2. Diesel
Diesel
I know trouble like the back of my hand. Don’t even know her last name, but Ruby is trouble carved into a form so soft it’s fucking dangerous.
The image of her—those wide brown eyes and a bottom lip that trembled like she was fighting back a sob—is burned behind my eyelids. It’s going to cling to me, a persistent itch under my skin, until I either send her away or get my hands dirty for her. Both options feel like a trap.
It makes me wonder if someone sent her my way just to test my loyalty.
Just thinking about the hazy future makes it hard to concentrate on my work. I can’t afford not to appreciate the time I can give to my shop throughout the week when I’m distracted like this.
“Everything alright?” Cherry doesn’t shy away from her curiosity, but she’s smart enough to wait until no regular civilians are nearby whenever it feels like something that could involve the club.
We don’t want to risk scaring away all of our customers who recognize the design on my back. While I wear my cut proudly, some still fear it from the old days.
Working on closing up shop, the best thing I can give her is a non-committed grunt.
Cherry’s not in the dark of what I do. Hell, she’s inked up my brothers, offering them a wink and a discount if they let her practice on them. For something so permanent, I’ve seen her succeed far too many times.
“Who was that woman? I’ve seen her around town, but I can’t remember where.” The redhead’s face pinches as she tries to recall the past.
I felt it in a sense, too, a distant familiarity, but nothing set in stone. If I had really noticed her, Ruby would have stood out more.
“Depending on the situation, I might need to step away from the shop.” Passing her question with silence, I shut off the music and grab my keys. “Think you can keep a good eye on things if it happens?”
Cherry grins at the offer, happy to take on whatever clients step through the door. “Sure, Boss. Always.”
“Don’t let anyone upstairs.” Preaching the exact words I always do, I try not to think about someone trying to slip inside of my personal living space. I’ve had it happen once before, and it was just a mix-up. That was before I stumbled across the Steelwood MC.
I don’t even allow Chelsea up there without a warning beforehand.
She’s the one person I don’t want getting involved in all of this. Hell, she doesn’t even know the fine details about what I do, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Cameron doesn’t ask questions, but it’s evident that his auto shop is where we get our work done. He’s smart enough not to breathe a word to Chelsea.
After locking up the shop, Cherry doesn’t waste time leaving the lot; she’s off to enjoy the rest of her day.
I get on my bike and shoot a message to Judge, already warning him of what’s to come. While it’s not enough to call a meeting, he dislikes problems popping up without warning.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, the roar of my bike bounces off the surrounding buildings before I make the short trip to Willow Perk.
The coffee shop is buzzing, especially around this time of the year. While the air is cold, people flock to the business for delicious warm drinks. From pumpkin-flavored coffees to apple desserts, they’re going all out this season to attract as much attention as they can get.
A great place to send someone who shouldn’t be alone.
As I shut my bike off, I take the chance to smoke. Honestly, I don’t know if Ruby will still be here to begin with. After a few hours have passed, I can’t blame her if she suddenly gets impatient and goes off to find a different route to take.
The cops won’t help, even I know that much. Who else is there? Sure, she could hunt down one of my brothers, but would she?
She took one step into my shop, and I could hear her fear. I’m willing to bet a woman like her doesn’t even know what direction to start looking when it comes to the things that lurk in the shadows.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t have a problem with danger finding her first.
A stalker, out of all things. It doesn’t help that she has no clue who it could be.
If Chelsea were having this issue, I wouldn’t think twice about bloodying my hands over it so she’d never worry again.
Ruby’s not blood, so I can’t decide something that could jeopardize everything Judge has done to reshape the club.
Sighing softly, I don’t try to peer through the glass windows to see if those wide brown eyes will be looking back.
I can’t get involved with trouble. Trouble is the easiest way to distract me, and I have a role to fulfill here. I can’t afford to be sidetracked.
A cigarette later, I’m heading toward the building.
Pulling open the door, the bell overhead jingles as it always does, and I’m hit with the aroma of coffee.
It’s so sweet, my teeth ache just thinking about getting one of their muffins.
I shouldn’t. Recalling her offer of getting one, I’m mostly satisfied to see there isn’t one sitting at her table.
My eyes find her instantly, tucked into a corner like a secret. She’s trying to be small, unnoticed, but all it does is make me want to loom over her, to be the wall between her and everything else.
That pinched, lost expression on her face does something to my insides—a sharp, unwelcome twist in my gut that has nothing to do with pity. Pity is clean. This is a raw, clawing need to fix it, to be the reason that the scared look vanishes.
I fucking hate it. Makes me feel weak, and I haven’t felt that way since I was a kid.
While I know I can handle my problems with nothing but my bare hands, what can she do? She doesn’t look like she’s much of a fighter, let alone have the ability to cause pain. She’s shorter than most women I know and seems outright defenseless.
Yeah, that must be it.
Rolling my shoulders and shoving down the discomforting feeling, I head toward her. The weight behind my steps gives me away rather quickly.
Her head snaps up, and those big brown eyes light up when she sees me. It’s like watching the sun break through storm clouds. A smile curves her mouth, and it hits me right in the chest, a punch of warmth I don’t want.
I’m not used to this.
Pretty women don’t look at me like I’m the answer to their prayers; they look at me like I’m the warning. My body’s reaction isn’t confusion; it’s a hunger I’ve disciplined out of myself, roaring back to life for the one woman I can’t have.
There’s a cup tucked inside her folded grip, and I’m willing to bet the drink inside is long gone. Still, she clutches it like it’s some kind of lifeline. Something to ground her.
“Let’s go.” Jerking my chin, I don’t let myself apologize for making her wait for so long.
If she were willing to stay here, then her issue is severe enough to get our help.
“Where are we going?” Fumbling with her words as she gets up, she does as I ask and tosses her cup away as we leave the building.
“To see the guy who will tell me if I can help you or not.” No point in throwing around names just yet.
Leaving the cafe, a gust of wind hits us, and I notice how gray the clouds are looking today. I hope the weatherman knew what he was talking about this morning. I don’t want any rain getting in my way.
She stares at my motorcycle but doesn’t move. Shifting from one foot to the other, I watch as she bites the inside of her cheek. Proving my theory right even more, I’m sure she avoids anything scary.
“I’m a good driver. Never crashed.” Don’t know why I’m feeling the need to reassure her. What I should be doing is moving this along. “Do I need to hold your hand?”
Ruby’s cheeks go red instantly, and she instantly shakes her head. “I’ve just never ridden on one, that’s all.”
My mouth twitches when she tries to keep her head up as she carefully approaches. When she throws her leg over and takes a seat, she looks up at me with a pinched expression.
She’s cute. Okay, I get it. She’s got a face that can easily attract a bastard and trick him into thinking her smile means something else.
I feel like another thought of mine has been proven right.
This woman is trouble.
I swing my leg over the bike, settling in front of her. The engine growls to life beneath us. She doesn’t need instruction; her arms slide around my waist, her hands fisting my shirt.
Her grip is desperate, and the press of her body against my back is a brand of heat that sears through my leather cut.
I reach back to position her thighs for our comfort, avoiding any risk of her burning herself. While my hand engulfs her legs, even through the denim, I feel the slender shape of it, the heat of her skin. A jolt goes through me, straight to my groin. Fuck.
“It’s a short drive. Just lean when I do,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
I feel her nod, a slight movement against my spine.
When we pull out, her grip tightens, and she presses herself flush against me.
A few strands of her hair escape, whipping against the back of my neck.
Each touch is a tiny lick of fire. I’m hyper-aware of every inch of her—the softness of her chest against my back, the way her thighs bracket my hips.
My cock has a mind of its own, and all I can be is relieved that she’s behind me, not in front.
When was the last time I had someone on my bike? My sister won’t go near it. Many of the women who hang around the clubhouse don’t even try with me.
Ruby’s the first woman on my bike in a long while. I’d forgotten what it felt like—the intimacy of it, the trust it requires.
Her warmth soaks into me, a temporary comfort I have no right to take. This is a job. A favor. For a man like me, it can’t be anything else.
I crush the feeling, smothering it before it can take root.
Women like Ruby offer a glimpse of a life I don’t get to live, the normalcy I don’t know. Once her problem is solved, she’ll see the monster behind the savior and run. And she’d be right to. Enjoying this is a path to pain for both of us.