"Too tight?" he asks, his voice closer than I expected.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
"Good." He steps back, swinging onto the bike. "Get on behind me. Feet on the pegs, hold onto my waist or the seat. Whatever feels stable."
I stare at the bike. At him. At the small space I'm supposed to occupy behind him, pressed up against all that muscle and leather.
This is insane, but I get on anyway.
Chapter 4 - Havoc
I can't believe I'm actually doing this.
Pope told me to keep my distance. Stone gave me that look that said don't be stupid. Knuckles outright laughed when I said I was heading out early, like he knew exactly where I was going and why.
And he was right. Because here I am, sitting on my bike at a bus stop three blocks from the casino, offering a woman I barely know a ride home, completely ignoring every piece of advice and every direct order I've been given tonight.
I'm fucked. Completely and totally fucked.
And then she gets on the bike, behind me, and I stop caring about any of it.
Her body settles against mine. Soft where I'm hard, warm where I'm cold. She hesitates for a second before her arms wrap around my waist, slow at first, then tighter when I start the engine and it rumbles to life beneath us.
"Hold on," I tell her over the noise.
Her grip tightens, and I feel it everywhere. Her thighs press against mine. Her chest—fuck, her breasts—pressed against my back, soft and full even through our layers of clothing. Every breath she takes I feel, every slight shift of her weight, every nervous tremor that runs through her.
My cock hardens instantly, and I'm grateful she can't see my face right now because I probably look like I'm in pain. Which I am. But it's the good kind. The kind I haven't felt in so fucking long I'd almost forgotten what it was like to want someone this badly.
I pull away from the curb, keeping my promise to go slow. The bike purrs beneath us as we navigate through the tourist district,past the bright lights and fake glamour of the Strip. Ruby's grip tightens every time I turn, her body leaning with mine.
She's a natural. Trusts the bike without realizing it.
Trusts me without realizing it.
We hit East Fremont faster than the ten minutes I promised. Traffic's light this time of night, and the neighborhood changes around us. The bright Vegas facade gives way to the reality most tourists never see. Liquor stores with bars on the windows. Check cashing places charging predatory interest. Motels that rent by the week to people who've run out of options.
This is where she's living. Where her kid is sleeping right now.
I know this neighborhood. Worked security for a place two blocks over when I first got to Vegas, before Pope found me and gave me a better option. I know what happens here after dark. The dealers on the corners. The working girls negotiating prices. The violence that erupts without warning when someone gets high enough or desperate enough or just plain mean enough.
Ruby doesn't belong here. Neither does her kid.
"Which one?" I ask, slowing as we hit the strip of motels that line this section of Fremont.
"Desert Rose," she says, her voice muffled by the helmet. "Next block."
I know the Desert Rose. It's one of the better ones, which isn't saying much. At least the owner tries to keep the dealers off the property, and the doors have working locks.
But it's still a shithole, and the fact that she's here with a five-year-old kid makes me want to burn something down.
I pull into the parking lot, navigating around potholes and discarded trash. The two-story building is painted a faded pinkthat might have been cheerful once but now just looks sad. Half the exterior lights are burned out, casting long shadows across the walkways.
A drunk is shouting near the office, stumbling in circles, yelling at someone who isn't there. His words are slurred, incoherent, but the rage in his voice is crystal clear.
Ruby tenses against me, her grip tightening.
"Which room?" I ask, killing the engine.
