“This is where Hangman is.” He takes the helmet from me and stuffs it in a saddle bag. “And we also didn’t discuss you taking Oscar to work with you, you chasing Sadie and you getting picked up by Russians.”
I hold his eyes as I take a moment to think. We could spend a lifetime talking about our misjudgments. “Let’s call it take-someone-else’s-kid-to-work day and move on.” I quirk my lips upwards so he knows I mean what I say.
He smiles in return. “Look on the bright side. I could’ve taken Henri to the stripper bar.”
I roll my eyes. “I think you have better judgment than that.”
“So it’s better to take your kid to visit a Russian Mob guy than to a tittie bar?”
“I’ll have to think about that.”
Our banter is interrupted by Joker, who pulls into the lot and parks his bike next to Eight’s. “Why’re you still out here?” he says as he scowls at Eight.
Unexpectantly, Eight grabs Joker by the T-shirt and hauls him forward so they’re chest to chest. “I’ve fuckin’ had enough of you. I get you doin’ me a favor by having my back at Kozlov’s, but I’m not some fuckin’ asshole who’s gonna take your shit.”
Joker seems stunned by Eight’s outburst. “Get your hands off me or you’ll be eatin’ your teeth for lunch.”
My stomach growls at the mention of food, but I ignore it. Mostly. “What the hell?—”
“Shut it, Fleming. This has nothing to do with you,” Eight says, his eyes locked onto Joker’s.
“Whatever,” I reply as I throw my hands in the air and walk towards a bearded tattooed giant who’s manning the fence. “Beat the shit out of each other. I’ll get a cab home.”
Eight releases Joker and turns to me. “No you fuckin’ won’t.”
Joker steps around Eight and blocks his view of me. “I’m gonna forget you touched me because you ain’t right in the head. She must be a good fuck ‘cause that’s the only thing that explains your shit.”
Eight hauls off and punches Joker.
Me and the giant gasp.
“Shit,” Giant says as I move slightly behind him. Yes, I’m a fighter but I’m not stupid enough to throw myself between two big angry biker dudes.
But Joker doesn’t engage. Instead, he swipes at the blood coming from his split lip. “Get rid of her,” he says in a low warning tone, then storms back into the clubhouse.
Eight turns towards us. “Get away from her,” he barks at the giant.
“Hey, Eight,” he replies as he backs off. “She came to me.”
Eight glares at me. “Get away from him.”
I do, in part because the Giant needs a shower and also because I’m kind of turned on by Eight’s unwavering maleness.
I walk up to him, straighten his cut, then pat his chest. “What’s going on, Eight? Why’s it so critical you have to talk to Hangman?”
He takes my wrists and pushes me away. “None of your business.”
“Wow,” I say, unable to keep the hurt from leaking into my voice. Then I stop talking because one more word out of me and I’ll start crying. Me. Crying. I don’t fucking do that.
He sees the emotion on my face and I see regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “For talking to you that way and for manhandling you. I do have a good side. Let me get this shit with Hangman over with, and I’ll take you for food. We can talk then.”
“Okay,” I say softly, still trying to contain my emotions. “Yeah, okay.”
He takes my hand and leads me towards the clubhouse. I’d like to say my delicate silken hand feels amazing against his rough-textured skin, but I’d be lying. If anything, mine might be more sandpapery than his. Still, it’s a turn on feeling the strength in his grip as he squeezes my fingers. I want to feel those hands on my body. Everywhere, doing filthy things to me.
Turn it off, Selkie. Can’t happen. Won’t happen.
The clubhouse itself is a wonder. The outside has recently been renovated, and the inside is like a five-star lounge that tourists would flock to if it weren’t owned by a vicious gang of outlaw bikers, some of whom are sitting at tables. A couple of them are playing cards, one eyeing me like I’m evil, the other ignoring me completely. There’s a drunk guy with a scantily clad woman sitting on his lap, peppering kisses on his face. There’s a decent sized bar with stools and enough booze on the shelves to give 60 underage teenagers alcohol poisoning.
