Chapter 7
SEVEN
ROOK
A couple of days have passed since dinner at Piston’s house.
Every time we get around each other we argue.
I don’t know what it is about the woman but she drives me insane.
More than that, the urge to push her up against the nearest surface and bury myself inside her is driving me insane.
I’ve been keeping my distance, burying myself in runs and club business like a coward. It hasn’t helped.
My phone rings while I’m in the garage with Jax, Knox, and Tiny. It’s Piston.
“What are you doing right now?”
I wipe grease off my hands with a rag. “Working on this piece of shit Harley. Why?”
“Scarlett just left a job interview and got a flat on Old Mill Road. No spare in the car. I’m tied up with the supplier. Go get her for me?”
I grip the phone harder. “I’m on it.”
Fifteen minutes later I pull up behind her stranded car. The sight of her hits me like a freight train.
She’s standing there looking sexy as hell in her interview outfit, a crisp white blouse tucked in tight, hugging her full tits and narrow waist perfectly.
A sleek black pencil skirt that clings to her hips and stops high on her thighs, showing off those long, smooth legs.
Heels that make her calves look incredible.
Her hair is a little tousled from the wind and heat, cheeks flushed.
Professional. Polished. And so fucking tempting it makes my blood run hot.
I kill the engine and swing off the bike, trying (and failing) to keep the smirk off my face.
“Where’s the spare?” I ask, voice rough but laced with amusement. I already know the answer. I’m just pushing her buttons. I can’t help it.
Scarlett lifts her chin, eyes flashing. “I don’t have one.”
I let out a low laugh and shake my head, stepping closer. “That’s irresponsible as hell, Scarlett. Driving around in a tight little skirt and heels with no spare tire? What if it happened at night? Or on a deserted road?”
Her cheeks flush deeper, that fire I love sparking instantly. “I didn’t exactly plan on getting a flat today, Rook. And I don’t need a lecture from you.”
I grin, slow and deliberate, enjoying the way she bristles. “Just calling it like I see it, princess.”
She glares at me, arms crossed under her chest, pushing those perfect tits up in that blouse. God, she’s beautiful when she’s pissed.
“Get on the back of the bike,” I tell her.
“I’m not riding with you.”
I step even closer, crowding her space. “Your dad will have my ass if I leave you here on the side of the road. Get on the back of the bike, princess.”
She holds my stare for a long, heated second, jaw tight, then huffs in defeat. She grabs her purse, locks the car, and walks over. Those heels make her hips sway in that tight skirt, and I have to force myself not to stare too obviously.
I hand her the spare helmet. She straps it on and swings one leg over the bike.
The pencil skirt rides high up her thighs as she settles behind me.
When her arms slide around my waist and tighten, her full tits pressing soft and warm against my back through that thin blouse, my whole body goes rigid.
Fuck.
Her bare thighs grip the sides of the bike on either side of mine. I can feel the heat of her, smell her perfume mixed with her skin. My cock hardens instantly.
She’s Piston’s daughter. Off-limits.
I glance back at her, voice low and rough. “Hold on tight.”
The engine roars. When I pull onto the road and open the throttle, she presses even closer, arms locking around me. The wind catches the hem of her skirt, and her thighs squeeze me harder.
The ride back feels way too short and way too long at the same time.
Every curve in the road presses her tighter against me.
Her arms stay locked around my waist, and I can feel the soft press of her tits against my back through that thin blouse.
Her thighs grip me for balance, the hem of that tight pencil skirt riding higher with every shift.
The wind keeps catching it, flashing more smooth skin than I have any right to see.
I’m hard as steel the entire way. It’s fucking uncomfortable on the bike, but I don’t care. I like having her wrapped around me too much.
When we finally pull up to her parents’ house, I kill the engine but don’t move right away. Neither does she. For a few seconds we just sit there, her arms still around me, the heat of her body burning into my back.
She finally pulls away and climbs off. The loss of her touch feels wrong. I swing my leg over and stand, watching as she smooths that skirt down her thighs with shaky hands. Her cheeks are flushed, hair wild from the helmet and the wind. She looks thoroughly rattled. Good.
“You gonna thank me for the ride, princess?” I ask, leaning against the bike with my arms crossed. I’m still pushing. Still riling her up because I love the way her eyes spark when she’s mad at me.
Scarlett shoots me a look that could kill. “Thank you for the ride, Rook,” she says through gritted teeth. Then, sweeter and faker than sugar, “Even though you were being an asshole about the spare you already knew I didn’t have.”
I smirk. “Figured it out, huh?”
“You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” She steps closer, jabbing a finger into my chest. “You enjoy messing with me, don’t you?”
“More than I should.” My voice drops lower as I look down at her. “Especially when you look like this.”
Her breath catches. For a second the air between us crackles, thick, hot, dangerous. Her eyes drop to my mouth for half a heartbeat before she jerks them back up.
“Rook…” she starts, voice quieter.
The front door opens before she can finish. Piston steps out, wiping his hands on a rag.
“You two good?” he asks, eyes bouncing between us.
“Yeah,” I answer, stepping back. “Car’s on Old Mill. I’ll have one of the prospects tow it back and get a spare on it.”
Piston nods, clapping me on the shoulder. “Appreciate it. Come in for a beer?”
I should say no. I should put distance between me and his daughter before I do something stupid.
But Scarlett is still standing there in that blouse and skirt, looking at me with fire and something else in her eyes.
“Yeah,” I say. “Beer sounds good.”
We stand in the driveway for a beat, the tension still humming between us. Then Scarlett exhales, her shoulders dropping a little. “Thank you,” she says, quieter this time. “For coming to get me.”
I nod, the corner of my mouth twitching. “No problem.”
She turns toward the house and I follow, reaching past her to hold the door open. She gives me a small, surprised look as she walks through, then heads straight down the hall toward her room without another word.
I step inside and find Piston already kicked back on the couch with two beers. He hands me one as I drop into the armchair across from him.
We talk low about club shit, the Kings, the next run, nothing too heavy, but my mind is somewhere else entirely.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Piston took me in when I had nothing. Gave me a home, a family, a purpose.
I owe that man everything. And here I am, hard as a rock because his daughter wrapped her arms around me on the back of my bike.
Because she looked at me with those fire-filled eyes and said thank you like she actually meant it.
I take a long pull from the beer, trying to drown the guilt.
A few minutes later Scarlett walks back out.
She’s changed into cutoff jean shorts that show off way too much smooth leg and an old, faded Iron Reapers t-shirt that’s clearly been hers since she was a teenager.
It’s worn soft, a little tight across her chest, and makes her look like she belongs here again.
Like the girl who grew up around the club never really left.
I stare. Can’t help it.
She catches me and shrugs, a little self-conscious. “Look, I left all of my shit back at the rental. I’m wearing whatever is in the closet.”
Piston laughs. “You still fit in that old shirt.”
She looks good. Too good. Like every filthy fantasy I’ve had since she came home, but softer. Real.
I force myself to look away, gripping the beer bottle tighter.
This is exactly why I’ve been keeping my distance.
Every time I get near her, the walls crack a little more.
She’s not the spoiled princess I tried to convince myself she was.
She’s strong. Stubborn. Beautiful in a way that fucks with my head.
And she’s completely off-limits.
Piston’s daughter. The one person in this world I should protect with my life… not want to claim for myself.
Yet here I am, sitting in his living room, drinking his beer, while my mind replays the feeling of her thighs pressed against me on the ride home. The way her arms felt wrapped around my waist. The genuine “thank you” that hit me harder than any argument we’ve had.
I’m so fucking screwed.
Scarlett glances at me one more time before heading toward the kitchen. I watch her go, jaw tight, trying to shove all of it down. It doesn’t work. This woman is going to ruin me. And the worst part is… I’m not sure I want to stop her.
Piston and I are still on the couch talking club business when both our phones buzz at the same time. I pull mine out and see a group text from Dagger and Riot.
Dagger: Charity run scheduling is a fucking nightmare. Double-booked the venue, caterer pulled out last minute, and half the vendors are pissed. All hands on deck. Now.
Piston sighs and sets his beer down hard. “Shit. We gotta head out.”
Scarlett walks back into the room from the kitchen, eyebrows raised. “What? Why?”
“Charity run for the kids’ hospital got fucked sideways,” Piston tells her. “Scheduling mess. We need all bodies at the compound to sort this shit out.”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m coming. I can help.”
Piston looks at her, surprised but nodding. “Alright. Saddle up then.”
I follow them out. Scarlett heads straight for the garage and rolls out her old bike, the one she used to ride years ago. She swings a leg over, fires it up, and pulls out behind us like she never stopped riding.
I keep my eyes on her the whole ride to the compound.
Goddamn. She looks like a natural, leaning into the turns smooth and confident, hair whipping behind her, that old Iron Reapers tee stretched across her chest. The cutoff shorts ride up her thighs on the bike.
She doesn’t look like some city girl who’s been gone too long.
She looks like she belongs on the back of a bike. Or on the front of one.
It does something dangerous to my chest.
We pull up to the compound and walk into pure chaos. People are yelling over each other in the main room. Tables are covered in papers, schedules, vendor lists. Dagger’s pacing. Riot looks ready to throw something.
“—caterer’s ghosting us—”
“—venue says they’re booked for a wedding now—”
“—we’ve got two hundred people expecting this thing in ten days—”
A couple of the old ladies and a few brothers throw out suggestions, but they’re half-assed and overlapping. No one’s cutting through the noise.
Scarlett stands there quietly for a few minutes, just listening. Taking it all in. Then she steps forward.
“What if you move the whole thing to the old fairgrounds instead of the venue?” she says, voice clear and steady.
“It’s bigger, it’s available, I just checked their calendar, and the club already has a good relationship with them from last year’s toy drive.
You shift the date by two days, call in a couple of food trucks, and use the extra space for more vendors.
It solves the double-booking and the catering problem at the same time. ”
The room goes quiet. Dagger blinks. “That… actually makes a ton of sense. Why the hell didn’t we think of that?”
Scarlett shrugs like it’s nothing. “This kind of logistics and event scrambling used to be my specialty when I worked for Ethan’s charity. I’d like to help. If you’ll let me.”
Piston looks proud as hell. A few of the brothers nod, impressed.