Chapter Six
Red Flag
The giant of a man took his sweet time approaching our table, and for that I was grateful. There was a lot of him to take in. Leather seemed to be his thing, his massively broad shoulders covered in a black leather biker jacket with silver zippers, his tree-trunk legs encased in black jeans that ended in black leather lace-up boots, the steel-toed kind that had their fair share of road scuff, a sure sign of someone who often rode a motorcycle.
He certainly looked like a biker—windblown wavy black hair, dark scruff shadowing his angular jaw, and a silver barbell piercing over his left brow. Tattoos covered his hands and fingers, and a glint of silver on his index finger showed me he had a penchant for skull jewelry.
If this guy was anything but a biker, I’d eat my favorite pair of platform heels.
“What’s wrong with clean-cut?” I asked the universe at large before he got too close to hear me. “An investment banker or a tennis coach, or one of those young, self-made billionaires that exist only in books. Why do I never get set up with any of those guys?”
“Because sweetheart,” Roxie said gently, “you’d chew those guys up and spit them out within a week.”
True. “Where did you even find this guy? Please don’t say across the street at the Gravediggers,” I added in my most quelling tone. Tyr didn’t like it when one of his brothers even noticed my existence. I was now so notorious within Tyr’s MC that just about every man there treated me like I was radioactive.
Roxie shook her head. “You’re the one who found him, actually.”
“Me? How?”
“This is Olive’s brother, which you would have found out if Tyr hadn’t dragged you across the street. Hey, Red.” Roxie greeted the giant with a bright smile. “So glad you could make it. This is the lady who tried to help Olive yesterday. Ginger, this is Red, Olive’s big brother.”
“If I had known Olive had you tucked away somewhere, I never would have bothered trying to change her tire.” I had to crank my neck around and up, and up some more, just to make eye contact. I was six feet tall, but this guy had to be half a head taller than me. “Did you get the tire fixed?”
“Not fixed. Replaced, along with the other three tires. They were all pretty much useless.”
I blinked, not because of his generosity, but because he had the unexpected voice of an angel, a rich tenor with no hint of a Chicago accent. I could listen to this guy read the Periodic table and be content. “That was nice of you.”
“That’s what big brothers are supposed to do, I guess.” He shrugged before gesturing to the seat next to me. “May I?”
Wow. A biker with manners. Would wonders never cease? “Sure.” I scooted everything over and promptly realized I was now trapped inside the booth with a man I didn’t know.
Awesome.
“So.” When no one seemed interested in filling the void once Red had settled in the seat next to me, I valiantly searched for something to say. “Olive seemed really stressed out the other day. Is she feeling any better?”
“She’s fine. Better than you, from what I hear.” To my surprise, he reached over and plucked my bandaged hand off the table. I’d re-bandaged it earlier in the day, so while it didn’t look nearly as good as Tyr’s dressing, it still did the job. “Olive mentioned that she felt bad you got hurt while trying to help her. I’m sorry about that, too. Can’t stand the thought of this delicate little hand getting sliced open.”
Delicate ? “There’s nothing little about me, and there’s no need to apologize. No one made me try to change that tire.” I stared at the hand holding mine, waiting for my pulse to quicken and my skin to tingle with a rush of heat because an over-the-top macho man was touching me. Nothing happened. It was like holding hands with a mannequin, and in a heartbeat I knew why. Tyr. With one powerful kiss, Tyr had officially cockblocked every other male on the planet for me. Bastard . “You know what they say, that which does not kill you makes you stronger, right?”
“Nietzsche’s best quote.”
Lord help me, he was tattooed, pierced and well-read, and all I did was sit there like a lump that didn’t know what hormones were. Discreetly I slipped my hand from his to reach for my fresh drink, then drained the damn thing out of desperation. I should be a steamy-hot mess for this fine specimen of ultimate manhood, but was I? Nope. Apparently I was too busy fixating on one mind-blowing kiss from a man who wanted the world to believe he hated me.
I was so screwed up.
Across the table, Roxie made a little sound of delight. “Look at that, the two of you are already speaking the same language. Red, did you know the woman you’re sitting next to is actually a closet bookworm? One entire wall of the breakroom in Vixen’s Den is covered in books—mysteries of any and all kinds, whatever she can get her hands on.”
“My Tbr pile is out of control, which is probably the most uncool thing I’ve ever publicly shared with anyone.” I watched the corner of his mouth curl into his scruff, a trace of amusement that hinted at a full-blown smile. “What about you? Any embarrassing secrets you’d like to share?” This will be our little secret…
Damn it, shut up, Tyr.
Red’s eyes had to be called hazel, a kind of light khaki brown, and they were focused on me like I was the only one in the room. “None that I could mention in public.”
“Scaredy cat.” I doubted he’d ever been scared of anything in his life, but the martinis were starting to kick in and I was feeling spicy. Gingersnap spicy.
Man, I loved it when Tyr called me Snap…
“In public,” he reiterated, leaning ever so slightly into my personal space. “I wouldn’t mind telling you all about it in private.”
Whoa, Nelly . “I’m sure there are things you can share with the rest of the class right now, though. Like your name, for instance. Is Red your actual name, your nickname or your road name?” If he knew what a road name was, that meant he was from the life, and that meant I needed to know who he rode with. If it was Hades…
Catching our server’s eyes, I signaled for another round.
The man beside me lifted a shoulder, causing the black leather to creak. “It’s short for Red Flag.”
“Red Flag, huh?” I looked over at Roxie, who looked more than a little flummoxed. Red Flag as a name was clearly a red flag in real life, and I could see the uncertainty I felt mirrored in her eyes. “Isn’t that something, Rox? Sounds like a road name for sure.”
“Yeah,” Roxie said weakly, looking like she now questioned every decision she’d ever made in her life that had led to this moment. “That’s… boy, that’s really something.”
If Red detected the mood change, he didn’t give any indication. “How’d you get the name Ginger?”
“My mom saw the color of my hair when I popped out and named me on the spot. That’s pretty much what you’d expect from a sixteen-year-old who thought it was the height of cool to get knocked up while still in high school.” The booth seemed too small for the both of us. Until that moment I had no idea I was claustrophobic. “She kind of knew what to expect when she had me, though, because we looked a lot alike—same hair, same skin, same height. Gotta say, you and Olive don’t have any of that going on, at least in the looks department. How does that work?”
“Different mothers. Genetics are weird, but family’s family, and you helped mine out yesterday.” Again he took my hand, looking down at the bandages. “Not everyone would have done that for a complete stranger. That’s why I wanted to meet you face-to-face. I wanted to thank you for being kind to Olive.”
The surprising gentleness in both his tone and hold on my hand surprised me. “No problem.”
“I also wanted to meet you because Olive said you were smokin’ hot and ran a stripper shop. What can I say, the kid knows I’ve got a type.”
“Oh, now that was good.” Roxie pointed a manicured finger at Red, clearly forgiving him his somewhat alarming name because he had a gift for smooth talk. She slid to the end of the booth in an obvious exit move. “I’m going to go see about where our next round is. What are you drinking, Red?”
“Normally I’d say beer. But,” he glanced significantly at the two empty martini glasses in front of me, “I think I’d better stick to Coke.”
“Get the man a beer, Rox,” I encouraged her before she could take a step. Sure, I was getting my tipsy on in a big way, but I was still the product of my upbringing. No way in hell was I going to let a man I didn’t even know drive my fine ass home when I was vulnerable. “I’ve already booked my ride for an hour from now. I’m covered.”
“You can always unbook it.” His angel’s voice was smoother than silk, but in those khaki-colored eyes of his I thought I caught a flash of irritation. No surprise there. Getting turned down flat was probably a rare thing for him. “What do you say we keep the party rolling and not worry about stupid shit like pick-up times?”
I glanced at Roxie, who was the best friend ever as she hovered by the table waiting to see what I wanted to do. I sent her off to the bar with a quick chin lift before turning my full attention to Red.
“I need to know something straight-up, and I’d appreciate it if you would answer me honestly.” My tongue was having a little trouble forming the words and I felt flushed from my knees all the way up, but I was positive I still had enough wits about me to figure him the hell out. “Who do you ride with?”
I didn’t know if it was a good sign or a bad sign when he didn’t so much as lift a brow. “What?”
Oh. So he chose to insult my intelligence. Okay. “Don’t play me, Red Flag. I’ll tear you to fucking bloody shreds and leave you in my wake, as forgotten as a speed bump, if you choose to play me. Is that what you’re choosing to do?”
“Damn, what a mouth.” For some reason he smiled full-on, looking almost like the Joker. “What makes you think I ride with anyone?”
“Are we really going to be pussies about this and answer questions with questions?”
He graduated from a smile to an outright laugh. “Holy shit, that attitude of yours is something else.”
“Still not answering the question, yo.”
“I rode with the Texas Copperheads from the time I could reach the handlebars,” he said, still grinning. “But I recently moved to Chicago for personal reasons. Family reasons, and that’s my business, not yours,” he added when I opened my mouth to dig into that. “Roxie told me you grew up in the life. That true?”
“More like I survived it.” I once again slipped my hand from his to touch the scars on my forearms, before crossing my arms to rest them on the table. “That’s all in the past, though. I live a solid civilian life now and I love it. I’m out of that life now and forever, thank fucking Christ. Hope you can hear what I’m saying.”
“I hear you.” But he said it absently as his gaze snagged on the straight-line scars decorating my forearms. “Who did that to you?”
Unlike him, I was polite enough to not insult his intelligence by playing dumb. “Me.”
“You were a cutter?”
“I didn’t do it voluntarily.”
“But you did cut yourself.”
“With a straight razor, yes.”
He stared at me, clearly mystified. At last, I’d become a woman of mystery. Yay me.
“Someone forced you to do it,” he said at length. Took him long enough. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
To my shock, his hand snaked out and caught my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “Who?”
The nerve . “Watch it, pal.” With great deliberation I reached up and removed his hand from my face before drilling him full of holes with my very best pretend-goddess glare. “You can look, but don’t ever touch. And as for my scars, they’re mine to own along with their stories. Respect my boundaries or fuck off. Choice is yours.”
He blinked, and for a moment I could almost believe he’d been blinded by all my pretend-goddess brilliance. Then he leaned in way too close and put his mouth to my ear.
“Boundaries are for pussies, beautiful.” Then he backed away and gave that full-on grin before sliding from the booth and heading for the door.
*
Who knew that four—or was it five?—Never Minds could make me feel sooooo good?
Carlo had been a darling and insisted on dropping me off after all, and he even walked me all the way to my front door. Which was probably a good thing, since I was in heels and the ground kept swaying like we were at sea.
I loved my front door, going so far as to tell Carlo all about it. It was one of those old industrial jobs that people called a barn door nowadays. It slid open on a track and was heavier than an average compact car, but that’s what I loved about it. Once all the locks were in place, it was an impenetrable shield and nothing in the universe could get to me.
After waving Carlo and Roxie off for the night, I managed to lock the door, then half-fell out of my slippery heels on my way to the bathroom. It was so funny I started laughing at myself and couldn’t stop, all the while making my way across the ash-gray wood floors that would not stay still.
I seriously loved my loft. The interior was whitewashed for the most part, and that made the few exposed red-brick accent walls pop all the more. Other industrial touches like the overhead duct work and exposed pipes harkened back to another era, when my loft was a Victorian-age printing press. Now, having lived here since I finally left my hiding place with Hel in her room, I loved it even more. Because it was mine—well, Blue Horizons, LLC and mine—and no one could take it away from me.
Somehow I managed not to kill myself in the bathroom as I got ready for bed. I also made myself take some Tylenol along with a glass of water, my personal secret weapon in avoiding the worst of a hangover. The hardest part of going to bed was actually making it to the bed itself. The black wrought iron stairs were no steadier than the floors, so I hung on for dear life as I made it up to the square platform I used as my bedroom. Thankfully my bed took up most of the platform that was framed in thick wrought-iron railings. With a grateful sigh, I allowed myself to fall onto that lovely expanse of neatly made mattress, already more asleep than awake.
It seemed like only seconds passed before something brought me groggily back within the zip code of consciousness. A dream, maybe. A dream of light. No. Not light. It was the sudden absence of light. I’d left the lights on downstairs so I wouldn’t stumble in the dark. But now…
There was no light on anywhere in the loft.
Good .
With a sleepy sigh I sank deeper into the dark. I liked the dark. Dark was great for sleeping, and I loved sleep…
The bed moved.
No.
I moved.
Or I thought I was moving.
Wait.
Did the bed just move?
I moaned. God, I hated the spinnies. The first time I’d ever gotten seriously drunk was when Hel and I had finished a bottle of Jack Daniels between the two of us, and the floor never stopped spinning. Tyr took pity on me and told me to lie flat with my hand on the floor. Amazingly enough, that did the trick. No more spinnies.
I needed the edge of the bed, stat.
I rolled toward what I thought was the edge of the mattress but instead came up against a wall. A wall? When had I put a wall in my bed?
“Spinning,” I muttered on another groan, if only to remind myself that I needed the floor so I could get off this damn merry-go-round.
Then I moved again, though I had no idea how it happened. I just… moved . Rolled onto my other side. Warmth slid down my bare arm, grasped my hand and stretched it down, down, down…
To the floor.
Slowly the spinning came to a stop. The warmth covering my hand lingered, keeping my hand on the floor, while the wall moved to press against my back and was now half-lying on top of me. It felt good, though, because that solidness helped with the spinnies too. With a sigh of relief, I again sank into the darkness and dreamed of a hot mouth opening on the nape of my neck, teeth gently biting, tongue slowly caressing.
All things considered, it was a seriously good dream.