Page 8 of Hot as Hell (Royal Bastards MC, Montreal, Canada #2)

Chapter Six

Surprised was the word of the moment. Surprised was an understatement.

Once Charlie relaxed behind him, Hemlock barely noticed the girl was there.

If her hands wouldn’t have been around his waist, he would’ve forgotten all about her being on the back.

If he hadn’t seen the fear in her eyes when she’d gotten on, he’d swear she’d lied about never riding before.

He’d ridden with a lot of girls at his back and every one of them had been a pain in his ass, except for the club girls or a family member of one of his brothers.

Not this chick, first time on one, and she was a natural.

She instinctively knew how to lean when he took curves, how to brace for shifting, and how not to pull back on him.

Backing into his driveway he surveyed his surroundings. His place was in a great neighborhood, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t be lurking. School was out for spring break, which meant kids would be searching for an easy way to make money.

Dropping the kickstand, he gave Charlie his hand to help her stay steady until both feet were on the pavement. Climbing off the bike, he grabbed her pack from the saddlebag and tossed in the spare helmet she’d been wearing. Carrying his own, he led her to his humble abode.

As soon as he opened the door, doubts hit.

His place wasn’t the Four Seasons, it wasn’t the Motel Eight either.

It lacked… personality. At least downstairs did.

Downstairs things were dull. Beige walls and brown furniture.

He spent little time downstairs when he was there.

So it had made sense to start remodeling upstairs first. If she had a problem with it, she could go back to the hotel.

“Come on in, let me give you the tour.”

He tossed his keys and wallet in the wooden bowl on the entry table like always, then hit the lights for the kitchen and living room.

“The kitchen’s not huge, but it’s got everything you might need.

There’s food in both the fridge and the pantry.

Help yourself.” This is the living room, the remote’s on the table.

I’ve got all the channels and then some. ”

He walked farther into the kitchen and opened the freezer taking out an ice pack for her face. He opened a drawer and pulled out a clean dishtowel and wrapped it around the ice pack. They didn’t need her to get frostbite. Handing it to Charlie, he continued the tour.

Taking the icepack from Hemlock, she placed it against her face, which was throbbing like a son of a bitch. “You have a nice place.” She managed without sighing. The coolness of the towel wrapped ice pack felt wonderful.

“Yeah. I like it.” He didn’t miss the relief that washed over her pretty face when the cold pack rested against it.

He led her out of the kitchen. “This is the living room, the remote’s on the table. I’ve got all the channels and then some.”

“Where am I staying?” Charlie asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“Upstairs and to the left. There’s a bedroom and bathroom with your name on it,” he told her, pointing towards the stairs.

“I won’t be a problem. I promise,” she replied. What else was there to say?

Charlie pointed towards the stairs and watched as Hemlock motioned her go ahead. When she reached the top of the stairs, it was as if she stepped into a different place. The walls were a deep navy blue with no decorations adorning them.

When she walked into the bedroom, she sucked in her breath.

The walls were the darkest shade of gray she’d ever seen.

The queen size bed was covered in a thick oatmeal colored comforter that appeared to be stuffed with fluff.

It was so puffy and a mix-matched set of throw pillows in shades of oranges, grays, and creams were stacked against a black leather headboard.

Two pictures hung above it. It took her a minute to decipher what they were.

.. waves she realized. Waves in shades of black and orange tones. “Those are cool.”

Holding onto her backpack she moved across the floor and found the bathroom just as intimidating.

Blacks, grays, and oatmeal colors made up the pallet of color.

“There are towel’s, and wash cloths, in the cabinet.

” Hemlock’s deep voice startled her, making her jump.

“Thanks. The upstairs is gorgeous. Well, this side anyway.”

“Would you like to see my room?” His voice against her ear had Charlie swallowing hard as she licked her lips. “Not tonight.”

“Another time then,” Hemlock said, snickering. “I’ve got a few rules.”

“Shoot.”

Moving aside so Charlie could go into the bedroom, he gave her the rules.

“No guest. No food or drinks upstairs other than water. Clean up your own messes. Do not leave wet items on the wood floors.” He sighed, thinking if there was anything else.

“Make sure to not leave laundry in the washer or dryer.”

“I can handle all of that. Where is the laundry room?”

“Downstairs bathroom.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll leave you to get unpacked.”

“Hemlock.” She bit her bottom lip as she stared up at him. His smile alone made her nervous. Add in those eyes. God, she could drown in the hazel depths.

“Yes, Charlie?”

“Would you have a t-shirt I could borrow? My pj’s were shredded.”

Hemlock stared at her. What was he supposed to say, no? What he wanted to say was, “you can sleep naked next to me.” Instead, he smiled, then said, “I’m sure I’ve got something you can sleep in. Wait here.”

He’d given her the ten-cent tour of the house, given her something to sleep in and laid down the rules where there wouldn’t be any issues. But there would be issues. There were always issues when it came to women.

Hemlock left her at the condo to settle in and get some rest. He rode out to Truck’s place for some solid advice. The brother would settle him down.

Pulling into the driveway, the light from the lamp on his bike illuminated the small garage apartment.

He missed living there. Missed having dinner every night with Truck.

The man had been a father figure and a big brother rolled into one when he had had no one else.

He’d been a scrawny kid living on the streets when he stumbled upon the Royal Bastards’ clubhouse.

He recognized an opportunity and took it, making sure he showed he could be trusted and counted on.

He was fourteen when he started asking to do odd jobs around the clubhouse for a meal.

Truck had been the one that gave him more.

He’d given him a home and taught him a trade.

That was the beginning of a new life for Hemlock, and he’d never be able to explain to Truck how much he appreciated it.

But that was years ago, and the chapter had been through a radical change recently. One that was much needed. Still, those who had been in since the start-up of the chapter were still waiting for the hammer to drop.

After parking the bike he pocketed his keys and headed for the kitchen door. When it opened, he waved at Truck and was greeted with a string of words that to anyone else would be insulting. To him they were words of endearment. “What’s up, old man?”

“Who you calling old, asshole?”

“You’re older than me.”

“Five years.”

“Six,” Hemlock corrected Truck.

“Get your ass inside. Have you eaten? I’ve got leftovers.”

Smiling, Hemlock chuckled as Truck went into dad mode. “I haven’t and leftovers sounds perfect.”

“You know where everything is. Help yourself.” Truck watched the man he considered his younger brother make his way around the kitchen.

He missed having the kid living right outside the kitchen door.

Two years ago Hemlock had put his money to good use and bought a condo in town.

He explained it was an investment. Truck had agreed it was a great investment. “What brings you my way tonight?”

“A girl.”

Truck smirked, he should’ve known. The boy had the worse luck with the opposite sex. Last chick he dated had stolen his credit cards and in one day she almost bankrupted the kid. “Finish fixing your plate, then we’ll talk about this girl you’ve gotten mixed up with.”

“I’m not mixed up with her. I’m helping her.”

“Wait, is this cinnamon girl?” Truck saw the sideways glance Hemlock gave him. Shaking his head, he took a seat at the kitchen table and waited for Hemlock to follow suit. When he sat down, Truck smoothed his hands over the top of the wooden table as he waited for his brother to spill his guts.

Hemlock took a bite of food before looking at Truck. The man always knew what was on his mind. Always knew how hard it was for him to talk about his personal shit. “I let her move in with me. Temporarily,” he added before Truck could explode. “She’s in a bad spot, Truck.”

“So kill whoever’s putting her there and let her move along.”

He forked up another bite of food and ignored Truck’s comment momentarily before pointing the fork at Truck and telling him that shit wasn’t cool. “She needs someone to help her with some legal stuff.”

“Hemlock, you’re smart, but you’re not the kind of smart she needs, son.” He knew it was an insult, but it wasn’t how he intended it to sound. The kid was wicked smart. Smart like Sherlock just not with women.

“There ya go sounding like an old man.”

“All I’m saying is if you can’t help her, pass her on to someone who can.”

“She’s not an offering basket. She’s a girl that needs a hand up.”

Truck recognized Hemlock had made up his mind and relented. “Tell me what you know about cinnamon girl.”

Hemlock told him everything he knew about Charlie.

How she worked three jobs so she could live at a cheap hotel while her ex-boyfriend and ex-bff lived in an apartment she paid for.

How the bff had punched her in the face and the hotel she been staying at had given someone a key to her room.

“The place was tossed. Her clothes were ripped and cut up. I couldn’t leave her there, Truck. ”

“What did the hotel surveillance show?”

“They didn’t have any.”

Truck scratched at his facial stubble while thinking about the situation. “Get with Sherlock and have him look through the CCTV footage around the area.”

Hemlock stopped eating and glanced at Truck. Leaning back, he set the fork down and pulled out his phone. “That’s a great idea.”

“You might not know who went into her room, but you can possibly see who went into the hotel.”