Page 25 of Kiwi

9

Kiwi

Istorm out of the fucking dinner ready to murder someone and to kick my own arse for yet again losing control. I may have crossed a line just a little, but right now, I don't give a shit. The moment Piper mentioned seeing her ex, I saw red. The instant I stepped into the dinner and saw her smiling at him, it further infuriated my already agitated state of mind. Jealousy is an emotion I'm not used to feeling, and I'm not too fond of it. It makes me want to mark Piper, tell the world, and every fucking swinging dick within a one-hundred-mile radius, she is mine. Especially, after that shit she hurled at me about her and that fucking tool. It's my own damn fault for asking if she had fucked him. I have no right being jealous. Yet here I am, fighting a losing battle.

Standing beside my bike, I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot a text to Fender.

Me:Give me a hand at the garage

While waiting for his reply, Piper exits the building. I drink her in as she moves across the lot to her car. She spots me looking her way as she opens her door. If looks could kill, I would be a dead man. Damn, she is fighting mad, and it's sexy as hell. I have a hard-on for that hot sassy mouth of hers. I saw a side of her I have never seen before today. She was fierce—a force to be reckoned. To be truthful, Piper had every right to chew me out the way she did. Despite my actions and the fact I was a complete arse, I don't regret it. The taste of her kiss is burned on my lips forever. No way in hell would I take it back. I'm hooked, and like an addict, I want more—so much more. In those few brief seconds, I felt so fucking high no one could touch me. Then I had to get a fucking phone call. One I couldn't ignore. A shipment the club was expecting three days ago just arrived. The new shop opens tomorrow, and the items on that delivery are crucial to running the hydraulic lifts in the garage.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

Fender:Now?

Me:Yeah

Fender:You got it.

Mounting my bike, I peel out of the parking lot, putting distance between Piper and me. As hard as I try, my self-control is damn near nonexistent when I'm near her. I need to rein in my emotions. If Piper's ex-boyfriend notices something between her and me, I'm doing a piss ass job of hiding my feelings for her. There's a lot of shit the club and my brothers will overlook, but pursuing Piper isn't one of them. The club means a lot to me. Riggs and the others have given me a home away from home. Much of who I am lies with being a Kings of Retribution member. Like my parents and siblings back in New Zealand, Riggs, Nova, Wick, Fender, and Everest are family. As much as I know I mean the same to them, I don't think Nova would look the other way when it comes to his daughter. In his eyes, not a single man could ever be good enough for Piper. If she were to get involved with a biker, he would be livid. Let that biker be me—his brother, he will flip his shit.

Piper is right. I can't keep giving her mixed signals. One minute I'm pushing her away, keeping my distance. The next, I'm pressing my lips against hers to make sure some dipshit kid knows she belongs to me. I've fallen so fucking hard for that woman. The struggle to do what is right for the club's sake has me all fucked in the head.

Before I realize how fast I'm going, I fly past a cop car. He lights me up, and I slow, pulling the bike to the side of the road. Great. In my side mirror, I watch the cop's driver door swing open. Jesus. Officer Roberts strolls his smirking ass my way. His partner, who I recognize right away as officer Andrews, steps out of the passenger door but hangs back a couple of yards. We have a good relationship with several of New Orleans's finest, and usually don't have any issues dealing with them. But this one? He's fresh out of the academy, and a cocky arse son of a bitch. Roberts stops a good three feet at my right side.

I slide my shades to the top of my head and look at him, waiting for him to speak first. You can tell the man works out. Probably all he does in his spare time, but his stature doesn't intimate me. "You bikers seem to think you own this city and don't need to heed the speed limits or any laws for that matter." Roberts rests his hand on top of his weapon attached to his side and taps his finger against it. "Clocked you doing sixty in a forty-five."

I don't have time for his shit.

"Just give me the damn ticket, Roberts." My words are sharp with irritation.

"Watch the attitude," Roberts pops off, and it hits a nerve.

"Look," I say in the most polite even tone I can muster, "You're still relatively new around here, so I'm going to overlook the fact that you feel the need to compare dick sizes with that arrogant act you have goin' on at the moment, but let me assure you, mine's bigger."

"Are you trying to intimidate me?" Officer Roberts takes a slight step forward.

"Roberts," his patrol partner finally steps in.

Gritting his teeth, Roberts moves past his hurt ego. "License and insurance," he asks, and I lean forward to retrieve my wallet out of my back pocket. He takes my credentials and walks to his car. The asshole proceeds to sit in his car for several minutes, while Andrews leans against the side of their patrol car, his head ducked in the window, looking as if he's giving his rookie a stern talking. Finally, Roberts returns, handing me my license, insurance card, and a ticket.

"We done here?" I shove everything into my wallet.

Roberts looks pained when he says, "You're free to go."

I wait until both officers are safely in the patrol car before merging into traffic.

Ten minutes later, I'm pulling up to the garage, where Fender already has the bay door open. "Hey, brother."

"Sorry for the holdup." I walk over to the fridge toward the back of the garage, open the door, and snatch a cold beer from inside. I down damn near the entire bottle while I stand there.

"What has you fired up?" Fender asks, eyeing me as I stride toward him.

"Nothin'." My short answer leaves him staring at me a little too long. "What?" I ask.

Fender leans back against the shop wall, folding his arms across his chest. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a woman, would it?" My eyes cut back at him, and I scoff. Downing what little is still in the bottle, I toss it into the trash.

"No."