Page 2 of Live Love Steal (Destroyers MC: Skilletsville PA #2)

Not my type - Sketch

S he was cute, but not my type. I’d sworn off of any chick who had colored hair. That had been my downfall the last time. I fell for a pretty party girl with big tits and purple hair. Within a year, she got pregnant, and I put a ring on it.

Mistake number something or other.

What wasn’t a mistake was my son. He was seven now, and smart. Also super talented and inquisitive. Perfect .

And not living with me. I waited for the floor lights to tick upward so I could finally get custody of him. My ex was threatening to move out of state. Her latest conquest lived in Delaware .

Fucking Delaware .

Nothing against the state. It was just too damn far away for me to visit my son. And , if I did, it was in enemy territory. I couldn’t ride my motorcycle there. I’d be sure to run into the Demons , who claimed the entire eastern coastline from South Carolina to Maine .

Sure , we had some Destroyer chapters in New York and Maine , but that was only because of a careful truce between the clubs. Me buzzing into the heart of their territory every other weekend would be a problem with someone eventually, which meant I couldn’t do it.

And my ex definitely wasn’t planning on bringing him here every other weekend.

I’d let my lawyer know about the delay at the security gates. We’d expected that, and she prompted me on what to bring and what not to. How to dress, and what to cover up.

But she hadn’t factored in the ditz in the elevator with me.

The visible top layer of her hair was dyed raven black. But under it and peeking out from the layered cut was a horrible, faded pink.

Never trust a girl with pink hair. Ever .

They were guaranteed to be weird. I tried ignoring her glances.

“ I’m sorry for the misunderstanding at the gate.”

“ Yeah .”

There was silence. The elevator shuddered as it ground past the third floor.

“ I really am sorry.”

Was the car moving slower than normal? I tried to remember my last visit here. We should be at the top by now.

A shudder ran through the cab.

“ What was that?”

“ Nothing .”

But it was something. Between floors three and four, the cab caught, and everything stopped.

“ No . Please … no,” Raven -hair whispered.

About twenty seconds ticked in silence.

Then she shocked the hell out of me.

“ Mother fucking, son of a bitch, god damned, dickwad shit!!”

“ No cunt?”

“ Excuse me?”

“ While you’re letting it out, you might as well go for broke.” I reached over and pressed the emergency call button.

“ I don’t say that word.”

“ With the morning you’ve had already, I bet you’re rethinking that decision.” I pressed it again. A crackly voice finally filtered through the speaker.

“ Hello . Are you experiencing an emergency?”

“ Yes ! We’re fucking trapped here.”

I followed up much more calmly. “ The left bank of the courthouse’s main elevator is stuck between floors three and four.

Could you notify the technicians? And , please notify the courtrooms that there are two people inside who have hearings today?

Maybe get them bumped to the back of the roll call? ”

“ Is anyone inside the car experiencing a medical emergency?”

“ Not at the moment.”

“ Thank you. Notifying the building engineers now.”

“ And the court? Please ?” Raven -hair put in.

“ Names ?”

I said my name first. “ David McMullen .”

The girl quickly followed, spelling them out after. “ Isobel Jean Adelard ...” When she finished, she whispered to me, “ No one ever gets my name right.”

The voice from the speaker announced. “ I will see what I can do.” Then clicked off.

Fuck that . “ I’m texting my lawyer.” I tapped away on my phone.

“ They didn’t confiscate yours .”

That they didn’t. Because I wasn’t stupid around cops anymore. I finished my message.

Isobel watched me.

“ What ?”

She licked her lips. I got snared on the light color glistening in her tongue’s wake. “ Would your lawyer also put in a word for me?”

I tapped another message. “ How do you spell your name again?” I finished it as she rattled off the letters.

My phone dinged with a short reply. “ Done .”

Cool . Now all we had to do was wait this out.

I’d seen pornos that started like this. I tried not to think about that, because if I drifted down that mental playground path, I might forget my vow of not messing with party chicks. And this woman was one of those.

There was a little tattoo peeking out at me from her long sleeves. It was one of those delicately lined pieces that barely took up two square inches of space. They usually had some special meaning despite the simplicity of the pattern.

I was so busy trying not to pay attention to her and all the little intricacies of her outfit, like the little skulls around her shoelace eyelets, or the matte black studs on her backpack that pushed it from normal to “edgy,” and her choice of black lace at her cuffs, near that delicate tattoo, that I missed the fact she was beginning to freak out.

“ Are you hyperventilating?”

That’s the last thing I needed. A chick who couldn’t maintain. I had enough shit falling down my neck right now.

“ No .” Under her breath, she muttered, “ In for four.” Then she inhaled through her nose. I paid more attention.

She held it for a moment, then breathed out through her mouth.

“ Are you freaking out?”

She held up one finger, telling me to wait, then repeated the breathing twice more.

Finally , she spoke. “ It’s called box breathing. My sister does it for her panic attacks.”

I hated to point out the obvious, but she had already confessed. “ You’re freaking out.”

“ I am not. I used a breathing method so I wouldn’t, and I’m not.”

She lied. Even though she wasn’t as obvious about it, she did the breathing thing again, twice.

“ We’ll be moving soon.”

“ I hope so.”

“ What you in for?” I asked.

“ I’m sorry? In for?”

“ The court date, what’s it about?”

She frowned and tipped her head so her hair fell across her face, obscuring the expression. “ Traffic .”

“ That’s it?”

She huffed. “ A camera photographed a car that looked like mine crossing a red light line. I didn’t run the red light, it’s not even my car.”

“ They all say that.”

Her glare spoke her obvious rebuttal.

“ They get a photo?”

“ Yes . I said that.”

Right , she did. “ And a plate?”

“ Yes , but?—”

“ Sweetheart , the best you can hope for is a reduction of fines. You should have just paid it.”

“ I wasn’t there.”

“ So ? Did your boyfriend have your car?”

Her eyes widened. I don’t know what flashed through them, but it wasn’t completely directed at me. Finally , she admitted, “ I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“ Girlfriend ?” I asked.

“ No .”

“ A relative?”

“ Yes , in fact, I was helping my sister move the last of her things out of her asshole boyfriend’s house. With my car, which was nowhere near that intersection the entire day.”

Huh . That was… a twist. “ You got proof?”

“ I have receipts from the gas station near her house, across town from the violation, that are time-stamped fifteen minutes before the photo time stamp. Online maps estimate the travel time between the two points at 20 minutes for that time of day. I have another receipt for coffee, five minutes from the offense time, near her boyfriend’s house, still at least fifteen minutes from the site. So , yes. Proof .”

A slither of doubt shivered up my spine. “ Have you checked your rear license plate lately?”

“ I’m sorry, what?”

“ Or your front one.” Why in the hell was I asking her this? It was practically a confession. Even though my car boosting days were at least eight years in the past, I still knew all the tricks. Not only that, but the statute of limitations hadn’t quite expired from my last offense.

She was thinking too hard. “ Are you asking if my plates might be stolen?”

“ Not exactly.” I needed to shut this conversation down—fast. “ When I’m feeling stressed, I listen to music. Do you?”

“ I do. What kind of music?”

I rattled off at least five bands I was currently stuck on or were staples in my collection.

It happened that way for me. I’d hear something, then I’d have to listen to the entire discography for a few days to get it out of my system.

If I wasn’t turned completely sour on them by that point, they went into my collection.

“ We overlap. I like at least three of those bands. But you changed the subject, why?”

The car’s motor whirred, and we were moving again. “ We’re saved.”

“ You owe me an answer.”

“ How about over lunch?” Hot damn, that was smooth.

Usually , I wasn’t as quick to offer. Shit .

If I had to be honest, I hadn’t offered to take a woman out in at least four years.

Not since the fucking divorce started. My ex changed me, and not in a good way.

But maybe it was time to start trying again.

Isobel was pretty, straightforward, had similar tastes, and didn’t seem like a total flake.

She knew things like how to handle stress.

And considering her morning, that had to be tough.

I liked her. And most of all, she’d done something a woman hadn’t done for a while. Intrigued me.

Attraction and sex were one thing. They faded out almost before the fucking ended. Sometimes during. But intrigue? Hell , that could keep me going for months.

Not that I was seeking long-term. I only wanted my son back. That would be hard enough. Starting a new relationship was stupid right now. Getting custody of Noah was the most important thing.

“ I’ll think about it.” She fired at me over her shoulder as soon as the doors opened.

Her ass was just the right combination of curves to draw the eye.

Fuck . The last thing I needed right now was to lose focus. But Isobel was one hell of a distraction.

My lawyer stood in the hallway waiting for me. I greeted her.

“ Your ex didn’t show up.”

“ What ?” Did that mean I won?

“ She didn’t show up.”