Page 6 of The Biker’s Secret Claim (Chaos Brothers MC #2)

Ghost

Rain pounds the pavement, soaking through my jacket, but it doesn’t bother me. What does, is the way Nicole stands there, arms wrapped around herself, looking lost.

I shouldn’t have stepped in. I should’ve let her sort it out and kept my distance. None of this is my business, but the way that guy had his hands on her boiled my fucking blood. I couldn’t let it slide.

Now she’s staring at me, wide-eyed, still shivering. What the fuck do I do with this? If it were up to me, I’d lift her up, haul her onto my bike, and give her a night she won’t forget, but I’m sure I’m reading her wrong.

I grit my teeth. She’s waiting for something.

An explanation? Comfort?

She won’t get either from me. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.

“Where you going?” My voice is gruff, deliberately uninviting.

“My friend’s house.” Her voice is small, barely louder than the rain. “She’s over on Birchwood.”

I exhale hard, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake off the irritation crawling under my skin.

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve kept this clean, but there’s something about the way she looks at me, like I’m something worth looking at.

It’s been a while since I’ve felt that way. Hell, I may have never felt this way.

“Fine. Get on,” I grumble, as though I’m perturbed by her existence, though my thoughts are the complete opposite.

She hesitates, eyes flicking to the bike like she’s not sure. Maybe it was the hitman conversation. Can’t blame her for that one. Truth is, if she knew the shit I’ve done, she’d probably be three counties over by now.

Selfish and desperate to spend more time with her, I scoff and head toward my bike, climbing as the rain pours down heavily. “You coming?”

She climbs on tentatively, as though she’s still unsure of her decision, but we both know she knows what she wants. I saw it in her eyes. I felt it in her stare. She wants to see where this night with me will take her, and that makes two of us.

When she’s on the bike, I shove the helmet back into her hands and fire up the engine. “Hold on tight.”

“Wait.” She taps my shoulder. “Why don’t we ride over to my shop? We can hole up in there until the rain clears.”

“You don’t like getting slammed by rain while you ride? Where’s the fun in that?”

She lets out a breathy laugh. “Fun isn’t exactly what I’d call that.”

I smirk, revving the engine. “Then you’ve been riding wrong.”

She doesn’t respond, and I’m not sure what I should do. Her friend’s house was the plan, but the idea of heading over to her shop sticks. Maybe because it makes sense or maybe because it means a little more time with her, even if I don’t know why I want it like I do.

“Shop’s closer,” I say, like it’s more logical. “Less time in the rain.”

She hesitates, fingers tightening slightly around my waist. “Okay.”

I don’t give myself time to think about why I suddenly feel lighter. I just kick the bike into gear and tear out of the lot, the rain slicing across my face as the engine roars. In less than two minutes, we’re pulling up next to her record store and she’s hurrying up the steps to unlock the door.

She’s shivering, her fingers fumbling in the slight light as she works the key into the lock. The rain drips from her hair, sliding down her face, catching in the hollow of her throat.

I should just leave. I should let her go inside, dry off, and disappear into whatever life she’s got waiting beyond these doors…

but I don’t. I continue on with the delusion rattling in my head.

The one where she and I spend a night together doing all the filthy things I’m sure the banker wouldn’t do.

I kill the engine and swing off the bike, the scent of rain and asphalt thick in the air. She gets the door open, pushes it inward, and the warm glow from inside spills onto the wet pavement. Hesitating in the doorway, she looks back at me like she’s got something to say but doesn’t say it.

I nod toward the inside. “You gonna stand there all night?”

A flash of a smile flickers across her lips. It’s fleeting, barely there. “I could say the same to you.”

I’m not sure why I’m hesitating. Maybe I’m afraid to ruin her. She’s so sweet, so innocent, so perfect. I’d bet she’s never seen a dark day in her life. What business do I have showing her mine?

Unfortunately for her, that doesn’t stop me.

When I’m finally inside, I shut the door behind me and peel off my jacket as Nicole fumbles in the back for something.

“I’ve got some spare clothes back here. I know I do. Not sure I have anything your size, though.”

“I don’t need spare clothes. The rain will quit soon enough, and we’ll be out on the road again.”

There’s quiet for a moment before she returns wearing an oversized flannel with her bare legs on display, taunting me.

Fuck! Now this is just cruel!

“I have this.” She hands me a dry pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. “Everything is new. I’ve been stockpiling for Christmas.”

“And who were these supposed to go to? Tell me I’m wearing the banker’s Christmas gift. That might get me off.” I laugh, already feeling the weight of my terrible sense of humor.

“Oh, wow.” She narrows her gaze in what looks like disgust, but I swear there’s a hidden smile. “That’s just wrong.” She pauses. “These were for donations. I try and give to the shelter every year, so I grab things on sale when I can. You can use the backroom to change.”

Of course she’s so sweet she’s collecting donations year-round. I really should save her from me and leave right now.

“I don’t need the clothes. It’ll stop raining soon. Plus, you ever peel off a pair of wet jeans then try to put them back on?”

She smiles. “You can ride over to Sienna’s in the flannel bottoms. No one will see you. It’s dark outside.”

“I’ve got an image to uphold.”

“You’re in the mountains. The town’s image is flannel. You’ll fit right in. Plus,” she glances down at the puddle I’m making on her floor, “you’re ruining my flooring.”

I’ve always been a sucker for reason, and I am in fact, making a puddle on the floor.

“Okay,” I manage, following the hallway toward the backroom where an office door hangs open.

I step inside, studying the small space for any sign of more information.

I’m not sure why. There’s nothing serious between Nicole and I.

There can’t be. I’ve already decided that.

Unable to suppress my need to know, I scan the area, looking for anything that gives me more detail about her.

A small desk sits in the corner of the room staring at a hanging calendar with monthly kittens.

She has a few days highlighted in red with little x’s marked next to the date.

On her desk is a stack of paperwork that looks like invoices, a romance book, and a few travel guides.

Fuck, this all sucks. You can see the longing for a life she wants, but you can tell she isn’t pushing for it.

Because I’m a nosy fuck who needs to know more, I open the first two drawers. There’s nothing in the first, but the second is a jackpot.

A fucking dildo. It’s not small either. Ten inches.

I’d say good for her, but the thing is still wrapped in the packaging.

I wonder if this is more of an effort to experience something outside of this boring fuck she’s been with for years.

I can only figure that’s why you’d leave it tucked away in a cabinet at work.

My cock grows stiff at the thought of her using it, though I think we’re both fantasizing about that part considering it’s never been opened.

I peel off the wet clothes and pull on the loose flannel bottoms and the black T-shirt. The whole thing is a little small, but it’ll do for now. I’m sort of thankful for the change in clothes. Turns out I was pretty fucking wet.

“I was starting to think you’d left out the backdoor,” she says, leaning over the front counter with her long dark hair draped over her shoulder.

It’s crazy that a woman like her isn’t being treated like a fucking queen.

More so, that she isn’t being pursued and given everything she needs.

If she was with me, I’d hold on to her tight enough that she felt me there, and we’d have wild sex everywhere and anywhere, all the fucking time.

“Sorry,” I groan. “I was going through your shit.”

Her face turns dark red, and she gasps. “What?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not judging you.” I hold my palms up.

“So this is what hitmen do? They go through your things? I’m not your next hit, am I?”

I laugh under my breath. “No. You’re not my next hit. I don’t even know you. Besides, I’m not currently working. We’re lying low.”

She shuts her notebook and leans against the back counter, crossing her arms over one another. “So, it’s true? You and your biker friends are hitmen?”

“Not anymore. Now we own a cute little bike shop up in the mountains.”

She laughs under her breath. “You say it like you’re not happy about your cute little bike shop in the mountains.”

“I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t answer questions, baby girl. I ask them.”

Her brows narrow. “I’m not your baby girl.”

“By the looks of the things in your desk, you want to be someone’s baby girl.”

“Oh my God! What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying you’ve got a lot going on back there,” I laugh. “I shouldn’t have gone through your shit, but I’m a little fucked up that way.”

Her eyes roll to the side. “I’m gathering that. What’s the deal?”

“Can I blame it on the military? People do that, right?”

She bites back a smile. “Were you actually in the military?”