Mike glared at me, but Dumb-Dumb smiled. “Yeah, only the good stuff.”
We headed outside, his hand on my ass, as he guided me to the small group of prospect bikes. His was a decent little Harley, and he leaned up against it, pulling me between his knees. He ran his hands up and down my body, and I fought the urge to knee him in the balls.
“I’m sorry for scaring you back there.”
Fucker wasn’t sorry, he was just saying what he thought I wanted to hear in the hopes of getting laid, but I played along anyway.
“It’s okay, we can start over. My name’s Nicole, but everyone calls me Nicky.” I wrapped my hands around his neck and pressed my chest into his, watching his eyes darken with lust.
“That’s a pretty name for a pretty lady, Nicky. How about we open up that bottle?”
I nodded eagerly, and he handed me the Old Forester. I took a good sip, relishing the burn. As we share the whiskey, I don’t miss the way he encourages me to drink more, probably hoping to get me drunk. About halfway through the bottle, I’m buzzed with liquid courage, and poor old Daniel isthoroughly wasted. I thank my Irish heritage which blessed me with the ability to drink like a fish.
I heard the door swing open behind us, and took my cue.
Pretending to be caught in a drunken fall, I wrapped myself around him, throwing myself to the side. His momentum carried us far enough that I ended up next to the bike, and he ended up on the ground. “Oops,” I giggled, and he gave me a lopsided grin. He reached for me as I bent forward, probably thinking I was going to help him up. Not today, buddy.
As I bend over, the half-empty whiskey bottle in my hand just so happens to tip enough that its contents pour out over his bike. “Oh no!” I gasped, and Daniel let loose a string of curses. Then I helped him up, and once he was on his feet, I took a cigarette from my pocket.
I lit it, then held it out to him. When he reached for it, I shoved him—hard—into the throng of his buddies who’d gathered behind him. They were probably getting ready to head out for the night; it had gotten pretty late. But, lucky for them, they were just in time for one last show.
I took a couple of steps forward and said, “Hey, Daniel, baby?” He eyed me, not so drunk that he didn’t know something wasn’t right. “When a lady says no, you should really fucking listen.”
With that, I tossed the match right onto the whiskey-soaked leather seat of his Harley and jumped to the side as the 100 proof lit up like the Fourth of July. Fire in the hole, baby.
Daniel hollered like a lunatic and his buddies started running around, intent on getting their bikes away from his. I walked to my bike, wanting to put some distance between myself and the inevitable explosion that’d come once the fire reached the fuel tank. Everyone was pouring out of the bar at this point, and Daniel was still running around like an idiot, kicking dirt on his bike like that would help. I smirked—that Harley was toast. Damn… being Nicole was fun, Kaitlyn would never. I had no idea how exactly this would get me in the club, but I’d figure that out later. They certainly weren’t going to forget me anytime soon.
Right as the fuel tank exploded, someone grabbed me by the back of my neck, and steered me to the side of the building. I stopped myself from face-planting into the worn brick and spun around, ready to clock whoever put their hands on me. A hand much bigger than mine caught my fist, and I realized it was the guy who had been watching us from the corner inside.
“You just set my prospect’s bike on fire.” A worn leather jacket hung off his massive shoulders, and he towered at least a foot over me.
I glared up at him. “He fucking deserved it.” I aimed a foot at his balls, which he easily dodged.
“Easy there, Vixen. I’m not saying he didn’t.”
I glared at him some more, not trusting the easy way he spoke to me—like I was a wild horse, and he was trying to rope me. I went to sidestep him, and he blocked me. I spun to go in the opposite direction, and ran into another dude who had just walked up. I glared at him too, and he grinned at me like he was having fun.
“Mac, your boy’s bike is fucking trashed.”
I smiled a little at that, and Mac noticed. “Well, Vixen. Danny won’t be happy with you.”
I turned my attention back to him. “Like I give a shit. And stop calling me that.”
He cocked his head at me, dark blue eyes trailing down my body, and I tried not to notice the way a vein jumped along his chiseled jaw. “You’re gonna have to answer for that, you know. Can’t have people wandering around just thinking it’s okay to set shit on fire.”
As he talked, he moved closer to me, bringing his face into the light cast by a weak street lamp nearby. I barely held back a gasp because fuck me sideways… Mac must be short for Maverick Mills, the Saints’ enforcer. Which meant his buddy was more than likely Dalton Mills, his younger brother and best friend.
Two voices were at war in my head. One was sayingshit, shit, shit. I was pretty sure that was my voice of reason. But the other voice was whooping because this was exactly what I wanted. I had to get the Saints’ attention—and boy, did I have it.
I crossed my arms and squared my body like I was bracing for a hit. “Fine, call the damn cops then. I can tell them it was all an accident. One big misunderstanding.” But I already knew there was no way in hell either one of those guys would be calling the local law enforcement—and even if they did, from what I’d been told, the Saints owned half the damn cops anyway.
Mac shook his head at me, and Dalton leaned towards me. “Vixen…” I flipped him off in response to my unwanted nickname, and he grinned again. “We’re not exactly the type to call the boys in blue. We like to handle things in-house. Isn’t that right, Mac?”
I stayed silent, at war with the fight-or-flight response screaming at me to fucking run. But I knew that if I did, these big-ass idiots would catch me and would probably enjoy the chase. More importantly, I didn’t want to run. At least, part of me didn’t. I needed this to happen—this was my way in.
While I was lost in thought, Dalton lunged for me. He moved a lot quicker than a man his size should be able to move. He wrapped one muscled arm around my throat and another around my chest, and it suddenly dawned on me that I couldn’t get away even if I used every ounce of Academy training I had. So, I did what any girl would do. I turned my head to the side as much as I could, and bit the ever-loving shit out of his bicep.
“Holy motherfucking damnit…” He trailed off in a string of curses, and I clung to his damn arm like a pit bull. I could taste the iron his blood, and it was fucking disgusting.
