LIORA
The biker whose name I am yet to know pulled over outside a club. He steamed the bike while waiting for me to get down. Pulling off the helmet, I handed it over to him.
He got off the bike right after me, hooked his helmet onto the handlebar, then turned to face me fully.
“Stay close to me,” he said flatly. His eyes flicked over the crowd already spilling outside the club entrance. “And don’t look any dude in the eye for too long.”
My brows pulled together immediately. “And what happens if I do?”
“It will be taken as interest,” he answered. “As in you want them.”
I blinked at him. “I can just say no.”
He clicked his tongue, clearly unimpressed. “You don’t have a vest. You don’t have a patch. You’re not marked. So your ‘no’ doesn’t carry weight here.”
That made no sense to me.
