Chapter 3
Fletch
At my bike, I get my spare helmet out of the saddlebag, and the coat I keep there for when the temperature drops.
Her big blue eyes trace over my face as I fasten the helmet on her, making sure it’s tight.
Do not kiss her. Don’t even look at her lips.
A lump forms in my throat as I zip her into my coat. My riding jacket is ten times too big for her. “Leather is the best protection,” I explain.
“Are you going to drive dangerously?”
“Not with you, sweetheart.”
When she bites her lip and her cheeks pink up from a fast blush, I almost groan at the sight of her looking adorable in my coat.
Before I cross the line I can’t uncross, I throw my leg over the bike, holding out a hand. “Climb on.”
She barely moves the bike when she settles behind me, but it’s still like an earthquake hitting me. “Hold onto me. Lean with me. Just relax and let me do the work.”
Behind me, she nods, her helmet bumping into my back.
“Great. Everyone is watching this,” Mari calls from behind me. As I pull out of the parking spot, her ex-boss is watching.
“Fuck ‘em,” I yell back to her as I whack the throttle, unleashing a roar of thunder right in the middle of Main Street.
The town fades fast. Mari shivers once, then she settles against me, arms tight, thighs locked around my hips, and for a second, I swear I hear her laugh.
Fuck. I hope so. When I reach back and grip her knee, the pretty young stranger responds by squeezing her arms tighter.
“You good?”
“This is fun,” she yells back.
Yep. I did it. Blew through the danger zone right into the quicksand. This morning I woke up with one thing in mind—building the compound. Now she’s all I can think about.
The size of my problem grows when we roll into the new Mountain Men MC compound and all work stops. Every member stares.
One catcall and I’m gonna break somebody’s teeth.
Parking next to the work trailer, I help Mari off. Over her head, I issue a silent death threat to the brothers.
As I lead her toward the temporary office, suddenly the place looks bad. The whole compound. It’s a construction zone. Old logging cabins are being restored. A building is being converted to our clubhouse. The office trailer is grungy. The owner before us hasn’t washed the siding in years.
That’s about to fucking change.
“It’s not pretty but it’s air-conditioned and heated,” I say as I guide her up the steps I built by hand. I’m thankful they’re new.
The door makes a horrid squeak when I open it, making my neck muscles tense. “Sorry. I’ll oil that.”
Mari stops inside the door, looking around. Two desks sit on opposite ends. A new black leather couch spans one wall. Shiny file cabinets are placed in the corners. A small wood stove sits on one end and a mini-split air conditioner hugs the wall.
“So this is where I’d work?” She glances at me as she carefully removes the helmet.
Most of the hair has been torn from her ponytail and seeing it wild and loose causes my gut to tighten in a sharp clench. Damn, I bet those curls are soft.
I manage to murmur, “I know it’s not great.”
“It’s quiet,” she cuts me off. Her brow is tense as she looks outside toward the gate.
I try to get inside her head. Because I want to say whatever it takes to make this work. There is no way I’m going to let her walk without a job, with that bastard harassing her.
“Do you keep the gate closed?” she asks as she glances toward me.
It hits me all at once why she’s asking. “If you’d like.”
She nods once and goes back to studying the eight-foot-high fence and gate that’s reinforced metal. “It would make me feel safe.”
“Then it’s done.”
“How much is the pay?” She moves around the office, running a finger over the edge of one desk.
“What do you need?”
She stops as her gaze jumps toward me. “You’re not serious.”
“How much do you need, Mari?”
She unzips the coat and lays it on the desk, avoiding my question.
“I’m serious, sweetheart. What do you need to make this work?”
“I made twelve-fifty at Gary’s. And I could work some overtime there, so I’d hope to get the same here.”
“Fuck,” I snap. “We’ll triple that.”
Mari stumbles back, bumping into the desk. “I… no. Oh my god. I didn’t even think about the fact that you’d be paying me with illegal money.”
“Why do you think that?”
“You are a biker gang.” She motions vaguely toward the window, toward town. “Nobody in this area pays that kind of money except the oil fields or I’m guessing criminals.”
“We’re a club. Not a gang. Our money is legit. We pay well.”
For a moment she’s silent. Then she covers her face with both hands, letting out a small groan. “I sure hope this is real because my sister and I need to move because Clark somehow got our address.”
“Come again,” I growl.