the bar open, I walk down the alley and through the parking lot, carrying her to my bike. I have much bigger fish to fry than this weasel of a fiancé of hers, so we are taking care of this issue right now. She’s fucking dense if she thinks I’m just going to let her disappear.
Running both hands up her back, I lower her to her feet next to my bike. Grunting she stomps one foot and turns to leave when I grip her hand in mine.
“Uh, uh red. Get on the fucking bike.”
She looks at me, looks at the bike, and looks back at me again.
“Where are we going?”
“My place.”
“No.”
Grabbing my helmet from my bike, I shove it at her chest, and she uncrosses her arms, gripping it before it falls to the ground.
“That piece of shit signed his death warrant when he put his hands on you, and I don’t have time for body cleanup tonight Spencer. Get on the fucking bike, you’re coming home with me.”
“Why won’t you just call me Aria?” she sighs, pulling the helmet down over her head.
“Because it’s not your fucking name.”
“It is now.”
Swinging one leg over my bike, I turn it on and rev the engine ignoring her ridiculous statement, “Get on.”
She swings one leg over the back of my bike and sits behind me, but the distance between us feels as wide as the grand canyon, so I reach behind me, gripping her thighs and pulling her up against me. Any closer and we would be one.
“Hold on baby.”
Snaking her hands around my waist, she slides her fingers beneath my t-shirt, tracing lines over my abdominal muscles with her fingertips. As I kick the stand up, I take off, peeling out into the night. Her fingers grip my flesh hard and she squeezes around me tighter. She digs so deep, I feel her fingernails piercing my skin. She holds on like her life depends on it.
She holds on like I’m the one who’s going to slip away.
Me: Change of plans. Something came up. Find out what the fucker has to do with Grant Maddox.
Riot: You expect ME to get information outta this dude?
Me: Time to put on your big boy pants.
Riot: I don’t think he’s going to give me any information.
Me: Get creative with the torture cabinet. Just don’t kill him unless we have everything we need.
Me: And I do mean everything.
Riot: I’ll give it my best shot.