Wild Ways (8 page)

It seemed strange to ride out in the open like this. No protection, or cage, as the biker culture called vehicles. But feeling completely free. They rode for two hours, most of that through an unpopulated stretch that felt like a dose of fresh air for her soul. No cities, no biker bars. Julian pointed out a deer off the side of the road, and the fact that he took the time to show her a piece of nature touched her. For a while, she felt at peace.

The only problem was there was nothing truly peaceful about being this close to a man like Julian.

The time to just soak in the environment, and the way Julian felt beneath her loose hold on his waist, dwindled. Soon enough, they were winding their way through the maze of Tulsa toward another seedy bar. They rode into an area with both residential and industrial buildings, pulling into an asphalt parking lot with an assortment of ragtag bikes lined up out front, even at four in the afternoon. A hand-painted sign identified it as the Bar None. The place was clean, anyway, with a light brick façade and several neon beer signs. A bass beat throbbed, but didn’t overpower.

Julian pulled up close to but not next to the last bike in line. He backed it in for a quick departure, if necessary. Mollie hopped off first, glad to remove the helmet and fluff her hair. He was watching her as he dismounted, a glint of appreciation in his eyes.

“I love the color of your hair.” He brushed his fingers through the strands near her cheek. “Like amber honey.”

The tips of his fingers touching her skin sent tingles through her. “You should see Di’s hair. It’s the color most people go gaga over, a deep, rich copper. Mine’s a washed-out version.”

He loved her red hair. He’d used that word, “love.” Even though she’d downplayed the compliment, it reverberated through her as he took her helmet and hooked it on the handlebars.

Two guys walked out, squinting in the sun as smoke and now louder music poured out with them. Their black vests identified them as Vipers, with the logo of a bike’s profile, the tires made of the snake’s body. They slowed as they saw her, and Julian slung his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He greeted the two men, who kept on going to their bikes. Julian leaned close to her ear. “Be easy with me.”

She turned, finding the rasp of his stubble rubbing against her cheek. “What do you mean?”

“You’re my BOB, remember? My girl. We probably live together and have had sex a hundred different ways.”

Her body reacted to those words, adding the image of him lying on the bed, sunlight slanting across him—

“That’s what you want these guys to think, to see—that you’re mine,” he said. “Not tonight or for a couple of hours, but
mine
. When they look at you like those two just did, I’m going to claim you.” His hand tightened on her waist. “You need to move into me to show them there’s no question about where you belong.”

She knew he was saying something important, but when he said “you’re mine,” and “where you belong,” it completely stole away her thoughts. Especially with him holding her like this. Still holding her. She merely nodded.

“But just now when I put my arm around you, you stiffened.”

“Sorry. It feels … strange, you touching me like that.” Strange and nice, which made her even more uncomfortable. “I mean, I hardly know you.”

The guys started their bikes, obliterating any possibility of conversation. Which left them standing there body to body until the bikers roared out of the lot.

“Pretend I’m your boyfriend,” Julian said. “If you need to, picture me as your last boyfriend.”

She laughed the moment it came out of his mouth. “You are so nothing like Jimmie. He was more of a hand holder. Or a hand clinger, really, always reaching for me with a clammy grip.” She shuddered at the memory now. Why had she even liked him to begin with?

“Yeah, well, we’re not
holding hands
in these kinds of places. Then think about some other guy you dated who was strong. Able.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never dated anyone like you.” She sorted through the few guys she’d gone out with, all for less than six months. “This sounds pitiful, really, but the few guys I’ve dated are usually needy. In trouble. I guess I’ve always been drawn to guys who need rescuing.”

He seemed to assess her for a moment. “I’ve done my share of rescuing. Just
remember, it can be a pit with no bottom.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Then this relationship we’re perpetuating is going to be much different than anything you’ve experienced. Being an insensitive son of a bitch is different for me, too, so we need to sink into our roles out here before we go inside.”

She settled against his side. “I’ll do my best.”

“Do better than that. Once we start asking questions, it has to look like I’m your old man backing you up. Couples don’t attract a lot of attention. Two nosy people who are not materially connected do. They’ll think cops, and once they have that in their heads, they’ll shut down. So if I do this, you need to flow with it.” His hand on her back, he turned her so that she was flat up against the front of him. “Relax, Mollie.”

She was supposed to relax with that hard body pressed up against hers? They were materially connected, all right, from her thighs all the way to her chest. She inhaled and breathed out, forcing herself to relax. With her face next to where his neck curved, she breathed in the scent of cologne, fresh air, and Julian.

He ran his hands up and down her back. She reached around him and slid her hands into his back pockets. Hadn’t she seen women do that? Which, she realized belatedly, put her hands right over his tight, firm butt.

The familiar sound of two Harleys roaring into the parking lot once again made it impossible to talk. They remained there until the engines cut. Julian nuzzled her neck as he subtly turned so she could see them. Two men, one with a beard, the other a goatee and red bandana, dismounted. It wasn’t until they turned toward their bikes that she saw their colors—Doomslayers, the top rocker on their vests proudly announced. One guy’s hair was so long, she could barely see the skeleton logo through the greasy strands.

“Not Brick,” she whispered.

The men’s gazes were on her and Julian as they swaggered toward the door, both with leering smiles. The front of their vests boasted several smaller patches. She didn’t see the skull and crossbones, indicating they’d killed for the club, but she still wasn’t exactly comforted. Especially as they paused when they came up beside them.

“Is there more of that inside?” one of them asked Julian.

Julian’s hand slid all the way down to her butt, squeezing it possessively. “We haven’t gone in yet, but I brought my own.” At the same time, he swiveled so that she was slightly behind him and farther away from the men. “You’ll have to get your own.”

One of the men patted a pocket on jeans so dirty, they would probably stand up on their own. “Got some stuff if you’re of a mind to share.”

Drugs. They were asking if Julian wanted to trade sex with her for drugs. The thought repulsed her, and yet she had to keep cool. Julian’s body tightened, but he was keeping his cool, too. She snuggled her hip closer to his.

“Not a sharing kind of guy,” Julian said. “And my ol’ lady’s a one-man type of gal.”

The two bikers traded a look that sent a cold shiver down her body. As though they were wondering if they could take Julian. He casually scratched his stomach, drawing their attention to his waist—where he kept his Glock. Then he gestured to the door. “After you, gentlemen.”

They turned to the metal door and disappeared inside the cavernous interior. One held the door for Julian, who gave him a nod and went in first, his arm now slung across her shoulders. But his hold was tight, his body tensed. Her eyes adjusted, revealing a dingy interior with blocked windows and dim lights strung up by wires on the ceiling. The only bright spot in the whole place was a neon-colored jukebox off to the side. Some big guy was feeding it money, absently fiddling with the chain at his belt. The smoke was as heavy as the music that was playing. No e-cigarettes here.

As Julian confidently led her to the bar, several groups of men paused in their pool shot or dart throw to watch them.

Oh, yeah, she wasn’t going to leave his side. She’d go to the friggin’
bathroom
with him.

As though they’d been released by an invisible signal, the patrons returned to their games or conversations, but their gazes remained on her and Julian and the two Doomslayers, who had found an empty table off to the side. She searched for women first, finding none among the dozen or so people. Next she looked for Brick. He was built
like a brick, wide and squared-off. Julian settled on the stool next to hers and ordered two beers.

He turned sideways so that his knees bracketed her and looped his hand around the back of her neck. Then he pulled her close and whispered, “Don’t be so obvious checking out everyone. There are four Vipers near the last pool table watching us. And I don’t much like their expressions.”

Somehow he’d taken note of the rockers on their vests without being obvious himself. With her face now buried in Julian’s hair, she couldn’t see anything. She leaned farther into him, her breasts pressed against his chest, and toyed with his hair as she surreptitiously found the men he was talking about. They were definitely watching with suspicion.

Be easy with him. Look as though she were his ol’ lady. With his silken strands sliding between her fingers, his strong body next to hers, she could do that.

The bartender set two beer bottles down on the scarred wood counter. Julian got to his feet to extract his wallet and paid. He remained standing, and she could feel his readiness. To the onlooker, his entire focus was on her. He wound his fingers around the nape of her neck, tilted her head back, and touched his mouth to hers.

His lips against hers felt electric. Which it shouldn’t, because this wasn’t a real kiss. It was part of the charade to make it look like she belonged with him. The possessive way his lips moved across her mouth was damned convincing, even to her. Her knees automatically slid up on either side of his hips, her hands going around his waist. She knew he would keep it chaste, because he was just that kind of guy. But damn, she wanted to open her mouth and invite him in.

He released her a few moments later but didn’t step back. He ran his finger from the dip in her collarbone up the front of her neck to her chin, giving her a heated look. He was good at this.

But you were good, too. Ahem
.

Especially since being kissed in that possessive way was foreign to her. Her body had reacted all on its own. And the way her heart was pattering was a bad sign that it
wasn’t just acting.

Julian reached behind him and grabbed his beer without even looking. He leaned back against the bar, which gave him a view of the entire place. She stood, too, and rubbed her butt with a grimace. “I can’t sit anymore.” It was a genuine statement. Two hours on the back of a motorcycle was butt numbing. It also gave her the chance to lean against Julian’s side, wrap her arm around his waist, and press her cheek against his chest. Oh, and keep an eye on the room as well.

She took one sip of her beer, though she wasn’t a big fan. Still, that was the natural thing you did when you went into a bar, right? As natural as brushing up against your boyfriend in said bar.

He draped his arm over her shoulder and leaned close to whisper, “Good job.”

The words, and his warm breath washing over her neck, made her shiver. Dare she admit that she was enjoying it just a little? That some edgy part of her was waking up with every touch? Definitely not.

Two Vipers made their way to the bar, probably not coincidentally ending up on either side of her and Julian. Each ordered a beer and seemed to settle in at the bar. Molly took her cue from Julian, who appeared not to be bothered in the least. She was, but she could pretend. Julian turned to the guy on his side and gave him a friendly greeting.

The guy nodded back, lazily scratching a neck dominated by a tattoo that was a series of S’s. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Ah, these were the scouts. Their comrades were watching, slouched in their chairs. They were pretending to be casual while completely on alert.

“Nope.” Julian took another sip of his beer. “I’ve been in the military for the last ten years. Me and my ol’ lady have been going down Route 66 since my retirement.” He gestured with his finger to the bowl of pretzels a few feet away. “Grab me that bowl.”

She followed his order, while the guy next to Julian asked his friend, “The club did Route 66, what, Buzzkill, five years ago?”

“About that,” Buzzkill affirmed with a nod. “You stay true or hop on the highway? In some places, like Oklahoma or Missouri, you’re going sixty and eyeing a
major highway paralleling you with traffic just zinging by.”

Mollie had no idea about traveling Route 66, so like a good biker babe, she deferred to her ol’ man.

“Sixty?” Julian scoffed, tossing a pretzel in his mouth. “I wish. More like forty-five on those shitty old roads. We stayed true as much as we could. Nearly hit one of those wild burros in Oatman.”

For some reason that tidbit put the two bikers at ease. Maybe they at least were convinced Julian had ridden 66.

The one next to her laughed, loud and booming. “One of our guys wiped out ’cause of those damned things. Nearly lost his leg.”

Hah. Funny
.

Julian laughed too, nearly as loud. “I believe that. Beasts came out of nowhere.” But Julian knew exactly what he was doing—building camaraderie, confirming for them, she realized, that he wasn’t bullshitting them. He held out his hand. “I’m Houdini.”

“Venom,” the guy on his side said. “Houdini, huh? You ride with a club?”

“That’s my military nickname. I can get out of just about anything.” He wrapped his arm around Mollie and pulled her close. “Comes in handy with the ol’ lady here,” he added with a chuckle. “This is Mira.”

It seemed strange to shake hands with outlaws. Her eyes kept going to the S’s across his neck, his dominant feature. Buzzkill sported a mohawk and an array of tattoos of his own.