Royally Broken by Elle Boon Page 0,20
like a damn well trained...pet.
Keys shoved the phone back into the front of his leather jacket, zipped the pocket to keep it safe, and headed back to where he parked his Harley. A big burley dude stood next to it. He took the gloves out of his back pocket, putting his hands in them as he walked.
“What’s up?” he asked the man, stepping up within feet of him.
“Nice bike.”
Keys nodded, adjusting his backpack. In the saddlebags, if the fucker had tried to get in them, Keys knew he wouldn’t have found shit. However, he would’ve had to break the locks to find a whole lot of nothing. “You need something?”
“Nah, just admiring your ride. Used to have one when I was younger. That was before the old lady made me sell it.” He rocked back on his heels.
“Yeah, that would suck.” Keys stood there, waiting for the other man to make a move that would get him hurt or dead. He glanced around to see what kind of clean up he’d have to worry about.
“Heh, there was a tradeoff. I get laid regularly without her worrying if I’m out on the road, getting run over by some fool in a big rig. Now I’m the fool in the big rig.” He laughed, sobering as he looked over at his truck. “We look out for you riders though, trust and believe that.”
Keys held his hand out, bumping knuckles with the trucker. “Thanks, man. We appreciate that.”
He slid his leg over the seat, knowing nobody had fucked with his ride while he’d been gone. Paranoid he may be, but he was also alive because of it. So yeah, he’d armed his bike with a system that would’ve rattled the windows of all the rigs within a mile of it had anyone decided to try anything.
“Don’t let any woman get you to sell your ride, brother.” The trucker raised his hand walking off.
Keys wanted to correct him. He wasn’t his brother, only men he respected and were part of his family had that right. Instead he pushed the start button on his bike, letting the rumble soothe his frayed nerves. The man clearly wished he was something he wasn’t. Keys would let him have that moment, shit, he might even go home and do a little role reversal with his wife.
That night, he found a hotel that definitely wouldn’t meet a four or five-star rating, but he didn’t mind. All he needed was a place to crash that had clean sheets and a cool room. From his inspection he got that. For whatever reason, he’d chosen to stick to Route 66, call him nostalgic or stupid. Whatever the reason, he was taking the scenic route and enjoying whatever he could as he rode.
He rolled over, staring up at a ceiling with questionable stains. “One fucking email from Palmer Fucking Coker and here I am, running back to the last place on Earth I ever planned to go. Fucking Pussies ‘R Us should make a place for my name to go with a sign, and slap a picture of my ugly mug right beside it with the title of the Head Pussy.” He punched the pillow under his head, trying to get comfortable.
At one time, comfort for him would’ve been a flat surface where he’d brushed all the rocks away sufficiently enough none would stab him if he rolled over in his sleep. As for a pillow, that would’ve been his arm, bony though it had been.
Chapter Three
Keys woke with a start, sweat covering his body, reminding him of when he’d been a SEAL. “Fuck,” he muttered. He rolled over, sitting on the side of the bed, looking at the window to the outside. The sun starting its rise, heralding the coming day reminded him he needed to get his ass in gear. It was gonna be a hot fucking ride in his leathers. He got up, going into the bathroom with the cracked tile. The water in the shower sputtered, coming on with a groan.
Dropping the clothing he’d been wearing onto a chair so they wouldn’t get any dirtier, Keys figured there wasn’t any use getting them any dirtier from the floor. He rolled his shoulders trying to work the kinks out, knowing the shower wasn’t going to get hot enough to help. He stepped over the lip of the shower, getting under the semi warm water, washing away the sweat and grime. Tonight, he’d be riding into Oklahoma and meeting the Royal