7. Kevlar
Kevlar
Holy fucking hell. Kevlar’s grip on his bottle tightened. His jeans got snug in the crotch. Somehow, though, he managed to keep his jaw firmly in place. Swallowing a mouthful of the most skunked beer he’d ever tasted, he stared at Kelsey.
She was a fucking goddess in her dark-wash jeans and black bra earlier. Even with her makeup a mess, she could stop traffic, but this was torture.
Her tits were smooshed down against her chest, but that didn’t conceal the bounty with which she was blessed. Her skintight leggings left little to the imagination. This woman had more curves than the Pacific Coast Highway. Kevlar wanted to ride each and every one of them.
“Purple is your color,” he commented like a goddamn idiot.
Who said that?
Since when was he some sort of fashion connoisseur? He knew fuck-all about clothes. His idea of high-end was a fresh pair of Levi’s and a button-down shirt from Walmart. Yet here he was talking about purple as if he knew anything.
She peered at her attire. “It’s more of a fuchsia.”
Fuchsia? What the hell was fuchsia? Did it matter? Whatever it was, she looked good in it.
“That too,” he said and filled his mouth with the rest of the piss water. He needed something, anything, to take the edge off. Maybe the minimal alcohol content in his drink would thin his blood enough that his cock would deflate.
Fat chance.
Kevlar had the tolerance of a moose, but he had no other options at the moment.
Reaching down, he gripped his bulge and shifted as best he could. Was it the most discreet thing he could’ve done? Absolutely not, but it was necessary.
Her gaze followed his hand as he did it, and her cheeks tinged an adorable shade of pink. Not quite fuchsia, but hey, he’d take what he could get. Quickly, she averted her attention, covered her supple mouth with her hand, and turned toward the kitchen.
He bit back his amusement.
Nervously, she fluffed her hair. “I’m going to get a bottle of water. Do you want a drink?” She whirled around to face him and giggled awkwardly. “Right. You have a beer.”
Kevlar checked the bottle, wiggled it, and lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I could use a refill.”
He extended the butt of the bottle toward her.
Nodding far too vigorously, she reached for it.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said as her fingers curled around the base of the empty beer container. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.”
Though if she gave him the green light, he wasn’t about to say no. How could he? Look at her!
Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of embarrassment than before… and motherfucker.
She had to stop doing that. His cock would never go down if she kept turning crimson in his presence.
Reluctantly, he released the bottle, and she stepped back. “Okay.”
She didn’t sound convinced, but that was fine.
Kevlar meant what he said. He wasn’t in the business of taking things from women that they didn’t offer.
He had morals—sort of. Some might consider his compass a bit twisted, but it was all he knew, and it worked for him.
Others understanding him was their responsibility. Not his.
Kelsey twirled and tripped over her own ankles.
He sat up straighter. Kevlar didn’t want to call attention to her situation and further embarrass her, but if she got hurt, he’d help.
She hadn’t fallen. Instead, she stumbled a step or two before she got her feet under her again. A newborn fawn learning to walk on wobbly limbs had better grace and balance than she did in that moment. Somehow, he kept his snicker to himself.
When she disappeared into the kitchen, he sat back. The night had been rough for her. He couldn’t expect her to be calm, cool, and collected. She’d had the misfortune of running into a Bloody Scorpion.
Kevlar narrowed his eyes at the thought. Releasing a long exhale, he thrummed his fingers on the cushion as he conjured ideas on how to handle an invasion of his home territory. Considering he had an army of two, he’d have to tread carefully.
How many Scorpions were in town? How set up were they?
The weight of his new responsibilities hung heavy on his shoulders. He allowed his head to drop and closed his eyes. Shit would get real serious quickly. He had to build his numbers—fast. Were any Roughneck Riders still around that he could trust?
Plenty had to be in the area. These men were blue-collar guys. They didn’t have the means to fuck off the way Kevlar and Kid had. They had families and whatnot to keep them in place, but not all of them were worthy of a patch.
He’d only be betrayed by a brother once.
The Roughneck Riders had been his father’s club, but after three years with the Royal Bastards, Kevlar learned how fucked up his former organization had been. His dad made a billion mistakes, whether it be business choices or the rules of the club. There was no need to reinvent a broken wheel.
Kevlar wanted a club of his own. Loyal brothers who stuck to their code. No fuckups allowed. Things would be different under Kevlar than they had been under Snoopy. So, even if he tapped his old brothers, he doubted they’d get on board with him.
Not all of them anyway, but maybe Torch.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, he tapped the screen to life. Tomorrow would be a busy day. They had a lot to do and not much time to do it. Considering Kevlar was busy at the moment watching over an innocent woman, he’d need Kid to do some research tonight.
Find Torch. He fired off a text and tucked his phone away.