It’s Kawasaki, and the other guy was at Franco’s too. And Fireblade brings up the rear.
“Oh, for fuck’ssake.” I’m back on my feet. “That’s a no, Kurt. A hard no. I’m out.”
“Yeah, take a walk, little girl,” Kawasaki says, swaggering in like this is his place. He’s sporting a wicked welt on his cheek, the skin a deep purple-black, running to yellow-green at the edges. That eye’s half-closed from the swelling, but his otherdoesn’t look much better, both of them ringed with shadow. The bruise on his temple is a pleasingly vivid violet, and his nose has a kink in it I’m sure wasn’t there when he got in my face.
“The fuck happened to you?” Dario asks, amused. That earns him some brownie points back.
Kawasaki nods at me. “She did.”
“It was either that or sucking his cock,” I say, folding my arms. “Not much of a decision.”
“You don’t know what you missed,” Kawasaki replies.
Fireblade’s head turns awfully slowly to stare at him, and for a moment, those pale-blue eyes go cold and empty. Then his expression wipes clean. I’m not sure anyone else noticed; they’re all looking at Kawasaki with varying degrees of disgust. It’s not like I’m hyper aware of Fireblade’s expressions. Or his proximity to me. Or his half-open jacket, the flash of bare chest beneath, the hint of a skull tattoo, and ink work all the way from there and up his neck.
“Genesis.” Kurt’s on his feet too. Then surprises me by adding, “Please.”
Fireblade’s attention snaps to me, like he’s clocking my name.
“Raven,” I mutter, not looking at him and really hating life right now.
Kurt turns to the third guy. “Briggs, would you explain?”
The man called Briggs gestures at Kawasaki. “This is Diablo—”
I scoff, drawinga few glances.
“You think my name’s funny?” Kawasaki sneers. “Raven?”
God, I hate that guy.
“—and Declan Hale,” Briggs finishes firmly.
At least Fireblade hasn’t stylized himself. Shit, how disappointed would I have been if he’d gone with Blitz, or Rogue, or Cobra?
Not disappointed at all. You don’t care.
“I said two,” Kurt replies.
“It is two,” Briggs says. “I won’t be riding.”
Kurt nods. “Very well.”
“Take Briggs too,” I say. “Then I get to go home.”
Kawasaki—I can’t bring myself to call himDiablo,even in my head—curls his lip, flicking his fingers like he’s shooing me away. But Kurt steps past the coffee table, puts one hand on my hip, and leans in.
His voice is quiet in my ear. “You need the money.”
“I don’t care,” I reply, not bothered who hears. He’s right, I do. But at this price? Not worth it.
“Then do it as a favor to me.”
Shit.Now there’s no backing out. I owe him too much, and the bastard knows it.
Fireblade—Declan Hale—is watching. His eyes are on Kurt’s hand, on my hip, and a muscle twitches in his jaw.
There’s way too much testosterone in this room.
