Page 5 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

“You just set my prospect’s bike on fire.” A worn leather jacket hung off his massive shoulders, and he towered at least a foot over me.

I glared up at him. “He fucking deserved it.” I aimed a foot at his balls, which he easily dodged.

“Easy there, Vixen. I’m not saying he didn’t.”

I glared at him some more, not trusting the easy way he spoke to me—like I was a wild horse, and he was trying to rope me.

I went to sidestep him, and he blocked me.

I spun to go in the opposite direction, and ran into another dude who had just walked up.

I glared at him too, and he grinned at me like he was having fun.

“Mac, your boy’s bike is fucking trashed.”

I smiled a little at that, and Mac noticed. “Well, Vixen. Danny won’t be happy with you.”

I turned my attention back to him. “Like I give a shit. And stop calling me that.”

He cocked his head at me, dark blue eyes trailing down my body, and I tried not to notice the way a vein jumped along his chiseled jaw. “You’re gonna have to answer for that, you know. Can’t have people wandering around just thinking it’s okay to set shit on fire.”

As he talked, he moved closer to me, bringing his face into the light cast by a weak street lamp nearby.

I barely held back a gasp because fuck me sideways…

Mac must be short for Maverick Mills, the Saints’ enforcer.

Which meant his buddy was more than likely Dalton Mi lls, his younger brother and best friend.

Two voices were at war in my head. One was saying shit, shit, shit . I was pretty sure that was my voice of reason. But the other voice was whooping because this was exactly what I wanted. I had to get the Saints’ attention—and boy, did I have it.

I crossed my arms and squared my body like I was bracing for a hit.

“Fine, call the damn cops then. I can tell them it was all an accident. One big misunderstanding.” But I already knew there was no way in hell either one of those guys would be calling the local law enforcement—and even if they did, from what I’d been told, the Saints owned half the damn cops anyway.

Mac shook his head at me, and Dalton leaned towards me. “Vixen…” I flipped him off in response to my unwanted nickname, and he grinned again. “We’re not exactly the type to call the boys in blue. We like to handle things in-house. Isn’t that right, Mac?”

I stayed silent, at war with the fight-or-flight response screaming at me to fucking run.

But I knew that if I did, these big-ass idiots would catch me and would probably enjoy the chase.

More importantly, I didn’t want to run. At least, part of me didn’t.

I needed this to happen—this was my way in.

While I was lost in thought, Dalton lunged for me.

He moved a lot quicker than a man his size should be able to move.

He wrapped one muscled arm around my throat and another around my chest, and it suddenly dawned on me that I couldn’t get away even if I used every ounce of Academy training I had.

So, I did what any girl would do. I turned my head to the side as much as I could, and bit the ever-loving shit out of his bicep.

“Holy motherfucking damnit…” He trailed off in a string of curses, and I clung to his damn arm like a pit bull. I could taste the iron his blood, and it was fucking disgusting.

Then Mac stepped forward and calmly pinched my nose.

My eyes widened, and I stared at him, my brown eyes meeting his blue.

It was a battle of wills as he cut off my oxygen, and I refused to let go.

But the swirling darkness behind my eyes made the decision for me, and I eventually let go of his brother, sucking in lungfuls of air.

Mac chuckled. “You good there, Dalton?”

Dalton swore some more, and I saw the blood running down his arm out of the corner of my eye.

“No, I’m not fucking good, man. Crazy chick bit me if you didn’t notice.”

I stomped on his foot, and this time, he wasn’t having it. His arms tightened around me just enough to make me lightheaded again, and he lifted me off the ground until my toes barely grazed the dirt.

Mac headed off, shaking his head, and Dalton went to follow him.

He dragged me past Daniel’s blackened bike, the fire now put out.

Daniel glared at me with murder in his eyes, the drunken haze burned away by the smoky remnants of his Harley.

I smiled at him—albeit a slightly oxygen-deprived one, thanks to Dalton’s grip—and his face turned beet-red.

“Stop goading the guy, Vixen,” Mac said over his shoulder, and I wonder if he’s got eyes in the back of his head or something.

We come to a stop next to a massive red and black Indian that looks like it runs small children over for fun. He pulled out a small bundle of rope from one of the saddlebags, and I started struggling in Dalton’s arms.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not, you psychopaths!”

Mac turned to me, and Dalton’s chest vibrated with a chuckle. “Ah, come on, you look like the kinda girl who might like being tied up.”

I snapped at his arm again, but he was ready for it this time.

“You wish you would ever get the chance to find out, you overgrown Ken doll. And I don’t give a damn about being tied up—but I’m not leaving my bike.”

Mac and Dalton both paused, the former giving me a surprised look. “Your bike?”

I stopped struggling in Dalton’s arms. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Dalton let go of me and stepped around so he could look at me, his face just as surprised as Mac’s.

“You got a bike? Sure it’s not your boyfriend’s?”

His eyes, a much lighter shade of blue compared to Mac’s, shone with humor. In a very mature move, I stuck my tongue out at him. Pointing behind me at my Triumph, I spoke slowly and deliberately, as if talking to children.

“ That is my bike. Mine. I rode here. On my bike. Which I own. ‘Cos girls can ride too. And I am not leaving it here.”

Mac looked at it, and then back at me. “Why? You afraid someone might set it on fire?” I frowned at him. “Fine. Dalton, get Jackson and a couple of others. You guys flank her, and I swear to God if you somehow manage to lose her… I’ll set your bikes on fire.”

Dalton nodded and jogged off, leaving me alone with Mac. He turned and put the rope back in the bag, evidently deciding I wasn’t dumb enough to make a run for it while his back was turned.

I took the opportunity to look him over. A swirl of black ink peeked out of his jacket, and boy, I would be lying if I said he didn’t fill those blue jeans nicely. He turned back to me, and I acted like I wasn’t just ogling his ass seconds ago.

“Where are you taking me?”

He gave me a look that said I should already know the answer to that question, and I do.

We were going to the Steel Saints’ clubhouse.

That little voice of reason popped back into my head: shit, shit, shit .

But I smiled at him, because he didn’t have a clue that they’d just let the fox into the hen house.

I’m in, baby .