Chapter Eleven #2
Zoe added, “Don’t shut down something that could make you happy. I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t think you were interested.”
“I’m not interested in anyone right now,” Casey said. “I’m too busy.”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Let’s go see if Raven’s around,” Casey said, ending the conversation.
When they approached the booth, Curtis was reading tarot for a teen girl. The kid’s eyes were wide as her friends giggled.
Curtis looked up and locked eyes with Casey. “I’ll be finished in a moment.”
“Is Raven here?” she asked.
“She’s still at the theatre rehearsing.”
“Tell her I said hi.”
“You should have your fortune read,” Curtis said, eyes narrowing with something sharper than curiosity.
“Go ahead, it sounds fun,” Zoe said, nudging Casey’s side.
“No thanks. I don’t believe anyone can see into the future,” Casey said. “It’d be a waste of your time and mine.”
Curtis frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“Just tell Raven I stopped by.” Casey turned and walked away.
“You’re so right… he’s creepy.” Zoe chuckled.
“I’m hungry,” Ryan said.
“Do you want to get some barbecue? It smells amazing,” Zoe said.
“Sounds good to me,” Ryan replied.
“Casey?”
“I’m good. You two go on. I’m going to watch the band. I like the way they sound.”
“Okay. We’ll catch up with you,” Zoe said, leaning into Ryan as he put his arm around her.
Casey walked toward the music, making sure to avoid the custom motorcycles display.
When she approached the stage, the band launched into a hard-driving cover of “Livin’ After Midnight”, the guitars snarling, the beat pounding through the ground beneath her boots.
She let the sound swallow her and drown out everything churning inside her.
Her hips swayed in time to the beats of the drums and bass as she fell into the rhythm.
Then a familiar, magnetic presence brushed against her awareness, impossible to ignore. Before she could turn, fingers grazed hers. Light. Barely there. But intentional enough to steal her breath.
She didn’t have to look.
The scent of leather and cedar wrapped around her, warm and achingly familiar.
Move away from him. Don’t let him see what he does to you. But she stayed rooted to the spot, eyes locked on the stage.
“Don’t stop feeling the music on my account,” Rags said, brushing against her side.
A tremor flashed through her, but she still didn’t turn.
The music crashed to an end in a swirl of cheers and feedback. Casey clapped automatically, grateful for the noise and for anything that hid the fact that Rags was almost plastered against her.
The band thanked the crowd and stepped off the stage, laughter and voices swelling as people drifted toward the beer tent and food booths.
“How’ve you been?” he said, voice low and rough-edged.
She forced herself to face him. “I’ve been fine. Busy.”
He nodded, eyes sweeping over the shifting crowd before returning to her. “You liking the festival?”
“It’s cool,” she said, glancing toward the booths so she didn’t have to meet that stare head-on. “It’s my first time.”
“Oh, yeah?” His gaze dragged over her face, then down her body, slow, hot, deliberate.
A pulse of heat curled low in her stomach. She looked away, pretending to watch the stage crew hauling cables.
He edged nearer, closing the final inches of space.
“What else have you been doing besides work?” he asked.
“That’s about it,” she said. “How’ve you been?”
“Okay.”
“That’s good.”
He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Have you been thinking about me?”
The question was quiet, but it sliced right through the noise around them.
Casey froze. For a heartbeat, she thought about lying, laughing it off, pretending that night hadn’t replayed in her mind a hundred times. But she couldn’t quite make her mouth move.
Instead, she met his gaze and said, “Don’t start, Rags.”
His smile curved up, slow and knowing, and it unraveled all the distance she’d tried to build in an instant.
“I’m not startin’ shit, woman. I asked a question.” His voice dipped lower. “So… have you been thinkin’ of me, Casey?”
She took a small step back, forcing herself to breathe, to remember every reason she should walk away right now. But his voice, his nearness, and the way he said her name all tangled inside her, dragging every boundary she’d built into a blur.
“Like I said, I’ve been busy.”
“Bullshit.” He lifted his hand and ran his fingers up her arm, slow and teasing, tracing goosebumps in his wake. “Why’re you afraid to admit it? I’ve thought about you.”
Panic fluttered. Where the hell is Zoe?
“Come on,” he said, threading his fingers through hers.
He tugged her alongside him, and she stumbled a step to keep up, scanning the crowd, looking for Zoe, hell, even Ryan. That was how rattled she was.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I gotta check something out by the barn.”
She watched his gaze sweep the grounds, scrutinizing the faces of men who moved like they belonged to other MCs.
“What’s going on? I feel tension.”
“Nothing’s up.”
She’d been part of the outlaw world for five years. She wasn’t fooled.
“Club business?” she said in a low voice.
He stopped dead.
“What did you say?”
“I asked if you don’t want to tell me because it’s club business. I know something’s going on. You guys are watching the grounds and playing lookout. And I saw cuts from the Night Rebels and Fallen Slayers.”
“First, it’s a fundraiser for biker families with kids in cancer treatments,” he said, tone hardening. “Of course there’re gonna be other MCs. The Night Rebels and Fallen Slayers aren’t rivals.” His eyes narrowed. “You seem to know a lot about MC culture.”
A knot formed in her stomach. She wasn’t ready to talk about JT, her marriage, or any of her MC ties.
“I read a lot.”
He stared at her—still as stone, every line of him unmistakably outlaw. “I don’t believe you. When you’re ready to tell me, I’ll listen.”
“You’re imagining things,” she muttered.
“Nah.” He squeezed her hand. “Woman, nothin’ about you is simple.”
They kept walking until three muscular, tattooed men in cuts approached, each wearing a diamond one-percenter patch.
“Fuck,” Rags hissed, dropping her hand.
“Friends of yours?” she said.
Before he could answer, the man with the ponytail flashed a grin.
“Hey, dude. Whatcha got goin’ on?”
“Nothing much.” Rags said, voice low and steely.
The biker looked her over then back at Rags. “I bet,” he said. The other two guffawed.
“Aren’t you supposed to be walking the perimeter, dude?” Rags said, his gaze sharp as it cut across them.
“Just figured we’d see what you’re up to,” Ponytail said.
Casey recognized him right away. “You’re the guy from the nursery. You bought a watering can.” Everything went still.
All three men snapped their eyes to her. She’d broken the unwritten outlaw rule: women don’t speak unless spoken to. She didn’t care. They were grating on her nerves.
“Aren’t you?” she pressed, meeting the ringleader’s stare without blinking.
Rags cleared his throat. “Uh… this is Throttle.” He pointed. “And that’s Diesel and Smokey.”
The three men gave curt chin lifts, suddenly avoiding her gaze like she was a ghost in their midst.
“Later, dude,” Throttle said, bumping fists with Rags before they strode off.
Rags dragged a hand through his hair. “Damn, woman, don’t ever talk to an Insurgent unless they talk to you first.”
“I don’t live in your world, so I’m not bound by your MC’s rules.”
He stared hard… then the faint lines around his eyes softened. “You’re impossible.”
He took her hand again and led her to the barn.
Inside, the late-afternoon sun filtered through the slats, thin rays catching drifting dust motes. The air smelled of sweet hay and warm wood.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, pulling her hand free and stepping back.
“To show you the barn.” His lips quirked.
“And…?”
Staring intently at her, something flickered in his expression—tight, strained, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen on him.
Then, fast as a lightning strike, he grabbed her, pulling her into his arms, bending down to crash his mouth against hers.
One hand held the back of her head; the other pressed her against him.
She gasped against his mouth, then melted into him, arms sliding around his neck, kissing him back with everything she’d been denying.
Their tongues collided, tangled as sparks raced down her spine.
Her breasts flattened against his hard chest as he crushed her closer, their bodies molding, heat crashing through her.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathed, voice ragged.
He trailed his lips to her throat, kissing the hollow, then up her neck in slow, maddening strokes. His hands slid down to cup her ass as he tugged her earlobe between his teeth and sucked gently.
“Rags…” she moaned, fingers burying in his hair.
“Fuck, Casey,” he rasped.
His hand slid under her top, fingers skating up her stomach until he found the thin fabric of her bra. He rolled her nipple between his fingers, gentle and deliberate, while his tongue traced fire along her neck.
Heat pulsed between her legs. A whimper slipped out before she could stop it.
“You like that, darlin’?” he murmured, his low, husky voice sliding over her.
“Rags, I don’t think—”
“Just feel,” he whispered. “We both want this.”
“It’s going too fast—”
He swallowed her words with a fierce kiss, his hand tightening on her breast, thumb circling, drawing another breathy sound from her. Her pulse hammered as his mouth moved from her lips to her jaw, then back to the spot beneath her ear that nearly made her knees buckle.
“Rags…” she breathed, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt, trying to pull him closer even as her brain scrambled for sense.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Fuck, baby… you have no idea what you do to me.”
She opened her mouth—whether to agree or argue, she didn’t know—when a sharp metallic clank echoed outside.
“Hey, Rags! You in there?”