Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,43
when things need to be questioned. I trust you.”
Shit, he’s been testing me, and I didn’t even know. I hold out my hand and shake Reaper’s powerful palm. If he ever finds out I’m fighting for Maximo, maybe give Ruthless a bad reputation again, I’ll have more than my title stripped, but my dignity and possibly my flesh too.
If I win tonight, I’ll go straight to Reaper and give him a cut of the winnings and be upfront. I’ve seen what the man can do when he wants to get his way and, honestly, it scares the hair off my chest.
“Make Church. It isn’t a request,” Reaper flicks his smoke about five feet away and then pushes off his bike to head inside.
“Fuck me.” I blow out a breath once he’s gone and breathe in and out. I’m so fucked. Why the hell is Maximo getting involved with us? And he’s Moretti’s brother? Something doesn’t smell right.
As I throw my leg over the seat of my bike and crank it, something moves out of the corner of my eye. I see Dawn, gnawing on her perfect bottom lip. I expect her to stop, but as always, she exceeds my expectations and walks over to me, arms crossed, seeming small and fragile. Nothing like the woman I know, the one with a fighter’s heart and a tongue as wicked as the damned.
“I know where you’re going.”
I rev my engine to drown out her voice.
The light red highlights in her hair capture the sun as they shine a beautiful copper. She glances off into the distance, her lashes curling up as she blinks. She’s a goddess. Something so beautiful doesn’t need to be ruined by my hands.
That’s what I do.
I ruin.
“I’ve seen the look on Cohen’s face before a fight. I’ve been there before.”
“I don’t expect ye to go there again, Lips.” I can’t help myself. I reach out and rub my thumb over the plump pillow of her lip and tug it free from her teeth.
“I’ll go there again for you, Skirt. You’re different than him.” She sighs and places her hands on my face, softer than how she grabbed me last night. Dawn places a soft kiss on my mouth, and it’s filled with so much care, so much worry, for me, that I need more of it. I wrap my arms around her and pull her close, enjoying the slow kiss as she pours what she feels for me into my body.
I drink it up with greed, wanting more and more, until I’m fucking drowning in it, and the only way I’m breathing is through her.
Our tongues tease one another, and my hands slide down her back, giving her arse a good squeeze. She brings the kiss to an end and lays her head on my chest. “Come back to me unbroken, Skirt.”
“Rohan,” I correct her. I want her to know my real name. The name I never hear anymore.
“That suits you. It means red, right?” She strokes her fingers along my beard. “My red warrior,” she whispers. “Be safe.”
I grab her hand and kiss the inside of her palm before letting her go and reverse my bike out of the parking lot. When I come back from this fight, I’ll tell her the truth and why I’m so nervous to be around her, to see if she’ll still want me.
I don’t look in my side mirror to take one last look at her. I can’t, or I’ll turn around. I need the release of the fight before I bring it to her. That’s my worst fear, that this amazing, beautiful woman is giving me a chance; she’s trusting me not to hurt her the way her ex did. I’m so scared I will. My temper, my need to feel people fighting against me, their life struggling in my hands, is a terrible curse.
My bike flies down the road, passing a car every few miles, and the sun is beating down on me until the fair skin on my shoulders is hot. With regret, I flip my blinker on and take a right, then turn into Circus, Circus. There are people everywhere. Women are in short dresses, a few have on matching shirts. Something about a bachelorette weekend, and I assume the one wearing the veil is the bride to be.
Parking it, I kick the stand down and steady my bike before getting off. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m going behind my Prez’s back. My woman knows.