Craving the Bad Boy (Heartless Bastards)

1. Tammy

1

TAMMY

I’ve only been in Chesterville for two days. Two whole days. But already, the dusty, rundown streets of this tiny town feel like they’re suffocating me. When I look in the mirror now, I don’t even see the girl I was back in West Virginia. The girl who could laugh at the mess of her own life and dream about what it would be like when I “finally made it,” whatever that means. Lots of people make jokes about where I’m from, but it wasn’t one of those stereotypical reasons that caused me to leave home. I left home because my dad tried to kill me.

For every drunk, abusive, controlling, son-of-a-bitch father out there, mine broke the mold.

He wanted a son, but he got me. And from as far back as I can remember, he made sure I knew that. Crystal clear. As soon as I hit puberty, he tried to dictate every aspect of my life. What I could wear, who I could talk to, where I went. And if I stood up to him, I took a beating. But that didn’t stop me. Until one night, after losing his entire paycheck at a poker game, he came home drunk off his rocker and tried to choke me to death for buying a skirt he thought was too short.

I packed a single bag and caught the first bus out of town. I had no idea where I was headed, but all I know is when I got to Chesterville, the small town just felt like somewhere I could start over. So here I am, eighteen years old, doing my best to make something of my life.

Thankfully, I find comfort in my job. Or maybe it’s just a way to distract myself from the black emptiness that is always eating at me. Jayne’s bar is a bit dirty and wanting of customers, but when I’m here, I don’t have to pretend to be anything other than what I am now: just a girl getting by. The dim lights are like something out of a movie, and the sour stench of stale beer make Jayne’s the kind of spot where people go when they want to forget their lives for a while.

And that’s precisely why I’m here.

I’m behind the counter, going through my usual routine wiping down glasses and doing my best to block out the noise in my head, when I feel something. A pull. Like a magnetic field or a gravitational force, snatching my attention before I even realize what’s happening.

The door squeaks as it swings open, and a man strides in who is so out of place here that it’s almost comical. His very presence somehow fills the room, instantly making everyone around him fade into the background like shadows.

He’s tall. Almost too tall, with broad shoulders that take up most of the space around him. He’s rough, but the worn leather jacket he’s got on looks way too expensive for a dive like Jayne’s. His boots are scuffed and worn but somehow give off an air of mystery, like an ancient relic not yet deciphered.

Whoever he is, he doesn’t belong in a dive like this. He belongs somewhere fierce, dangerous. Somewhere meant for men like him.

My breath catches in my throat as I try to fully take in his hotness. I don’t know why I’m even trying. Men and I don’t really get along. I’ve never had a boyfriend in my life, and it’s my own fault. I know that. I’ve got a problem with trust and hardcore daddy issues, which should come as no surprise to anybody.

The mystery man’s brilliant amber eyes sweep across the room, landing on me for a fleeting second, causing a spark in my chest. Heat swells through my body, curling and boiling deep in my stomach. His eyes fix on me and don’t move. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t even acknowledge anyone else. He just stares right at me, like I’m the only person in the room worthy of his attention.

He approaches deliberately, and I feel my stomach stir. Then his rough voice cuts through the silence. “Whiskey. Neat.”

I try and ignore how his deep, gravelly voice wraps around me like a thick rope, but it’s impossible. His tone vibrates through my bones, touching me in places I didn’t even know I wanted touched. George, the bartender, slides a glass over to him, and for a long moment, our eyes stay locked on each other. Magnetism. Gravity. Call it what you will, but I’m stuck, unable to look away. I’m lost in the endless intensity of those bright, burning ambers.

Finally, I somehow manage to force my eyes down to focus on anything but him. I grab a rag and wipe at the bar top–scuffed, scratched, and filled with divots from countless years of rough use. I don’t know how long he stays standing there, but when I finally find the courage to look back up, he’s moved even closer.

Too close.

He’s standing right in front of me, so close that I can feel the heat radiating off him. His presence is overpowering. The musky scent of leather and fuel cling to him like an aura. My heart is pounding heavily in my chest. It’s all I can do to keep my breathing under control.

He doesn’t speak. He simply stares at me, causing my skin to prickle under his mysterious gaze.

“You’re new,” he finally says, shattering the silence. His voice feels somehow stronger now, despite being quieter.

I swallow hard, struggling to find the right response. “Yeah, I just moved here.”

His lips form a crooked smile like he’s enjoying this. “And what’s a good girl like you doing in a place like this?”

I try to blow off his dad-joke, but my sarcastic laugh comes out like a little girly squeak. It’s like he somehow already has a hold on me–like I no longer have control over my own body, despite the fact that he’s done nothing but look at me so far.

“Ya know, working. Getting away from things.”

He raises a curious eyebrow and tilts his head, his eyes narrow and dark like he sees right through my act. He shakes his head and makes a tsk sound with his tongue and teeth. “You don’t belong here.”

His words are a statement with no room for discussion. And I don’t know why, but they hit me like a punch to the gut. Is he challenging me? Is there something he wants me to say? To do? It sure feels like it, and for some stupid reason that I can’t quite put my finger on, I like it.

I defy his stare and meet his eyes head-on. “No? Where do I belong then?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice from quivering.

He leans in closer, merely inches away from me now, and my heart skips a beat. I’m fighting just to breathe. His muscled body is so close. His broad shoulders and dark, wavy hair. I can feel his heat, and it’s like the air around us is somehow tighter.

“You belong with a guy who knows how to treat a good girl like you,” he replies, his voice a feral growl like a lone wolf.

A comment like that should come off arrogant. Dangerous.

But it doesn’t.

It sounds like a proposition. An invitation.

My heart skips another beat, and my breath catches in my throat. I want to call him out for being a cocky asshole. Maybe even start some kind of argument that I would no doubt lose.

But I can’t.

His words hang over me with that same magnetic force I felt before when he entered the bar, and I know there’s not going to be an easy way out of this. Not anymore.

Again, I try to force out a laugh, but again it comes out a high-pitched quiver. “Sorry, but I don’t think you’re my type.”

He stares back at me for a long moment, his eyes examining every inch of my face like he’s cementing each little detail into memory. The edges of his lips twist into an amused smile that’s cocky and confident. It’s the kind of smile that makes me want to take back everything I just said.

“We’ll see about that,” he mutters, taking a short step back, just enough to give me a little space but not enough to lose the connection between us. “You know who I am?”

I shake my head nervously. “I told you, I just moved here.”

He nods, his eyes narrow. I can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed by my response. “I’m the leader of the Heartless Bastards.”

The Heartless Bastards. I know who they are.

They’re a tough-as-hell biker gang in the area that’s always up to no good. I haven’t had any personal interactions with the members, but I’ve seen them around here and there. Riding in groups on their motorcycles, taking up both lanes of the road, forcing everyone to get out of their way or else. They’re a rough bunch, and this man standing before me is their leader.

He must be really rough.

He extends a hand to grab his drink, and his fingers graze across the back of my wrist, sending a jolt of electricity through me, from the tips of my toes to my eyelids. It’s quick but leaves me with a tingling sensation in my stomach and chest.

“What’s your name?” It’s technically a question, but he says it like a command. And there’s a tone to it as well that’s almost…possessive.

“Tammy,” I say. My voice betrays me, trembling even harder than before. I cough, pretending to clear my throat. “And yours?”

“Saxon,” he replies, like he’s letting me in on a secret just between the two of us.

Of course his name is Saxon. That’s just the kind of name that belongs on someone like him. Someone dangerous. A lone alpha. Someone used to getting whatever it is they want.

Heart racing, I step back and reach for another glass to clean. My body is burning up from the simple, brief touch of his hand against my wrist. It was like an appetizer, and as I gaze back at him, I realize he’s made me hungry.

I want more.

“I’ll see you, Tammy,” he says, his voice like velvety chocolate, dark and smooth and delicious.

Without another word, he turns, and I watch as he walks across the bar to the door. I just can’t help myself. My eyes are glued to the confident way he moves, the subtle power in his physique as though the world was made to revolve around him.

It isn’t until the door swings shut behind him and slams that I’m shaken out of my stupor and realize that I’m just standing there, frozen in place, my heart pounding heavily in my chest.