walk over to the tall iron gate and see it’s manned by two men who, according to their leather cuts, are prospects.
The taller, leaner one of the two sees me and approaches, his eyes roving over my body hungrily. I’m about to tell him why I’m here when he buzzes the gate wide and lets me inside.
“Find me later,” he calls as I walk by him without a word.
Frowning, I’m starting to worry that this might not be the safest place for me, after all. He has no clue who I am or why I’m here. All he cares about is that I have a pussy between my legs, not that I have a gun in my boot, and that’s the kind of shit that can get people killed.
I look around the compound, my eyes immediately drawn to the area at my left which is filled with bikes, all neatly lined up next to each other, proudly displayed. It’s easy to see how well they are looked after. Each motorcycle seems to be in pristine condition and recently cleaned. To the right, set a little farther back, is a garage. I passed the storefront entrance of it on my way around, but the back end where the work bays are is locked up tight within the compound.
Walking toward the main building looming in front of me, I take stock of the place that was a huge library in the sixties, according to public records, before Carnage scooped it up for a song and renovated it.
Six stone steps lead up to an archway that is easily eight feet tall and the wooden doors inside it look like the kind you’d find on a castle to keep warring soldiers out. I take a startled step back when the doors swing open and a lone biker walks out.
Holy mother of Jax Teller babies.
I stare at the blond god in front of me for a second before looking away. I know if I look at this guy for too long, I’ll likely end up pregnant.
His hair is longer than I’m used to, pulled back into a sexy man bun, and his face is covered with a neat beard that I just bet would feel amazing between my thighs. He’s also built like he bench presses trucks instead of weights, making my short frame look almost childlike next to his.
“You look a little lost there,” he comments when he sees me, his dark eyes roving over my body much like the prospect before him. Only this guy must have x-ray vision because I swear he’s looking at me like I’m naked right now.
“I’m not lost, just psyching myself up is all,” I tell him, thankful to find my voice sounds normal and unaffected by his hotness.
“That bad, huh?” he asks with a chuckle before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Sparking one up, he takes a drag before offering me one.
I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Call me crazy, but I like my body cancer free. I’m weird like that,” I respond, making him snort.
“Hmm... there are things far worse for you in life than smoking,” he rightly points out, walking down the steps and over to the right of the entrance where there is a large wooden bench.
“That is true,” I agree as he sits and points at the space beside him. I take that as an invitation and sit down.
“Chocolate cake, drugs, and micropenises are all far worse for you,” I reel off. I mean, I could keep going, but the list would be endless.
He chokes a little, which makes his eyes water, so without thinking, I reach over and pat him on the back.
He chuckles when he finally has himself under control. “Guess I can add pretty girls talking about dick to that list.”
“Well, not all dicks are bad for you. But when you’re all worked up and a guy whips out a little maggot that’s not even big enough to be used as bait, it can be a tad disappointing.”
“Disappointing, I’m sure, but I’m not sure it’s bad for you,” he counters.
“I didn’t say it was bad for my health, but you should see how fast a guy starts gasping for breath and loses his shit when you ask if it’s in yet,” I answer, and he roars with laughter.
“Well, if you’re looking for dick, you’ve come to the right place. I don’t go around checking out my brothers’ junk, but as far