Chapter Eight
R aven
“You thought you could sneak up on me and I would be too weak to react?” I repeat my question, staring at him expectantly.
I may’ve fucked the oversized biker, but he’s an idiot to think I won’t defend myself if he grabs me like he did from behind.
Who does that sort of thing to a deaf woman?
I’ll tell you who, someone wanting a lead hole to decorate their body.
“I—” he begins and trails off. He catches me by surprise once more when his hands leave my hips to raise. He holds them out in surrender at first, then, slowly, as he’s not had enough practice, begins to sign as he speaks.
“I saw you walking. I was worried about you being alone and tried to prove a point on your safety.”
“And?” Both of my brows are raised. This is Texas, most of the women I know are smart enough to conceal carry, especially if they’re going somewhere alone. He should’ve considered I’d be locked and loaded for this specific scenario.
He continues to speak and sign at the same time, slowly, but I appreciate the consideration he’s offering me.
“You called me on it. Put me in my place. I’m sorry, beautiful, if I scared you. You had me worrying about your safety, but I had no idea you are packing and know how to use that nine.”
My hand is steady, and I don’t blink as I nod.
“It’s small, but gets the job done. You think you’re the first man to sneak up on me?
” I question, and his face turns stony. Men always believe small women are easy targets, and I refuse to give any of them the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand with me.
I will bury someone before I allow them to rape, traffic, or kill me.
“Give me a name.” His words are growled; I don’t doubt it for a second by the way his lips move with them, vibrating his throat and chest.
Threateningly.
Promising a retribution I’m sure I can’t imagine if he’s given the chance. It's sexy, even if I am annoyed with him right now.
“I will protect you for as long as you allow me to,” he swears with such sincerity that I don’t doubt it in the slightest.
“Why are you looking for me?” I ask instead, ready to move us past this moment and toward the future.
“I don’t want any of them.” He gestures over his shoulder toward the club and then begins to speak and sign again. Is it weird how I kinda love it when he communicates by ASL?
“I only want you. I’m yours, no one else. Want to come to my clubhouse with me? We’re chilling with some brothers from out of town.”
“You need dancers for your party?”
He nods. “I also want you there. For me.”
“To fuck?”
He shrugs. “Or to just kick back and hang out by my side. Have a drink, you know, relax.”
I release a sigh, putting my Smith there’s something about him making me not doubt his personal integrity nor the sincerity he directs toward me in each of our interactions.
“Slow night at work. They’re coming with us to the clubhouse,” he says, so I can read his lips. He nods to my coworkers who are climbing on the backs of the motorcycles with the other guys.
His big paws are on me in the next moment, landing on my hips.
With his amused grin and my gasp of surprise, I’m being lifted through the air.
I shriek in the process, as he picks me up without warning and places me on the huge motorcycle, I’ve seen him riding before.
He’s a massive dude, so it should come as no surprise, I suppose, that he rides an oversized motorcycle as well.
At least it feels larger to me than what an average man would ride.
I’ve never been on a motorcycle before, so what do I know?
He climbs on, twisting my way so I can see part of his face again, and signs as he speaks the words, “Hold on to me, shortcake. Tight. Never let go.” I think he means to say don’t let go, but I could be wrong.