Chapter 12
Noah
Iwas not a morning person by any means. I did not like being up early, and what I hated more than that was people who were chipper and all sunshine-y before ten fucking A.M. And guess who was all bright smiles and happy-go-lucky at six in the fucking morning while I felt dead in my soul?
Blayke fucking Gabel. The mother fucker I had to spend the next several hours in a confined space with.
Fuck my life.
“Morning, mama,” he greeted. I watched over the rim of my coffee mug as he headed over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup, adding enough sugar to turn him into a diabetic before he was forty. “You ate breakfast yet? Going to be a long day of riding.”
“I don’t eat this early,” I grumbled, staring into my coffee. If I dunked my entire face into it, would it wake me up faster?
He shook his head. “Well, that won’t do. You need to eat. Food is fuel, mama.”
My anger was about to be my fuel. It was too early for these conversations. And why was he smiling at me? Who the hell was this happy so early? It was unnatural.
“Can you just be quiet?” I snapped, setting down my half-empty cup of coffee, which was still steaming. The roof of my mouth was a little scorched, but I knew I didn’t have much time before we had to head out. “It’s too early for your cheerful personality.”
He snorted. “Lighten up, mama. You’ve got to deal with me all day.” And he sounded positively gleeful about that, the asshole. “We’ll get breakfast in a little while when we stop to regroup. Otherwise, you’ll be irritable all day.”
I arched a brow at him, my lips flattening with annoyance. “Are you trying to imply something?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave. He was treading on thin ice, and I was about to turn his balls into my personal fucking rage toy.
He swallowed the rest of his coffee, not even flinching at how hot it was.
“That you’re a raging bitch when you’re hungry?
If so, yeah—that’s what I’m implying.” I was going to punch him in his smug, handsome face.
Didn’t matter how much I liked him. Didn’t matter that I found him sexy as fuck and sometimes even endearing.
I didn’t have the patience for his shit this early in the day.
“I’m going to rip your dick off,” I snarled, pushing back from the bar and standing.
He winked at me. “Don’t tease me with a good time, mama.”
I turned and stormed for the garage, where our bikes were being kept so they were hidden from anyone snooping around or spying on Alejandro’s place. “Go fuck yourself, Blayke.”
“I do that every night and morning since you stepped into my life,” he called from behind me.
Christ. I pushed open the garage door and tugged my keys from the pocket of my black cargo pants.
I hated that I was both annoyed and turned on by him at the same time. How the fuck was that even possible?
Blayke took a bite of his breakfast—migas—as he stared at me.
I tried ignoring his staring, biting into my breakfast burrito, but I swore the longer I tried to ignore him, the more intense his staring got.
Finally having enough, I set my burrito down and glared at him.
“Do you have a fucking staring problem? You’re ruining my breakfast.”
He cocked his head to the side the tiniest bit, reminding me of a dog when they heard a squeaky toy. I almost snorted at the comparison because Blayke was one hundred percent a golden retriever type of man. “I can’t admire a pretty woman?”
My heart fucking melted. Why the hell did he have to be so sweet?
I was trying so damn hard to play hard to get.
To make him work for it. But he was making it even more difficult to push away his advances.
He was smooth with his words, even when he sounded like a jackass.
And worst of all, it was clear he meant those words.
Blayke was the kind of man that could have any woman he wanted.
All he had to do was crook a finger, and she’d come crawling.
Yet he was working hard as hell to have me.
Me—a nobody. A woman who lived her life in an RV, never settling in one place for too long.
Me—a woman who wanted to be an outlaw, regardless of it being what her father wanted or not.
I was rough around the edges, callous, and a lot of times, I was downright mean, especially to him.
But for some reason, this crazy as fuck man still wanted me. It was ludicrous.
“You’re staring at me like you want to eat me. Not like you’re admiring me,” I deadpanned.
He smirked then, and fuck, I hated the way my belly swooped with longing for him. He looked hot as fuck when he had that cocky little smirk on his face.
“Maybe I want to eat you,” he rasped. “Migas taste good as fuck, but I’d place money you’d taste even better.”
Jesus.
I opened my mouth to speak, but just then, a group of men strode into the small restaurant we were eating at.
I slowly closed my mouth and lowered my head, grabbing my burrito and pretending to eat as I watched them.
Tattoos covered their skin, and two white men were with them.
And when one of the white men spoke in Spanish, his accent was thick but wrong to be Mexican—like heavily-accented Russian.
Fuck.
“Do not turn because they’ll recognize you,” I said quietly, “but we’ve got company.”
Blayke hummed and forked a piece of egg into his mouth, nonchalant as fuck. “I know.”
I arched a brow at him. “You do?” My voice gave away that I thought he was full of shit.
He snorted. “You think Johnston made me his VP just because we’re friends? Shit doesn’t work like that, mama. He made me his VP because while I’m a goofy son of a bitch, I’m always aware of what’s happening around me. I heard the moment they pulled up outside.”
I gaped at him. “No fucking way.” He’d been flirting with me the entire time.
He snorted. “Yes way. Why do you think I forced you along with me and didn’t send you with Halo or Gidget instead?”
I shot him a deadpan look. “Because you want to be up my ass?”
He chuckled. “I mean, yeah, there’s that.
I love being all up your ass, mama.” I rolled my eyes, even as my lips twitched.
He had no shame. And I kind of liked that about him.
Okay, I really liked that about him. I never had to guess how he felt or where I stood with him.
“But no. It’s because I don’t trust anyone to protect you the way I can.
” He set his fork down, almost casually, but there was a predatory move to his muscles that told me it wasn’t casual at all. “I need you to pay for this meal.”
“What? Why—”
He stood, and just as he did, chaos erupted.
Gunshots exploded. I quickly did as he said, throwing down more than enough money to cover the meal, and then, I was on my feet, my own gun in my hand.
And just in time, too. One of the Russians appeared beside Blayke, his gun aimed at Blayke’s temple, but I was faster and sent a bullet straight between his eyes, then shoved Blayke to the side.
“Kitchen!” I snapped, shoving him hard in that direction. “We’re not winning this.”
He grabbed my wrist, yanking me after him. We ducked and weaved our way through the panicked patrons until we slammed through the door in the kitchen. I almost slipped in a puddle of grease, but Blayke shoved me forward, his arm still latched around my wrist.
As soon as we were outside, we ran. We wouldn’t be able to get our bikes—not with them parked out front. Our only hope at the moment was to get somewhere to hide until enough time had passed that they disappeared and someone could come get us and grab our bikes, too.
By the time we finally stopped running, I had a stitch in my side, and I really needed some water. I leaned over, pressed my hands to my knees, and panted for air, my heart beating so hard, it hurt.
“Don’t lean over,” Blayke rasped, breathing just as hard as I was. He gripped my shoulder and pulled me up so I was leaning against the rough brick wall next to him. “Hands on your head. Breathe in through your nose—” he panted— “and out through your mouth.”
I did as he said, my gun still clutched in my grasp.
He caught his breath before I did and slid my gun out of my hold, then clicked the safety on before tucking it back into the small of my back.
Then, surprising the absolute fuck out of me, he cupped my neck in both his large hands, tucked his thumbs beneath my chin, and tilted my head back.
“You killed a man to fucking save me,” he growled, his eyes heated, liquid need pooling in his blue eyes.
I swallowed thickly, my heart hammering in my chest once again. But this time, it was because I knew he was going to kiss me. And goddammit, I sure as fuck wasn’t going to stop him.
“I did,” I murmured. “And I’d fucking do it again, Blayke.” That was the honest fucking truth. I was falling hard for this man—and much faster than I’d like—and I’d be damned if some mother fucker took him from me.
“Goddamn, that makes me hot,” he growled. And then, he was kissing me, his lips smoothing over mine with so much possessive, obsessed heat, I moaned and dropped my arms just enough to twine them around his neck.
His tongue swiped over my lips, and I parted them, letting him inside.
A low groan sounded from his throat, and he tightened his hold on my neck, kissing me harder and deeper.
I had no idea how long we kissed. It could have been minutes, hours, seconds, days—who the fuck knew.
But when he pulled back, his lips kiss-swollen and breathing heavily once more, I knew I was fucking done for.
“You’re mine, mama,” he rumbled, lifting one hand from my neck to brush his thumb over my lower lip.
I hummed. “That means you’re mine, too,” I warned him.
He snorted and stepped back, reaching into his pocket for his burner phone. “Mama, I’ve been yours from the moment you walked onto the clubhouse lot and ripped Johnson a fucking new one.” He winked at me and lifted his phone to his ear. “No other woman will ever hold a candle to you.”
Before I could think of something to say because, for once, the man had rendered me speechless, he said into the phone, “Geek, we found them. And I’m also going to need someone to bring us our bikes.”