Dean's nature. Instead of launching into the ridicule or scolding, he turns to his friends and nods. "Go ahead without me," he says. "I'll take care of this."
Abel hesitates. "You sure, man?" he asks.
Dean doesn't look at me. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Brax walks past me and heads for the familiar red Mustang parked alongside a black and chrome motorcycle. He claps Abel on the shoulder as he goes. "Just let it go," Brax says with a laugh. "Besides, I want some ice cream. I'm hungry."
Abel looks back once at Dean and then me before turning to his friend. I hear him complaining as they get into the car. "You're always hungry, asshole."
The tail lights illuminate as the engine turns over and both Dean and I watch in silence as they back up and drive off. Then, it's just him and me. Alone. For the first time in over a month, and I have no clue what's about to happen.
31
Dean
Her eyes watch me with a caution that demonstrates her intelligence. She knows a dangerous man when she sees one. And tonight, I'm feeling particularly vicious. Watching her fight has done something to me, awoken the beast so to speak.
After Abel and Braxton leave, we stand in silence for several moments and my eyes eat up the expanse of flesh available to them. Her abdomen is curved, slightly rounded. Her ribs, however, are barely covered by a layer of fat. I can see them beneath the lower strap of her bra. And there, on one hip bone, I spot the edge of dark ink. A tattoo. I want to rip off her pants and see it for myself.
Instead, I force my eyes away as I turn to my bike and pick up the helmet. It's the only one I've got, but she'll use it. "Here," I snap, thrusting it into her arms. She doesn't have a choice but to take it.
"What the fuck is this?" she demands as I press the key into the slot and turn it. The growl of the bike's engine roars to life.
"It's a helmet," I say, compelling myself to remain patient. "Put it on."
When I look back to make sure she's doing as I ordered, I'm not shocked to see that she hasn't. Her eyes jump from the black, full coverage helmet in her grasp to me before narrowing. She looks at the bike. "As much as I'd love a motorcycle, I don't think you're in the mood to give me one," she says. "Which can only mean that you want me to ride it … with you. And that's not gonna happen, D-man." Avalon steps forward and punches me in the gut with my own helmet. "No, thanks," she says sweetly before turning around and walking off.
Oh. Fuck. No. I let the helmet drop to the gravel coated ground of the warehouse parking lot and stalk after her. When I reach her, I grab onto her and spin her around. My mouth is open and words haven't even escaped yet when her fist comes flying at my face. Without thinking, I duck.
"The fuck?"
"Don't fucking touch me," she snarls, jerking herself out of my grasp. "You may think you own Eastpoint, but you don't own me. I can go where I want, when I want."
A growl works its way up my chest, but it stops when my eyes drop back down to her chest—which is heaving up and down. Then I look lower. Fuck … I wanna see that tattoo. I want to know what kind of image she's got on her body. If it's wicked and sinful or if it's the opposite of her personality, soft and girly.
I chuckle darkly, causing her to still when she would have moved a step back again. Like a deer caught in the beams of blinding headlights. I shake my head. "Get on the bike, Avalon."
She looks up at me, narrowing her eyes as her petite little chin juts out. Her lips frame the word I know she's going to say. "No," she snaps.
We're barely ten feet from the bike, so I turn her gorgeous ass around and push her back towards it. She fights me every step of the way, but it's a little difficult for someone her size to truly overpower me. If it was about sheer determination, however, she might have a chance. Maybe.
But it's not. It's about my strength versus hers. And mine is so much greater.
When I've got her backed up to my motorcycle, I lean