Chapter Four
MOLLIE
S ilver lined eyes meet mine. “I am busy,” I tell him. This wanker has really gotten under my skin on technically, my first real day on the job.
He doesn’t move.
I give myself a minute to let the idea of him taking me to a biker clubhouse sink in. I have no idea what one is like or how men even behave there. I can guess, but I’ve never wanted to know. Still don’t. “Busy doing what?” he says flatly.
From the deepest depth of my stomach, I feel my sassy response, bubbling. Usually expected to keep the verbal diarrhoea down, I happily let it loose. “Not what. More like, who. ”
The way his entire face tightens makes me feel like I won whatever this is between us.
With a flick of my hair, I turn on my heels, making sure it hits him as I spin. He might not be like any other man I’ve met—which is the biggest understatement ever, but with him, weirdly, I feel like I can give my short, half-arsed responses without repercussions.
My dad’s colleagues’ sons all walk around with sticks up their arses. One slip of my smart mouth and they’ll put me in my place. Which is underneath them, so to speak. Where they think women belong.
Fuck them. And fuck their aristocracy.
My dad always tells me my attitude comes from him. That he instilled in me my ability to know my worth and not let anyone walk over me. Mum says the reason we clash is because we’re so alike.
Admittedly, being able to standoff against biker boy without a drip of fear that he could crush me, feels good. Could I use this grit I have and stand up in court one day, knowing without doubt that I could argue a case and win the whole bloody thing on my determination alone? Yeah. Yeah I could. I just always thought I was destined for more, though. Just because I can do something, doesn’t mean I have to. Sure, if this year-long dream fails and I have to return home with my tail between my legs, fine, so be it. Whatever. At least I will have tried. But with every part of my mind, body and soul, I will not give up on myself so easily. And I will not let some arsehole who thinks he can beat me, make me change my mind.
Only I can do that.
“You’ll be ready for seven.”
My eyes scrunch. “What?” I reply confused, spinning around again to face him.
The man, whose name I still don’t know, straightens his spine, making himself appear bigger.
Rule number one, biker boy, your body language does the talking for you.
“You heard my uncle. He only trusts me to look after you, so you’ll come with me. Your plans are cancelled.”
I hold back my smirk as his alpha-male-macho shines bright. “And what do I tell my friend? He’ll be angry I’ve cancelled so late on in the day.”
Like a beast, he sucks in a breath with a low growl. “I don’t give a fuck what you have to tell him ,” he says the word him with venom, “I have to go to the clubhouse, so you’ll have to come with me.”
“Your uncle told you to take me—”
“No,” he interjects, “I decided it. Like I’m deciding you’ll be ready for seven.” He turns and walks away before stopping and looking back over his shoulder at me. “Oh, and it’s fancy dress later. Wear something slutty.”
With that, he strides away, and I’m left on my own. An oddly hot, angry mess. I don’t want to go later, but I also don’t want to do anything to upset Mick, which I fear I may have already done. To not listen to his wishes now, might upset him even more.
With a scowl to his back, I pull out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. I open a text to Henry.
Me: Sorry. Change of plan. Can we rearrange?
Henry: Shame. I was looking forward to seeing you .
I sigh. It is a shame. Seeing Henry would have squashed some of the pent-up frustration making me feel on edge.
Me: I know. Work’s been full on. I’m tired. I’ll call you some other time?
Henry: Sure. But if you change your mind, call me. I’m sure my little flower could use some care and attention
For the love of God . My shoulders shudder. As sweet as Henry is, the tattoo I had of a Jasmine flower has nothing to do with him, yet everything to with my late nan. She was my rock, and they were her favourite. To be honest, he’s kind of ruining it for me.
Later that evening, I make beans on toast topped with cheese and brown sauce. I should be eating more, considering I challenged biker boy to some sort of competition, but I cant. I’ve squeezed my arse into black, hip hugging shorts with fish net tights and boots. Fortunately for me, this is a look I like.
I knew being far enough away from my family, but close enough to my friends that I went to Uni with, meant there would be a chance of socialising on weekends. Although, I’m not really sure who I was trying to kid when I packed. I have no intention of seeing them anymore. Plus, I’m exhausted after one day of work. My muscles hurt, my bones ache. All I want now is my bed but every inch of me thinks biker boy will put up a good fight tonight. I should have had a coffee.
I shake my head at my reflection in the mirror as I line my lips with bright red lipstick. My eyes are dark and smoky, and my dark hair has been back combed underneath to give it more volume.
Giving it a little fluff with the tips of my fingers, I hear the throaty rumble of biker boy’s Harley. I pout my lips in the mirror, seriously wishing that if I had to see anyone tonight, it was Henry and not this guy. As much as it was fun seeing him appear to hate every minute of being around me, I clearly need to get laid. Hanging out with him is only going to make that worse, and there’s only so much a woman can do with her fingers.
Deep breath. I smile to myself, wondering what my nan would say. She’d tell me to grab life by the proverbial balls and tell anyone who has a problem with that to suck it. Maybe she is where I get my fiery nature from.
Biker boy revs his engine, sending a thrill of excitement to unexpectedly warm my stomach.
I open the door, seeing him on his phone. Checking mine, I still have two minutes until I’m supposed to be ready. What’s he being so pushy for?
He twists the throttle once more, eventually looking at the house, only to see me now standing beside him with my arms crossed. In hindsight, crossing my arms was probably a bad idea. My already pushed up tits are now bunched together, and this twat is staring right at them.
With a scoff, I click my fingers then point at my face. “Eyes up, biker boy.”
He peers over the tip of his clear specs. “I thought it was eyes on the prize.” His wink shouldn’t make my thighs clench the way they do.
“In your dreams,” I snap at him.
“Soon to be in yours too.” His eyes rove from my face, all the way to my boots before they make it back to my eyes. “Now, unclench your thighs and get on.”
If it wasn’t for the fact that my thighs are in fact still clenched together, I would probably think of a comeback. I’ve got nothing. Doing as he says, I sit as far back on the bike as I can without having to touch him.
He muses, his lips pulling up in one corner slightly. I’m not sure if I was meant to see it, but I did. And I get why he did it when the wanker reaches both hands behind him, grabbing both my legs behind my knees, and yanks me forward. My front rams into his hard back, the leather making my nipples instantly hard under my bra. “What the hell!”
“Shh, Baby Doll. We need to go.” Kicking up the stand, he pushes the bike straight, holding it steady.
I have no choice but to grab onto him. I don’t want to, and the distasteful way he flicks a look to my hands suggests he doesn’t want me to either. What else am I supposed to do here if not hold onto him?
Fuck. This was a bad idea. He is my boss’ nephew. He may act like he doesn’t give a shit, but I saw the doting way Mick looked at him when he saw us standing together earlier. What if Mick thinks I’m getting distracted and sacks me before I’ve completed a full week? What if he thinks something is going on here and I’m forced to leave?
I mean, nothing is going on here, yet my chest heaves as I breathe him in.
Biker boy revs the engine then looks over his shoulder at me. “Side box,” he says, barely audible over the deep pops from his bike.
I dart my gaze down, looking at the box he has on one side by my foot. Looking back to him, he mouths at me to open it. I do, steadily undoing the buckle and seeing a helmet inside. It’s jet black with a skull on the front. It’s hideous.
He must sense my hate for it. He nods his chin with his own look of disgust, directing me to put it on with another rev of the engine.
Completely sidetracked by my thoughts, I hadn’t given much consideration to needing a helmet. Before I can put it on properly, his patience wears out, and he lifts his foot off the ground, twisting the throttle at the same time.
Prick.
I refuse to hold onto him the entire time we’re riding. Only when he overtakes a slow moving, family filled car and jerks the bike a little to the right, am I forced to grab a hold. I let it go as soon as I realise what I’m doing, but I lean my head and see him smile. Again.
Teaming with bikes, the place he takes me to is not too far from the farm. I already feel on edge having spent the journey here anxiously weighing up my options as to whether I let this fa?ade continue, or stomp on it. It is fucking ridiculous. It is nothing. A non-situation. That’s what it is. Should be easy enough to tell him I need this job more than some—however annoying, flirtatious banter.
Standing off the bike, I look around. Whoever’s coming home must be someone special, the car park is packed.
Biker boy leads me to the entrance, and I follow him, my steps steady on the concrete. There’s a light rain starting. It’s not enough to soak us, but enough to dampen my hair just like my spirits.
As the door opens, I’m swamped by the smell of musk and visually over-stimulated by all the men wearing leather. That’s all I can see. There are women here, all wearing similar attire, but the way a small blonde walks past and gives me the once over, it’s clear she’s not impressed by my outfit. Hers isn’t too dissimilar in all fairness, but she hasn’t gone all out on the makeup like I have.
Making sure I stick near to the biker I arrived with, every part of me wants to reach out and grip his arm so that I don’t lose him. Fortunately for me, he stops a few times saying hello to different men and shaking their hands.
I see an opening and spot the bar. There’s a man serving drinks behind it with another woman craning her ear to hear the order being placed over the thud of the music playing. Looking at biker boy’s back which is in front of me, I decide to slip from his clutches and get myself a drink.
“What can I get you, sweetheart?” the man behind the bar asks me, making me swing my head to him instead of crowd watching.
I offer him a smile. “Tequilla, please.”
He nods his head then promptly places a shot glass and a slice of lemon in front of me. “Lick,” he says, as he takes my hand in his, holding a saltshaker in the other.
My eyes fleetingly widen before I lick the back of my hand, and he pours on some salt.
“Enjoy.” He gives me a wink.
I briefly look around seeing if anyone’s watching, then I glug back the shot, followed by licking the salt and sucking on the lemon. I’m probably not meant to like it the way in which I do, but it’s a small comfort I’ll enjoy. “Another,” I say to the barman wearing a leather jacket which says ‘prospect’ on the front.
He smiles, not looking at me, as he untwists the top of a bottle for another guy. “Coming right up.”
I proceed to have three more tequilas and move on to a gin and tonic, feeling somewhat lighter and pleasantly buzzed. The man they’re here to welcome home walked through the door twenty minutes ago. The place erupted in an overwhelming hype of liveliness. If I had any clue who he was or why his homecoming is so significant, I would have gone over and said something.
A cough comes from behind me. “Thought I’d lost you, Baby Doll.”
“Enough. Quit calling me that. I’m not your baby, and I’m certainly not a fucking doll.” Why the fuck does he keep calling me that? I swing around on the stool I’m sitting on and come face to face with him.
He grins.
Oh. That’s why.
“You haven’t lost your touch with the ladies,” the other biker, the one who came home, says, making my biker boy frown.
My biker boy? Christ.
“I’ve still got it with the ladies,” he starts, “it’s just little girls I don’t know how to handle. ”
A slither of something dark skates through me. I want to jump off the stool and gouge his eyes out, yet, in these moments, I’ve learned not to give myself away. Don’t give them the satisfaction of knowing what’s truly going on inside.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe just the way he’s looking at me, his eyes daring me to challenge him, but I need to squash this. Sitting here minding my own business—even over the music and laughter surrounding me, I worked out exactly how I’m going to do it.
I slap the bar behind me, turning away from the brooding biker and his friend. “Vodka,” I say to the barman who’s become the closest thing to a friend since I arrived here.
“Single or double?” he asks.
I look over my shoulder, giving the bikers a quick glance. “Bottle,” I say perfectly level-headed.
Biker boy scoffs under his breath. “Here we fucking go.” He shifts his weight on his feet, letting out an exasperated sigh. “You sure you want to do this, Baby Doll?”
I give the man behind the bar some cash then push myself off the stool, bottle in hand. “Absolutely. Unless you don’t want to lose to a girl ?” I swallow that one, then watch as his brows knit at my—on the surface—apparent nonchalance.
He steps aside, holding out a hand for me to go first.
“I need the ladies’,” I tell him. “Where can I find you once I’m done?”
He smirks. “We’ll be upstairs.”
I nod and hold out the bottle for him to take.
He grips it, and unbeknownst to me, my hand doesn’t immediately let it go when he tries to pull away. What the fuck am I doing? As if realising with a jolt, he yanks it harder from my grip at the same time as I let go. Both of us frown at one another.
“Bogs are down there,” Dean, I think biker boy called him, says, pointing over my shoulder.
I offer him a genuine smile before I turn and lift my foot to start walking. I have to stop when the blonde from earlier steps in front of me, apologising for getting in my way. I tell her not worry, when I hear Dean’s whispery voice from behind me.
“Why’s she dressed liked that? ”
“Shut the fuck up,” biker boy hisses, and I proceed to walk away, confused.
When I make it to the ladies’, I immediately open my purse for the ginger sweets my nan always carried on her.
Got a headache? Eat one of these she’d tell me. Feel cystitis coming on or period cramps, eat one of these. Want to avoid any hangover the following morning, eat one or more of these before you start drinking. God bless her, I take them everywhere I go.
Washing my hands after using the loo, I dry them before reapplying more lipstick. My phone then pings a text, and I take it out to read.
Dad: Darling, I look forward to seeing you soon
Feeling my hand shake reading his message, I quickly chuck my phone in my bag when the door opens, and a girl I haven’t seen walks in. “You’re new here?”
Swallowing my anger, I look at her knowing she’s talking to me, but wondering why she is. “Like new to this place, or to the area, here?” I manage to say.
“Both,” she says sternly, with a disappointed look on her face.
“Um,” I look at my reflection, fiddling with my hair. “Yeah, I’m new to both.”
“You work here?” she asks.
I drop my lipstick in my bag then pop it shut. “No,” I say with a little laugh. “I don’t work here. I work at the farm in the valley.”
Her eyes widen. “Dressed like that?” Her eyes then scan my body appreciatively.
“No, not dressed like this,” I chuckle, if not a little sarcastically, looking back in the mirror. “I dressed up for the party.” Even though it has crossed my mind why no one else appears to be dressed as slutty as I am.
“Like fancy dress?” the girl laughs. “Babe, bikers don’t play fancy dress, not unless that’s one of their kinks. I think you got the wrong invite.”
Did I now…
She takes a step closer, pulling my attention back to her. “Well, I can see why he likes you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice wobbly. “Who are you talking about?”
The look now smeared across her face is one that suggests I really should know. “Travis? The guy you arrived with?”
His name’s Travis? I laugh under my breath. “He doesn’t like me.” He’s made that clear . “And I don’t like him. I work for his uncle. I’m only here tonight to get to know more people in the area.”
She laughs a little nervously. “Oh? So, at the risk of stepping on any toes, do you think I can try and make my move?”
I shift my weight on one foot. “What’s your name?”
“Sophie.”
I take a step to her. “If it’s really what you want, Sophie, then I think you should go for it. Make your move.” Perhaps then he’ll have something to distract him.
Sophie gleams, her eyes widening. “Really?” she asks unsure. “I only started hanging around here when my friend Tanya started working behind the bar a couple of months ago. I haven’t been brave enough to say anything.”
I nod my head, knowing the feeling. “Well, Sophie. Don’t be shy. You have nothing to worry about. He’s not my type, anyway.”
Liar.
“Oh, you’re gay? Because my other friend is too,” she practically sings, stepping onto her tiptoes with excitement. “She’d be here in a heartbeat if you wanted that?”
My shoulders bounce with my laugh. “No, I’m not gay. I just like my men a little less rough around the edges.” Another lie, and I’m forced to take a breath.
“Ah, babe, you’ll find the right man.”
Who says I’m looking?
Sophie tugs me into an embrace, and I smell the strong hum of alcohol on her. I shouldn’t have just told her to go tell a biker she’s into him. I instantly feel shit for giving her hope where I don’t even know what his situation is. She’s clearly had a bit to drink. Damn, what is it with women when they’re together in the ladies’ bathroom?
Before I can tell her to rethink, she lets me go and swings open the door, practically skipping away.
Making my way upstairs, I navigate the crowd to where I see biker boy sat perched on the edge of one of the pool tables up here. “You get lost?”
I step closer to him, and he stands to full height, holding out a shot glass. “No, I didn’t get lost. Met one of your admirers.”
“Which one?” he smirks.
I throw my head back, swallowing the fiery liquid. “Sophie.”
His face drops.
“She seems keen.” As if every blood vessel in him just popped, his face reddens before my eyes. “Aw, you’re actually blushing, Travis .”
Thrusting the bottle of vodka into my chest, he looks thoroughly pissed off with me mocking him. “You need to catch up. We’re four ahead of you.”
“Only four?”
He glares. “You’re fucking irritating, you know that?”
I laugh. “Why?” I step into his personal space, looking up at him. “Because you thought you could embarrass me tonight by telling me to dress up?” I ignore his chest hitting mine when he breathes, and I turn, placing the bottle on the table, along with the shot glass. It’s chilly up here, but I slide my jacket off my shoulders, placing it over the back of the chair. Flicking my hair over one shoulder, I catch his eyes before I pour myself four consecutive shots, downing them each in turn.
He watches, as do the others.
Slamming the shot glass on the table, I stroke my thumb on the corner of my lip, catching a small drop that escapes past my lips.
Travis watches and his lips part, making me smile.
He may say one thing, but his body is telling me something entirely different.