Hammer (Heartlands Motorcycle Club #9) - Dani Wyatt Page 0,4

trying to be crafty.

“Doubt it,” he grunts back, not hiding that his eyes are stuck on my boobs and their protruding pebbles.

“Hey.” I snap my fingers in front of his face. “I’m up here, talking to you.”

He slowly raises his eyes, those green eyes that invade my dreams day and night thinking of him looking down at me from his position on top. Holding me there. Holding me down while he—

“So, talk,” he adds, and I shake away the fantasy, scratching my wrist as I try to re-claim my composure.

“I’m just saying, you didn’t need to do that and now you are probably going to be getting a visit from Sheriff Ramsey or one of the deputies any second. And I’m going to have to tell the truth. I wasn’t in danger, so what you did is assault.”

“I disagree.”

“With what?” I let out an exasperated sigh at his ridiculous calm.

“With most of it, but especially the part that you weren’t in danger. Matter of opinion.”

“No, it’s a matter of the law. Something I happen to know a thing or two about.”

He sniffs on a half-smile and it shoots bolts of anger and lust through me.

Anger because I don’t want to feel this for him. For anyone, for that matter.

“Maybe.” He nods. “But, they ain’t callin’ no cops. Not on me. If they know what’s good for them at least.”

“Well they should. I would.”

“Yeah, well, my money’s on they don’t.”

“Well, I’m not giving you legal advice, but I would probably recommend you learn to control yourself.”

Even as the words slip from my lips, my mind is spinning with thoughts of him losing control in a different way.

“Duly noted.”

As I push my cart forward, leaving him standing behind, my hands are shaking, my brain is buzzing and yes, I’m soaking wet.

Chapter 3

Hammer

It took all my strength to let her walk away pushing that fucking grocery cart.

But I did it for a couple reasons.

One, I made sure the fucks that messed with her got some choice words before I followed them out the door and made sure they were on their way elsewhere.

Second, I can’t risk getting close to her. I can’t risk I could bring any potential danger into her life.

Life has been quiet since I landed in Seneca, and as much as I hope that will continue, I’m always looking over my shoulder. Ready to bug out and re-invent myself yet again if needed.

Because there are people, bad people, that would love to know where I am and settle old debts.

But, the longer I’m here. The more time I spend watching her, the weaker I become.

We have a habit of turning up in the same places. It started that day at the courthouse and it’s like fate is doing a full court press to get us into the same space. Which I appreciate, but it hurts down deep not being able to have her. Take her. Give her everything I can.

But there’s the other problem. What can a biker on the run, occasionally going outside the law, living on cash and trying to leave no imprint, give to a girl like her?

She’s the entire package. Brains. Looks. Tough. Self-confident. Funny. Kind.

As much as I dream of her being mine, fuck all if I honestly know what I would do with her once I got her.

Since it’s three am and I can’t sleep, I shake away the near constant barrage of thoughts about her today at the grocery and grab my overfull laundry bag as I head out the door, strapping it to my bike and riding the half mile down the road to the twenty-four hour laundromat. I’m renovating the garage at my place, which contained the washer and dryer, so for the last couple months it’s been coin-op for me.

I like coming here in the middle of the night. There’s usually no one else around, so you get your choice of machines and I’m fucking picky about which ones I use. I always run my first load of whites through the same machine, making sure there’s enough bleach to kill any lingering whatever from anyone that may have used the machine since I was here last.

I’m sort of obsessively clean. Everyone at the club busts my chops about it. I never wear the same clothes two days in a row, even if it’s hard to tell because my wardrobe consists mainly of white t-shirts and Levi’s 505’s.

I’m a button-fly kind of guy.

I get my first load going and take a