Page 48 of Sexting the Bikers (Ruthless Riders #2)

I don’t let him finish. I grip the front of his jacket and yank him forward until our noses are almost touching. The smirk vanishes instantly.

“Listen real carefully,” I growl. “This is my business. Everything in this bar is my business. You come in here, you drink our booze, you play our tables, you follow our rules. And rule number one?” I slam him back against the edge of the pool table, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to remind him who’s in charge. “You don’t start shit in my club.”

His hands come up in surrender. “Alright, alright, man, chill?—”

“You done?”

He nods rapidly, all the fake bravado gone.

“Good.” I release him, straightening up. “Finish your drink and get the hell out. And don’t come back unless you learn how to act right.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He stumbles back toward the bar, muttering under his breath, but I don’t give a damn. He won’t be a problem anymore.

I turn back to Tony. “You good?”

Tony exhales heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, man. Sorry. He just pissed me off.”

“Yeah, well, next time don’t let some asshole get to you. You know better.”

Tony nods, looking sheepish. “Drinks on me later?”

I smirk. “Damn right they are.”

As I turn away, the crowd disperses, returning to their conversations, their drinks. Just another night at the club.

I dust off my hands as I walk back toward the bar. Just another night at 12 Devils. Just another asshole who needed reminding whose place he was in.

I should be feeling satisfied, but the second I catch sight of Marcy, my mood takes a sharp left turn.

She’s laughing.

With Hawk.

I slow my steps, watching as she tips her head back, her eyes crinkling at something the bastard just said. Hawk leans in, flashing that easy, cocky grin of his, green eyes glinting with mischief.

And fuck me, I do not like the way he’s looking at her. My jaw clenches.

Hawk’s my brother. My VP. We’ve been through enough together that I’d take a bullet for him without blinking.

But right now, all I want to do is interrupt whatever the hell that is before I start actually thinking about what it means.

So I do.

I stride over, placing a heavy hand on the back of Marcy’s chair, and lean down just enough to make my presence very known.

Hawk’s smirk deepens as he clocks my expression. “Well, well,” he drawls, sipping his whiskey. “Look who’s back from playing referee.”

Marcy glances up at me, amusement still dancing in her eyes. “Good news--I wasn’t murdered while you were gone.”

Hawk chuckles. “Yeah, I was just keeping your girl company.”

I shoot him a look.

He holds up his hands. “Relax, Rockweiler. Not my fault she’s got a good laugh. Not every woman around here finds you so charming.”

Marcy tilts her head. “Rockweiler?”

Hawk grins. “Ryder here’s got a bite worse than a pissed-off Rottweiler.”

I snort, shaking my head. “And yet, somehow, I don’t hear anyone calling you ‘Bullseye’ after that time you nearly shot your own damn foot.”

Marcy perks up at that, turning to Hawk. “You what? ”

Hawk exhales dramatically, swirling his drink.

“Alright, first of all, I did not almost shoot my foot. Second, Ryder here is conveniently leaving out the part where I was taking out a guy twice his size while also dodging live fire.” He raises a brow at me.

“Or are you mad that I saved your ass that day?”

I roll my eyes, but Marcy’s already smirking.

“So what I’m hearing is… you almost shot yourself,” she teases, lifting her glass.

Hawk points at her. “I like you.”

I grunt. “Don’t encourage him.”

Hawk leans back, still watching me with that knowing look that makes me want to punch him. He’s enjoying this. Enjoying the fact that I’m standing here, bristling like a territorial bastard while he’s making Marcy laugh.

And worse, she’s eating it up.

I should let it go. It’s just Hawk being Hawk.

But when Marcy shifts, crossing her legs, I feel the brush of her thigh against mine under the table. It’s brief. Probably unintentional.

But it lights something in my blood that I really don’t need right now.

Hawk catches it. Of course he does.

His grin turns downright wicked. “So, Marcy…” He draws out her name like he’s testing it. “You ever ridden on the back of a bike before?”

Marcy raises a brow. “What, like a motorcycle?”

Hawk tilts his head. “Nah, sweetheart. A bicycle. ”

She snorts, and my fingers flex against the chair.

I lean down, voice low. “Careful, princess. Say yes, and he’ll be trying to throw you on his bike before you can blink.”

Hawk chuckles. “Not my fault the ladies like a man with experience.”

I shake my head, my patience wearing thinner by the second. “Hawk, don’t you have something to do? Like, I don’t know, anywhere else to be? ”

He smirks, clearly having the time of his life. “Actually, I do.” He downs the rest of his drink, then stands, stretching like he’s been lounging in a damn beach chair this whole time. “Club business. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

I glare. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Hawk winks, clapping me on the shoulder as he passes. “You love me.”

I exhale hard, finally turning back to Marcy. She’s watching me, head tilted, lips still curled at the edges.

I arch a brow. “What?”

She shrugs, taking a slow sip of her drink. “Nothing. You’re just fun when you’re irritated.”

A sharp rap on the table makes me turn. One of the younger guys—can’t be more than twenty, barely old enough to drink in here—shifting on his feet like he’s trying real hard to look like he belongs. He’s fresh, no patches on his cut yet, still proving himself.

“CJ wants you,” the kid says, glancing between me and Marcy like he’s not sure if he should be interrupting.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, alright.”

CJ doesn’t summon people for nothing. If he’s calling, it means shit needs handling.

I push myself up from the seat, but before I leave, I do something I never do. I dip down, just close enough to brush my lips against the warm curve of Marcy’s neck. A barely-there kiss, light and quick, but it still earns a sharp inhale from her.

“Rain check,” I murmur against her skin.

When I pull back, her eyes are wide, lips parted slightly.

I smirk, pulling my phone from my pocket and holding it out to her. “Number.”

She doesn’t hesitate.

She takes my phone, fingers moving over the screen as she enters her info. When she hands it back, I see she’s added her name with a little smirking emoji beside it.

Before I can put the phone away, she tilts her head. “Wait.” She reaches for my wrist, guiding my phone back to her. Then she leans in, close enough that I catch a whiff of vanilla and whiskey.

She presses a quick kiss to my cheek.

“Now you’ve got a contact picture,” she says, eyes dancing with amusement.

I chuckle, shaking my head as I back away. “You’re trouble, princess.”

She grins. “Guess you’ll find out.”

I don’t know what the hell I just started with her.

But damn if I don’t already want more.