“And who might that be?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, bitch. I know they’re here. I want to see my niece and nephew right goddamn now.”
Yeah, fuck the lust. This guy is definitely on my shit list. I can just scroll the internet and find a Thor lookalike to cure whatever draw I had for him for a second. The second before he spoke, that is.
“First off, don’t call me bitch. And second, I don’t know who you are or who your niece and nephew are.”
“Quit with the bull, honey. We know Teddy and Grace are here. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll let their uncle see them before we stop playing nice,” one of the other bikers still on his ride jumps in, speaking for the group.
I spare the guy a look, not foolish enough to take my eyes off the man before me for more than a second. He wears the same glasses. Big fucker too. But while the god before me has more hair than I do—which is a fuck-ton—this one has his hair slicked back to show a widow’s peak. Just enough ’stache and beard on him to be more than noticeable but less than using some special gels to maintain.
“Nice? Pretty sure I’m the one with the gun. Now tell me who the hell you are.”
“Think that will stop him?” From my periphery, I see his head bob to the beast man before me, the one claiming to be the kids’ uncle. “Don’t think you want to try it.”
I should stand my ground, but against my will, my eyes travel up and down the man who hasn’t backed down. His fists are tight at his sides. Wonder if he’s contemplating using them against me. I might have the gun—well, the only one with it out, anyway. I’m not an idiot. These boys are packing. But despite my show—for really, it's all show, because I can only get off one round, two if rushed—we all know they can overtake me.
“Doesn’t matter,” the beast growls in response to my question about who he is.
Is he seriously playing this stupid game with me over what his name is?I might be one against half a dozen, but I will shoot first.
From the clench in his jaw, he must realize I’m not backing down without knowing some idea of who he is.
“Chains.”
I barely control my eye roll. “Legal name, dumbass.”
“What the fuck did you say to me?” He takes a step forward, hands clenched even tighter, and the men get off their bikes as if in a dance sequence.
I don't hesitate. Pulling the trigger, I fire into the dirt at his feet. He pauses and glares up at me as I cock my shotgun again and aim it at his center mass. “Damn right, I want a legal name. Only two people know who I have inside, me and my friend, and you don’t have tits. Now stop acting like a pussy and prove to me you’re their uncle. We’ll start off slow. Your name, asshole. What is it?”
Through clenched teeth, he snarls, “James Randall.”
“And what was your sister’s middle name?”
“Are you kidding me with this shit?”
I don’t hide my sarcasm. “Does it look like I’m kidding you?”
“Fine. It was Janet.”
“No, that was what was on paper. What did the family call her?”
Taking off his sunglasses, he tilts his head to the side as he pauses and looks me over slowly. “You knew Jennie?” His voice changes tone for a moment.
“The name.” I hold firm. I’m not about to show I’m anything but badass, but come on. The guy did that slow look up and down on a girl. I’m practically a puddle of goo on the ground from that look. Especially from the intensity that his light brown eyes have right now. So light they’re almost yellow. Not yellow like the sun, more like a metallic gold, ones I would have no problem looking at for a very long time.
If things were different, of course.
“Dammit. We called her Dammit Janet.”
A twitch of a smile touches my lips. “She hated that movie.”
“Who didn’t?” He doesn’t smile, but the intensity isn’t rolling off him as much. I almost feel like I can breathe, as his anger had been choking me even with him off the front steps.
“We done?” His eyebrow quirks up. It’s a neat trick, one I’ve always wished I possessed.
“One more. What was her favorite ice cream?”
