Chapter 17
I didn’t know where he was taking me, but I was too excited to care. Wherever we went, it was going to be just the two of us.
No Stallion clubhouse.
No rivalry drama.
Just us on our first official date.
The anticipation made the day drag. I did my best to distract myself around the house, but that routine was pretty played out considering the week I had. After a late lunch, I decided to see what I could do about killing some time outside of the house.
My first stop was my favorite nail salon. I treated myself to a mani-pedi, opting for white toe-nails and fire-engine-red fingernails. It was still fairly early when I left the salon, so I decided to make a trip to the mall—which was how I ended up with a new outfit for the night.
The backless halter top I bought was a daring choice, given I assumed we’d be on Pistol’s hog that night and not in his cage.
It was black, with a slit down the middle, exposing a bit of my chest. The garment would cling to my body only after the strings on either side of the front were tied together across the middle of my back.
When I tried it on, I imagined the feel of the night wind brushing against my skin, and my excitement caused my stomach to clench, making the shirt an absolute must
It had been ages since I climbed on the back of a Harley and wrapped my arms around a man. The longing I felt as the day wore on was a reminder that Pistol was the embodiment of everything I craved. Only, rather than fill me with confidence, the truth made me nervous.
It never served me well to want a man the way I wanted him.
I tried not to dwell on it as I hunted for the rest of my outfit. The light-washed, denim mini skirt I purchased did wonders for my legs. I was also certain the whole look would come together precisely as I wanted with my black, stiletto ankle boots.
Satisfied that I was properly equipped to unleash my sexy rebel—allowing me to be myself with a man I knew could handle it—I finally returned to the house.
I was in the bathroom, finishing my makeup, when I heard Pistol’s Harley in the driveway.
I checked the time on my phone, saw it was only six-thirty, then waited for him to come inside as I started on my hair.
Twenty minutes later, I was still in the house all by myself.
When I went to the bedroom to slip into the clothes I laid out, my curiosity was starting to get the better of me.
As soon as I was dressed, I didn’t bother waiting for Pistol to come inside.
I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but I wanted to find out.
I grabbed my purse and exited through the back door, expecting to find his Harley in the driveway.
When I didn’t see it parked there, I stopped and frowned—then I heard movement in the garage.
I walked toward the detached structure and found Pistol kneeling beside his bike.
He’d removed the sidecar and looked to be making a few minor adjustments.
“Hey,” I murmured in greeting.
Both he and Reaper looked my way, but it was Pistol who captured my full attention as I watched his eyes scan me up and down and up again.
“Hey,” he muttered through a crooked smile.
I felt the beginning of a wicked grin playing at my lips, knowing if he liked the front he was sure to go wild over the back.
“Are you ready, or…?”
“Yeah,” he stood to full height, dropping his wrench into his toolbox before wiping his hands against each other. “Let me feed Reap, and we’ll get out of here.”
I nodded, and he called after his pup in another language before he went inside. Obedient as ever, Reaper followed after him happily.
True to his word, I didn’t have to wait long.
When he returned, Pistol found me in his garage, my fingers trailing lightly across the leather of his Harley’s seat.
I heard it as his boots shuffled to a stop and peeked back at him from over my shoulder.
His eyes did not meet mine, and I didn’t bother turning to face him—not wishing to rob him of the view.
“Temp will go down with the sun. You sure you don’t need more to cover up?”
“Been a while since I’ve ridden the back of a hog, but not so long that I’ve forgotten what it feels like. Take me for a ride, Stallion, and cold is not how I’ll feel.”
My statement earned me his eyes and a slow grin.
For a moment, I questioned if I even needed the thrill of a ride to get hot and bothered.
He took a step toward me and looked about ready to say something, but he was interrupted by the sound of his phone. He stopped short, reached into the pocket of his kutte, and glanced at the display. He then drew his eyebrows together before sliding his thumb across the screen to answer.
“Yeah,” he greeted in a clip.
He listened for a few seconds, his eyes aimed at his boots.
The next sound he made was more of an unintelligible grunt, the noise escaping him the same instant he brought his eyes back up to meet mine. His annoyance was hard to miss—but for once, I knew it wasn’t me irritating him.
“Heard. On my way.”
He hung up without another word, then slipped his phone back into his pocket, his eyes never leaving mine.
My heart sank, and I felt myself growing warm for entirely different reasons. I got my hopes up. Way up. Even though I didn’t know what he was about to say, my level of disappointment felt embarrassing.
“Change of plans?” I asked, trying to mask my feelings.
“Yup. Need to make a detour,” he said before he moved to mount his Road King.
“We’re still going?”
My hope was as obvious as his irritation, but I didn’t even care.
When he had a foot planted on either side of his bike, he looked over at me and said, “Babe, I’m a lot of things, but a masochist isn’t one of them. I tell you we’re goin’ to dinner, and you dress up like that? I’m fuckin’ takin’ the bait.” He held out a hand and demanded, “Climb on.”
I didn’t have to be told twice.
The ride to the clubhouse was a tease, but I didn’t complain, knowing our night had only just begun.
I carefully maneuvered myself off the bike and was busy adjusting my mini skirt as Pistol dismounted.
When I was finished, he reached for me, his large, calloused hand swallowing mine as he tugged me toward the entrance.
It wasn’t the first time he held my hand.
It wasn’t the second, either.
But it made my belly tingle like crazy anyway.
I bit my lower lip as I hurried after him, trying not to smile like a fool.
I was really glad I decided on a trip to the mall that day.
When we entered the clubhouse, we didn’t stop in the lounge.
Again, this wasn’t the first time Pistol marched me through the place—clearly on a mission—but this felt different. I wasn’t his problem this time. I was his date.
I was his wife, which was how I found myself entering a large room I’d never seen before.
The walls were covered in maps. I couldn’t tell if they were part of the décor or meant for practical use.
There was also a huge bulletin board. Some of the items tacked to it were stickers or small flags from rallies or bars—but some of it looked official.
In the middle of the room was a large round table with enough space to seat twelve. A few of the chairs were already occupied. Nighthawk, Fury, Spurs, and Nomad all looked our way upon our entrance.
Nomad flicked his hat up on his head and sat back in his chair, as if to be sure he was seeing us correctly. I then watched the corners of his mouth tip down in quiet surprise.
“Pistol.” My eyes shifted toward Nighthawk in time to catch his expression as he greeted, “Lyla.”
He didn’t sound angry, but there wasn’t exactly a tone of invitation in his voice. Not that I blamed him. There was a reason I’d never seen this room before, and I was beginning to feel like an intruder.
Pistol squeezed my hand and pulled me further into the room.
“She stays. After the other night, with her brother in the mix, she’s part of this, too.”
Nighthawk paused to consider this a moment, then dipped his chin in a nod.
“Fair enough.”
I was getting ready to ask Pistol what was going on when Cobra entered the room. Rooster entered behind him, lagging only a couple seconds. I understood this was all who were expected as Nighthawk dove right into business as soon as Rooster pulled out a chair to sit.
Pistol didn’t sit, so I didn’t either.
“Got a call from Max,” Nighthawk began. “Route 66 got some unwelcome visitors today. The Kings are stirrin’ the pot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Cobra. “Viv welcomes everyone. It’s neutral ground.”
“Inside the restaurant, sure. Outside of it?”
“What are you gettin’ at, Prez?” asked Fury.
“Hookers loitering outside the building tryin’ to turn tricks.”
“Fuck,” I heard Pistol swear under his breath.
Nomad propped his forearms on the table and aimed his scowl at Nighthawk. “Sounds to me like they haven’t been able to find jack to trace their missin’ guy back to us, and they’re pissed about it.”
“Pissed enough to start a fight,” added Spurs. “Prostitutes dealing drugs at Viv’s? That’s not just pickin’ some corner in our territory—that’s spittin’ in our fuckin’ face.”
Nighthawk quirked an eyebrow at his Road Captain. “You think you’re tellin’ me somethin’ I don’t know?”
“Question is, what are we gonna do about it?” interjected Cobra.
“Lot of things I wanna do. Smart enough to know, not much we can do. We won’t retaliate. Last thing we need is to draw unwanted attention to ourselves. We start fightin’, law enforcement takes notice, they’ll start turnin’ over rocks.”
“They won’t find anything,” stated Pistol.
Nighthawk looked straight at him. “Not takin’ that chance. We agreed to lay low. We aren’t takin’ their bait.”
“You can’t tell us we’re doin’ nothin’,” said Rooster.
“Not nothin’. It’s our job to keep our streets clean. Starting tonight, we’re on patrol. We’ll do it in pairs. Round the clock.”
“They won’t be able to prove shit, but they won’t stop at this. This is the beginning,” warned Pistol.
“No doubt,” agreed Nighthawk. “All the more reason to be vigilant. We start now.”