Bomb (Ruin Outlaws MC #1) (5 page)

It’s nearly sunset. I usually get home earlier than this, but Becky had me stay to help get two dogs back to their owners across town. Usually we wouldn’t do something so extravagant, but Becky insisted. Something about them being extremely valuable and high-paying. Not to me, of course, I don’t see a dime. Nothing more than the eight fifty I get an hour.

I set a pot of water on the stove and flick on the burner. Since Sara made me pasta the other day, I’ve just been on a kick. As the water starts to simmer a bit, I get a strange feeling. The man in the room with Sara chuckles a bit louder, and she squeals. I roll my eyes. I shouldn’t be surprised at how thin the doors are in this place.

What if it isn’t Mark? What if it is... Logan? His name is on the front of my mind, but I pretend I don’t remember. Hell, if I can't be honest with myself, what am I doing with my life?I feel sheepish and a bit weird about it really... He’s nothing like I thought he would be when I first saw him. The low growl of his voice, his surprisingly bright eyes. I haven’t been able to keep my mind off him since the accident.

A pounding on the front door drags me from my daydream. A quick glance out the living room window reminds me of the timid duskiness outside, and if Sara’s friend is already here, who could it be? I peer through the peephole and see someone’s back, outlined from the weak apartment lighting. Not just anyone’s back, but a strong, muscled, leather-clad back with a skull and fangs. My heart starts racing, and I have to control my breathing. Is it really...?

I keep my eye fixed out the peephole, and after a moment, the man shuffles and shrugs. He turns toward the door to knock again. It is him. The biker. What’s he doing here? Is he going to make me pay for what happened?

I panic. Should I let him in? The pot of water in the kitchen starts steaming and boiling over, but I can’t even think about it for more than a split second. What would Sara think if she comes out and sees him? What about Mark? I bite back a grin as I imagine Sara losing her shit, and Mark pissing himself at first glance of the tattooed and ripped biker standing in our living room.

After a thought like that, can I really resist? If I don’t answer, will he just think I’m a coward anyway? Just because my heart is racing doesn’t mean I’m scared.

He knocks again, and I back away from the door. I run my fingers through my hair and try to make it look a bit perkier. Washing dogs all day isn’t exactly a recipe for winning a beauty contest. Before I lose my nerve, I grasp the handle and pull the door open quickly, but I block the entrance with my body. Logan turns back from staring at the parking lot and his eyes meet mine. I have no words for him, and I drop my jaw a little. He smirks, and a twinkle in his eye only makes me more nervous.

“Hey,” he says, cooly. He steps forward to move inside, but I block his way. He glares at me, a bit confused, maybe just surprised. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

“Why would I do that?” I try to keep my voice low, but stern. “A strange man doesn’t just get to walk into my house...” I think for a moment, and resist adding ‘a man who stole my driver’s license.’

He grins and shrugs, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine.” He fishes something out of his pocket, and then adds, “I guess you don’t need this then.” He flashes my ID and waves it in front of my face. I keep my hand rested on the door, and I frown.

“I already got a new one today,” I lie. I purse my lips and try to keep my eyes fixed on his. I can tell that if I let go of the door, my hand will start shaking with a combination of excitement and nervousness. He gives me a look that says he knows I’m lying, and to be honest, I don’t know why I did. Especially since I'm so bad at it. For some reason, I don’t want him to come in. Maybe it’s because I don’t trust myself around him. I’m already used to making myself look like a fool in front of good-looking men, so I’m especially nervous in front of one that’s so badass.

I hesitate, and then pull away from the door. I watch him as he steps into my apartment and looks around. I try to think of what he’s seeing, and hopefully it isn’t bad. What is he used to?

His arms glisten with sweat, making his tattoos look dark and even more vibrant. I can’t take my eyes off of them. As he steps past me, I get a whiff of that smell of fuel and leather, and it makes my heart swoon a little. I shake it off and try to collect myself. I can’t look like a drooling dog in front of a complete stranger.

After I shut the door behind him, he points into the kitchen. “Uh, I think you have a problem.”

“The pasta!” I dash past him and pull the pot off the burner, splashing some of the boiling water on the laminate floor. I scoot away from it to keep my toes from getting cooked, and sigh raggedly in shame. He chuckles a little, and that familiar growl comes back into his voice. I try to hide it, but I know my cheeks are burning red. I try to distract myself by pretending to dip into the fridge, hoping the chilled air will calm me down a little.

I can feel his closeness. That hungry energy of wanting him closer, so our skin actually touches. It makes me ache. I’m not like that, am I? Just falling over myself for any guy who looks at me? I pull out of the fridge and look at him, his gaze wandering over the decorations and kitschy paintings on the walls. It doesn't look like he's critiquing them so much, just noting them. He isn’t just any guy. I know that.

His eyes are making my stomach twist inside me, and I can’t bear to look at him for too long. It’s a shame too, because I really want to. As I set the pot back on the burner, I feel him come up behind me, his breath tickling my neck. I want to turn and slap him, but something inside me would rather kiss him. What’s he doing? I keep my eyes fixed on the pot and I sigh gently.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing what you’re cooking,” his voice reverberates through me. I suck in my breath to stop from inhaling his scent like a rabid dog. “Looks boring.”

“I don’t even have any of the ingredients out yet,” I shush him. I’m surprised that I still have some bite around him, even if he is making me scream on the inside. Why won’t he go away? As if he read my mind, he steps back and I hear the screech of the chair near the counter, and he sits down. I can still feel his eyes burning into me, but I try to contain myself.

“Why are you here, exactly?”

He exhales and grins a little. I hate that. Out of the corner of my eye, I can sense him lean back in the chair. He smacks his lips. “I told you I’d check up on you to see what you said to the police.”

“What was to tell? A strange man approached me and stole my ID.”

His cheery disposition fades instantly, and he leans forward on the counter. I finally break my gaze away from the noodles and catch his icy blue eyes. They’re deadly serious, and I can tell I shouldn’t have made the joke.

“I’m kidding. Jeez,” I say. His expression doesn’t change, but he doesn’t say a word either. I continue, trying to lighten the mood, “I just told them some biker swerved in front of me at the intersection. They kept grilling me about the guy having any patches or any other riders with him, but I told them I didn’t know anything.” I purse my lips. “I don’t know why I lied to the police for you, but you should be thanking me. God knows my insurance is gonna fuck me for this.”

He laughs heartily and my cheeks turn red. “I wouldn't have guessed you had such a mouth.” He sucks on his teeth a little. “I don’t even know you.”

I shake my head, it feels hopeless. “Like I know the strange man who pretty much barged into my house, and now won't leave?” My face flushes even more with my rude remark, and he stares at me with a bit of incredulity. He laughs and I feel even more embarrassed.

“Wow, no girl has talked to me like that before.”

I fluster. “Girl! I’m not a child... you aren’t even that old. Am I supposed to just let you intimidate me or something?”

The world fades into the background, just like when we were at the accident. I know somewhere in my mind that Sara and her guest can hear me, but I can’t care. The sound of the water boiling again vanishes, and I can’t see or hear anything but Logan. He smiles, a crooked and roguish grin, at my undoubtedly far off gaze.

He stands and moves closer to me, and I lock up. What’s he doing? I don’t know... he can’t come this close to me. He’s inches from my body now, and his eyes look down at me. I can feel heat off his muscled arms, and that smell of fuel and leather reaches me again. I can’t pull myself away from him. He leans closer to me, and I close my eyes, my heart pounding in my ears so fast I think I’m going to pass out.

A door slams open and Sara storms out of her room. The moment is broken. Logan pulls away from me with a quick step, and Sara charges into the kitchen. She's cross and I can hear Mark yelling for something from her room, but I’m so messed up from her interruption, I can barely think. She yells back something at Mark and then seems to notice us.

Sara is flustered, and she has a keen twinkle in her eye as she looks from me to Logan. Her face drains a bit as she looks over his tattoos, and I can’t help but feel a little vindicated.

“What’s going on out here? Who is this?” she says. I can tell she’s trying to sound tough, but it falls flat. Logan smirks and shrugs.

“I’m just leaving,” he says. He steps past her and avoids bumping into her shoulder. He goes to the front door. She follows him with her eyes and turns, looking upset that he didn’t answer her question. He pulls the door open and gives me a look. “I’ll see you later, Cassie.”

I can barely manage to lift my hand to wave before he’s gone. As the door clicks shut, Mark joins Sara and I in the kitchen. “What was that?” she repeats, her question growing desperate.

“Nothing, he's just a guy,” I say. I turn back to the stove because I’m still reeling from our brief interaction, and I’m pissed at her for blowing it. I clench my jaw as she grabs Mark by his arm and shoves him back into her room. I still don’t know what drove her to run out into the kitchen.

The noodles are way over cooked, but it can’t be helped. I dish them up and eat lazily, my appetite for food almost absent, while my appetite for the dark biker is only growing. The heat spreading inside me is familiar, and I haven’t felt so horny in years.

I throw my bowl in the sink and go into my room. I’ll need privacy to satisfy myself tonight, since Logan couldn’t even kiss me.

. . .

With Sara and Mark quieting down from their laughing and giggling, I can finally get into my head and coax out all the naughty thoughts that have been overwhelming me. Something dark and festering is lodged deep inside me, and I feet like I need to explore it — to try and see what it was about.

Was it Logan’s brashness? As I slide my hand between my legs and rest it on my thigh, I recall my last boyfriend, Greg, who was a complete wet blanket. A roll-over nerd who couldn’t fix a leaky pipe if his life depended on it. But Logan... I bet he could fix more than a leaky pipe... those strong arms and hands...

Under the sheets in my bed, I pull my pajamas down and slip my hand between my legs. I squeeze my eyes shut and recreate Logan and me in the kitchen, his breath tantalizingly close to my lips, his hands nearly touching me. I imagine him pulling me close and feeling his hot girth against my inner thigh, and my breath catches in my throat. I can hear Sara rummaging out in the kitchen, but my mind pulls me back, imagining Logan kissing my neck. His lips dragging down my collar bone and exploring my chest. His rough hand cups my breast, and his eyes flick to meet mine just as he dives down and clamps his lips over it. I squirm, but then my thoughts cloud as I hear Sara howl with a fit of laughter.

. . .

What now? I ask myself. What’s this supposed to mean anyway? Am I really crushing on a grungy biker, of all the kinds of people out there? Aren’t I better than that?

I bite my lip, but I can’t help it. There’s something about him that gets my fire stoked. Maybe it's the way he cocks his head when I’m talking to him, or rather, berating him for an innocent jab. I’m usually not so outspoken or harsh, but I just feel like I have to beat him at his own game. Is it even a game he’s playing with me?

I glance over at my nightstand and my driver’s license stares back at me. He did actually bring it back, but that wasn’t why he was here tonight. I told him what he wanted to know, but he lingered, almost like he wanted to tell me something. Like he wanted me... alone.

I can’t be doing this. I slip my hands out from between my legs and roll over onto my side. I shove my hand under my pillow and squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t be doing this again, crushing for another guy. Sara always said I was too fickle, but now I just feel too... obvious, I guess.

Maybe it’s a joke. He came over to see if he could make me squirm under his hand, and right now he’s laughing about it on the way to his house. Is he even single? Is he dating? Or married?

A biker. Married. Now I’m going to start making myself laugh. I groan and roll onto my stomach, my neck getting a kink in it from my shitty bed. Everything feels shitty, including me. I’m definitely not acting myself.

My stomach grumbles a little, and I ignore it. I’ll probably never see him again, especially if he was playing a prank on me. Tonight was a weird dream, and tomorrow I’ll be back to washing dogs again.

I almost look forward to it.

M
y motorcycle bellows as it screams down the highway. My heart’s pounding, but not from the ride. If anything, the ride is helping calm my nerves after my visit with Cassie.

What was I doing? I’ve had my fair share of bold moves, sliding up to women at bars and the like, but to come so close to kissing her in her kitchen? I barely knew her name, and I’m sure I was scaring her in some way. My mind keeps turning over the scenario, but every time I imagine it with her having fear-stricken eyes, I know it's false.

She wasn’t scared, but something else. Usually I’m pretty good at reading women, at least, the handful of women I’ve slipped into bed with, or found myself groping behind a hideout. She’s different though. Not the usual groupie that I’m used to. The nail-biting tough women I’ve had run ins with usually fawn and fall over themselves to be associated with a biker, especially one in a gang as prestigious as the one back in California, but Cassie isn’t like that at all. She’s almost... reserved.