Chapter 6 Cinerator #3
I parked my bike a street over and walked to her building, waiting in the shadows for someone to approach, since the only way in was a key card.
I got lucky. A couple, totally oblivious to my presence as they argued over what to prepare for a late dinner, opened the door and left it wide.
I caught it easily and entered behind them, smiling at the security guard with my cut folded over my arm like a jacket.
I might still stick out and look a little shady, but I didn’t have colors to link my club.
He took in my boots, jeans, black T-shirt, and tattoos and frowned. His body stiffened behind the wooden desk. “Who are you here to see?” He asked as the couple pressed the elevator button.
“Gwen Carmichael. She’s expecting me.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he huffed. “Stay there.” He dialed a number on his cell.
I waited for Gwen to answer.
“Hello, Ms. Carmichael. It’s security. There’s a man here who says you’re expecting him... uh huh... yes. Lots of tattoos. Short, dark beard. Looks like trouble.”
I could hear Gwen but not the specific words she spoke.
“Yes. I’ll send him up. Thank you. Have a good evening.” The security guard didn’t look happy. “She’s got my number on speed dial. You hurt her, I’ll find you. Got cameras all over this building. Won’t be anywhere you can hide.”
“Appreciate the concern, but I don’t plan to hurt her.” I leaned forward, closing the distance so only he could hear me as the elevator door dinged. “I’m planning to fuck her so good she forgets her name. Don’t worry. I’ll be back. Often.”
He blinked, shock written all over his face as he turned beet red.
Shoving away from the desk, I walked to the elevator in time to catch it, riding it up to Gwen’s floor. When I reached the right floor, I walked off, heading straight to her apartment. It felt odd to come to her actual door instead of the bedroom window. I preferred the privacy of her room.
Turned out I didn’t have to knock. The feisty little doe-eyed beauty was waiting for me as I shrugged on my cut.
“Cin.” My name left her lips like a curse.
I grinned. Couldn’t help it. “Bambi.”
“Get in here.”
I entered her apartment and reached for her, shutting the door with my boot while I pressed her back against the wall.
Just being this close to her wreaked havoc on her emotions.
She was all over the place. I sensed desire.
Frustration. Worry. Uncertainty. Lust. A little bit of anger rounded out that delicious cocktail that I drank in as I lowered my head and brushed my lips over her jaw.
Kissing up to her ear, I whispered, “Glad you missed me.”
She shoved my chest. I didn’t budge. “Poor little deer, you feelin’ cornered by the predator?”
“Knock it off,” she hissed. “I need to talk to you.”
Fine. We could come back to my hands and mouth on her body a little later. I straightened but still stayed pressed close, our chests nearly touching with every breath. “What is it?”
“I want to know more about you.”
Good. “Ask away, Bambi.”
She pursed her lips. “Stop that. I’m being serious.”
Lifting my hands, I backed a foot away, still keeping her snared in my line of sight. “What do you want to know?”
She clasped her fingers together, and I noticed they lightly trembled. “Do you have a criminal record?”
The fuck? Why was she asking me that question?
“Or,” she rushed on, “Have you been to prison? Killed anyone?”
Motherfucker. This didn’t come outta nowhere. Who the hell made her worry about that shit?
“Need you to tell me who you’ve been talking to, Bambi. And why you’re suddenly needing to know shit like that.”
“Are you refusing to answer me?” Her left eye began to twitch.
Shit, she was serious. Maybe pissed. “No. Just need to know where this is coming from first.”
Her shoulders lost a little of the tension. “It’s not important.”
The fuck it wasn’t. “Gotta contradict you, my little doe-eyed beauty. Someone spooked you. Tell me.”
She sighed. “I’m not doing this with you, Cin.”
“I know. That’s why you’re telling me. Right. Now.”
“Do you have a criminal record or not?”
“Yeah. Petty shit. Nothing too serious. Never spent more than a little time in jail.”
“So you never killed anyone?”
Well, this was a conversation I didn’t think we’d have so soon. “Not the way you’re thinking.”
“What does that mean?”
“Never murdered anyone in cold blood.” I cracked my neck, feeling a little on edge. “Can’t say I haven’t done things that needed to be done to protect those I care about.”
She didn’t appear surprised. “I suppose that’s common as a biker, huh?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted, not able to tell how she felt about it. Her emotions got a little too mashed together to tell them apart.
Shit got complicated in a club, especially as one-percenters, but I didn’t reveal that. Vengeance and justice didn’t count. I did what I had to do.
“You gonna tell me who’s been buzzing in your pretty ears?”
Her eyes darkened. “You promise not to do anything stupid?”
I chuckled. She really didn’t know me yet. “No.”
“I guess I should be happy you’re being honest.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. Because I wasn’t gonna lie to her. Not about something like this. To protect her? To protect my club? I’d lie without hesitation—hazards of being in a one-percenter MC.
I didn’t fucking lie just to do it.
“I went to the police station to ask about my sister’s case.”
No surprise there. “Alone?”
“No. Ethan went with me.”
Her brother. I figured. “And?”
“Det. Castor is handling my case with an NCIS agent.”
Fuck. “Who?”
“Nate Barnes.”