5. Morgan #2
I don’t know why that sits like lead in my belly—I know a lot of theirs after all—but it does. It so fucking does, and for a long uncomfortable moment, I can’t form words.
He raises one dark eyebrow, and for fuck’s sake, if I can’t even talk to them, how the hell do I expect them to ever let me ride with them?
I sit a little straighter on my bike, which I still haven’t got off yet.
It means I’m looking up at Holt, and maybe that’s part of the problem.
Pulling on every last ounce of false confidence I can muster, I get off my bike and stand.
He’s still got a couple of inches on me, but at least now I’m not craning my neck to see him. “I want to talk to Lynx.”
“Why?”
I don’t want to do this here. Not with everyone watching. I count at least seven people, and none of them look like moving any time soon. Especially not Holt, who’s now staring at me expectantly.
Fuck it.
“I want to join your club.” Wow. That sounded so much better in my head.
There’s about two seconds of stunned silence and then loud mocking laughter breaks out all around me. It’s like being back at school. I wasn’t a fan of being laughed at then and it’s no fucking better now.
Holt doesn’t laugh, though. If anything, his gaze darkens, and I can’t help but take a small step back.
He gives me a very slow, very thorough once-over and I fight the urge to shrink even further. “And why the fuck would you want to do that?”
Go with the truth or lie?
I have about two seconds to make up my mind. Holt doesn’t look like the patient type, and something tells me he’d spot a lie a mile away too.
Truth it is.
I lift my chin, shoulders back. Fake it till you make it. Right?
“I’m good with engines. Cars, bikes, or anything else you need me to do.”
He stares at me, waiting. Not impressed by any of that.
There’s a few sarcastic oohs from the gallery.
I sigh. Might as well lay it all out there. Not like I can embarrass myself more than I already have. “My dad lost our house in a card game, and I have nowhere else to go.”
His eyes widen.
It’s better than no reaction at all, but it’s not exactly a welcome with open arms either.
What were you expecting?
A chance. That’s all I wanted.
“No.”
That wasn’t Holt. Not unless he can suddenly throw his voice.
My gaze snaps behind him to where Lynx Harper now stands in the shadow of the front door to the house. All six-foot-plus glorious inches of him. He takes another step forward into the light. Oh, fuck me , he’s shirtless. How did I not notice that straight away?
Broad and lean, without an ounce of fat on him. Golden skin and ink cover so many muscles I don’t know where to focus on. There’s just so much to look at. Intricate tattoos cover half his chest and shoulder, but I daren’t linger long enough to check out the others.
When I finally manage to drag my gaze upwards, he’s staring at me, brow furrowed. I flush at being so obviously caught checking him out and once again wish I’d listened to Ash.
Then our eyes meet, and just like in the pub, the whole world fades away until it’s just the two of us. And much to my horror, my dick decides to get in on the action. Please god, no. Not now.
I think of huge spiders, that brain operation I watched the other day, anything to not get hard in front of people who’ve already laughed at me enough today.
It works, thank fuck.
He tilts his head, watching me. Beautiful blue eyes widen, then immediately narrow as he pushes off the door frame and walks down the steps towards us.
I try not to but can’t help but watch him, greedily drinking in the way his jeans cling to his thighs, the ripple of muscle on those massive fucking shoulders that could?—
“Don’t think it’s the club he’s interested in,” someone mutters, and the others laugh again.
Kill me now.
“If you don’t want him, can I have him?”
Are they talking about me? Shit, I’ve read about people hanging around biker clubs and basically being sex toys, but I’ve never seen Harper or the others with anyone like that? Even in the Old Bell they don’t harass the bartenders or waitresses. I didn’t think they did that sort of thing.
Clearly, I was wrong.
So, so out of my depth.
I take a step back, drawing more laughter. I’m like a fucking comedy act.
“Aww, we’ve scared him.”
My face heats, and a wave of embarrassment hits me. What the fuck was I thinking coming here. I take another step back and another until I feel my bike behind me.
Lynx raises an eyebrow. “Don’t want to join our club anymore?”
I’ve dreamt about that voice since that day in the pub. Vivid wonderful dreams that left me achingly hard and panting as he whispered dirty, dirty things in my ear. But the mocking tone he uses now has the opposite effect entirely.
Anger, hot and sharp, flares in my chest.
I should’ve left after he said no.
I get on my bike, my spine tingling as I turn my back on them. The sudden need to get out of there makes my hands shake. And also makes me run my mouth apparently. “Nah. Don’t think we’d be a good fit.”
More. Fucking. Laughter.
“Think I’ll try the Feral Beasts.” I have zero intention of doing that, but humiliation fucking burns . “Maybe they won’t be such rude cunts.”
The laughter cuts off and the eerie silence that follows is terrifying. I want to snatch the words back as soon as they slip out. You don’t insult a group of bikers to their faces in their fucking compound. Even I know that.
It’s like the air crackles around us, ready to explode at any second.
I need to get out of here.
Now.
“Who the fuck d’you think you’re talking to?” I don’t know who said that, and I don’t want to find out, but a hand grips my arm and hauls me backwards before I can start the engine.
Oh shit.
I stumble as I’m dragged up against a very firm, very bare but unforgiving body.
Lynx .
I’m pressed up against Lynx Harper’s chest and held in place by a grip on my shoulders that fucking hurts .
Warm breath hits the side of my neck.
And oh god, my poor body can’t decide whether it’s petrified or turned on.
Maybe both.
“Don’t ever speak to me like that in my own fucking yard.”
I should be scared shitless right now—and I am—but there’s no mistaking the shiver of excitement at his proximity. Or the flutter of arousal, even though I know now is so not the time. He also smells really good, and each shaky breath in only makes it worse.
His grip tightens, followed by a sharp inhale of his own as he ducks his head. He’s so close, I swear I feel something brush the base of my throat.
But then he straightens so abruptly, I’d fall backwards if he didn’t still have hold of me.
“Go home.” It’s cold, detached, and the shiver I get now isn’t the nice kind.
“I don’t have a home?—”
“Fucking find somewhere,” he growls, actually growls the words. “Anywhere that’s not here. And if you think we’re cunts, the Feral Beasts are a thousand times worse.”
I stumble forward as he finally lets me go, and I turn to see him walk back inside without so much as a backward glance, most of the others following.
“He’s right,” Holt says, and I startle, not realising he’s still there.
“The Beasts will eat you alive.” He trails a finger over the handlebars on my bike, admiringly.
“She really is a beauty.” Then he glances up at me.
“But this life isn’t for you. Go home, or wherever it is you’ve been staying,” he adds, when I open my mouth.
“But stay out of this forest. And for fuck’s sake, stay away from the Feral Beasts. ”
He stands there, arms crossed again, watching as I get on my bike and start her up. I can still feel his eyes on me as I ride up to the gates, now open again, and out.
They clang shut behind me with a finality I feel in my bones.
The rejection stings, though I don’t know why I’m surprised. Really, what was I thinking asking to join a motorcycle club? They probably have an illegal sideline in something I don’t want to know about. I’ve never even got so much as a speeding ticket, and I bet it shows.
Fuck.
What the hell do I do now? I can’t go back to Ash’s. Not yet. I feel really fucking stupid right now, and I need to let that settle before I face him and admit what a ridiculous idea this was.
I glance at the thick trees as I roar past. I’ve got everything I need in my rucksack, as long as it doesn’t rain, and judging from the almost cloudless sky, I reckon I’m pretty safe.
Stay out of the forest.
Yeah, fuck that. They don’t own all of it, even if they like to think they do. Me and Ash used to camp out in the woods all the time when we were younger. Admittedly not this far out of town but the woods are all connected.
I still give it another ten minutes before pulling off the road at the next lay-by. There’s a path into the woods, wide enough for my bike, and I follow it in for a bit before coming to a stop near a small clearing.
Yeah, this’ll do for a night.
I send Ash a quick text letting him know I’m all good, and I’ll see him in the morning. I don’t say anything else and put my phone on silent before slipping it back in my pocket, then start to set up camp.