If he were smart, he’d go straight home and make up for days of missed work. He had a stack of recovery orders waiting on his desk back home. Deadbeat car owners didn’t repo themselves, and he’d already lost a week’s pay on this trip, not that he’d change a thing.
As soon as he pulled up alongside the gas pump, Beth hopped off, grinning. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom and grab some snacks. I’m in the mood for something sweet. Want anything?”
You. Naked and spread-eagled in my bed. Nothing would be sweeter than the taste of you.
“Just grab me a Diet Dr. Pepper, if you don’t mind.” He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and held it out to her.
Beth rolled her eyes. “It’s a soda, Saint. I can cover it.”
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t put his money away. After a fifteen-second stare down, Beth huffed and snatched the bill from his hand, muttering something about stubborn bikers as she strode toward the convenience store. The way her ass moved in those damn jeans should be illegal.
“Fuck,” he muttered as he stared up at the sky. No lightning bolt came down to smite him or solve his problem, so he turned to the pump and got to work filling the tank.
By the time the meter stopped, Beth was back and munching on a Twizzler. Her plump lips looked obscene wrapped around the red candy, and his cock twitched with jealousy.
Three hours. Just three more hours. You can do this.
“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. They were at a busy travel station that seemed safe enough, but the thought of leaving Beth out there alone didn’t sit well with him.
“Don’t even think about it.” She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him with a Twizzler. “I’m a big girl, and I can wait here all by my big-girl self while you piss, Saint. I’m not following you inside and standing outside the bathroom like a child.”
“Babe, you don’t know—”
“Don’t you babe me. I’ve lived with you, alpha bikers, my entire life. I know how you operate. No one is going to kidnap me in broad daylight with a dozen vacationing families all around.” She waved him away. “Go. Pee. I’ll stand right here like a good girl. Promise.”
“I’m starting to think you are the furthest thing from a good girl,” he muttered, which earned him a sassy smirk.
Yeah, she was trouble, and once she was fully back to her old self and moving past her relationship with Jason, the entire club was fucked.
He stepped close until he loomed over her, but made sure she had plenty of room to escape if she felt uncomfortable. Her eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath as she arched her back to peer up at him, but nothing in her posture read as fear.
“Your sweet ass better be right here when I get back,” he said. “Don’t move even one inch from this spot.”
“Um… yeah… I’m not going… I’ll be here.” Her cheeks flushed an appealing shade of pink as she sputtered.
“Good.” He winked, then headed off to the building, not trying to hide his smirk. Pretty sure he won that round.
He hit the bathroom, then bought some ChapStick because the combination of wind and sun was murder on his lips. Walking out of the convenience store, he drew the gaze of morethan one customer. Some gave him a wide berth, while others stared, and one busty woman with over-processed hair licked her lips and winked. She probably hoped he’d take her around the side of the building for a quick fuck, which he’d very much love, but not with her.
The one he wanted had better be standing next to his bike, munching Twizzlers like she was auditioning for porn.
He was used to all manner of reactions from people when they saw his cut. Most steered clear, assuming an outlaw biker would fly into a homicidal rage if anyone got too close. Civilians wildly misunderstood their one-percenter culture. But then there were fender bunnies like the bleached blonde eyeing him like her next snack. None of it fazed him anymore.
The store’s automatic door slid open, revealing Beth right where he’d left her, only she wasn’t alone.
His spine stiffened instantly, and his hand went to his pocket, where he always kept a switchblade. He preferred a gun, but traveling across multiple state lines with one often invited unwanted attention from the local cops.
Beth stood at the front tire of his motorcycle, posture rigid and uncomfortable. She held her leather jacket closed, hiding the skin she’d freely allowed him to see, while some douchebag leered at her from the opposite side of the bike. The guy’s stance screamed gym bro with a puffed-up chest, spray-tanned muscles, and hair styled within an inch of its life.
He said something Saint couldn’t hear, but it made Beth frown as she tugged the jacket tighter, and that wase-fucking-noughfor him.
Saint’s blood zinged with the same thrill that surged through him when he got to fuck someone up for screwing over his club. The same delicious sense of homegrown justice he’d experienced pummeling the fuck out of Beth’s piece-of-shit ex.
He reached his bike in time to hear the gym bro with his Instagram-muscle and shampoo-commercial hair say, “Promise I’ll be the best lay you’ve ever had.”
“Yeah?” Saint said, voice soft and deadly calm. “That’s a pretty bold claim, my man.”
Both heads snapped his way.
