Falling for you

Chapter Six

JUDGE

She has taken off her jacket and is standing with freshly patched-in Jaguar, who shamelessly lets his gaze linger up and down while he mans the bar.

Normally, only prospects do menial jobs like this, not officers; still, it was his choice. He’s got a knack for numbers, knows how to pour a stiff drink, and is trustworthy for both stock-taking and any trouble that walks through that door.

He’s a bloody good shot, too.

Jaguar’s definitely not replaceable, but he should watch where his eyes roam.

Then, I notice. Half the brothers in the bar already have their eyes on her, and are starting to circle like hungry jackals.

Her tight body cinches at that hourglass waist. The way her slender belly smoothly widens at the hips to accommodate a juicy and curvaceous peach of an ass—goddamn, she’s snatched. All natural and so plump, you could bounce a quarter off it. There’s no seductive sway; she just drips off temptation just by being. No matter what you prefer, t**s or ass, she sure as s**t has got both on display. And that skin-tight, seamless black dress highlights every curve in pure class.

She stands on her tippy-toes to order her drink in Jaguar’s ear, and most heads tilt to get a better view while assessing the best approach. I can hear the cogs turning from here, and a few zippers too. A small smirk plays on Jaguar’s lips as he pretends not to hear. It forces her to jump up and lean on the counter to shout her order. Her bum, jiggling the perfect amount to short-circuit my brain into dropping my jaw.

OK, I’m done perving about.

I rearrange my c**k that threatens to bust through my jeans and swoop in the nick of time. The Carson brothers, standing in the wings and leering at her like she's a steak dinner—catch my drift and back the f**k off. I take off my cut, a deafening but silent offering to square up to anyone who cares to challenge me.

At this point, I’m a silverback gorilla beating on its chest, and the club is my evergreen jungle.

As it is, our MC is quite young when considering the average age of the club. Most of the older generation sided with him—stuck in the old ways. The only veteran exception was Rocket, who saw through his power trip for what it was. Years of abuse and daylight robbery, concealed as the run-of-the-mill and a necessary evil to allegedly "toughen" people up. His unchecked greed, skimming cream off the top, stems from a misplaced sense of entitlement that all men like him claim the world owes them a debt. Meanwhile, he’s nothing but a spineless, money-grabbing crook, and to him, we were all just a number—a check for him to cash and a 'get out of jail free card'.

The twins are young. They could put up a fight but are all too aware of the outcome. It won’t be pretty and over too quickly. Though the odds at first glance may tip in their favor, their numbers would be a grave insult as well as a bruised ego to match rather than an advantage. In short, a few lucky blows wouldn’t stop me from kicking their asses. And… although this is completely out of character for me, those obsidian eyes I'm already obsessed with remain timorously oblivious to my attachment.

I ask about her drink and sit her ass down, watching those perfectly proportional, buxom boobs bounce at the sudden motion. That gesture—speaking louder than words—earns me a resounding nod from my brothers as I stake my claim for the night.

“So you’re the president of an MC full of soldiers?” She smiles sweetly at the resonant sound of approval, eyes down, and playing with a ring of condensation on the bar’s surface.

“How do you know they are all soldiers?” I cut through her distraction with my finger. Her hand, so small in comparison.

“I think it's out there for everyone to see. All of you wear it like a badge of honour. Your type ... has a certain.... air; you might as well all be in uniform.” Her naughty, sheepish glance strays, picking off our cuts one by one with laser-focused precision.

“But, I guess, you already are.” She shifts to face me, resting her hands between her enticing thighs, guiding my eyes to that forbidden fruit, and jutting her chin up. Goading. Wanting. Oh, so, so tempting.

That thigh gap, my world.

“It was a natural transition.” I respond with a wink. Subtly puffing out my chest, and leaning my forearms on the bar I catch myself wanting her scrutiny to continue.

“Boss?” Jaguar interrupts.

“I’m just popping into the kitchen to retrieve a crate of fruit. No need to worry about the bar; Roadster’s got it covered.” I turn to find him guarding it with a knife edged into the counter and a bored, ice-cold expression that tells everybody not to step out of line.

He has a dark sense of humor—the black, disturbing kind—which you either get or you don’t, but our brothers know not to test if he’s joking. The guy hardly laughs unless he’s with me, Killer, Jake, or Roxy. Tonight with her … he’s different. He’s still the phantom that sees all. The specter that can sneak up and kill you without a sound. The spook that bears the mark of the beast. The incubus that will haunt your blood-curdling nightmares and make you afraid of your own shadow. Yet, he seems lighter and on edge at the same time. He’s trying to figure out how she could have such an effect on all of us, including him.

A reflex response has me pulling her in as Jaguar steps out the half door. The sudden move makes her hiccup at the sparks that fly from our skin-to-skin contact. She focuses on my flexed arms. That lusciously soft bottom lip tucks between her teeth and my control slips, fanning out my fingers to feel the curve of her ass.

“Do—… Do they allude to Afghanistan and those to Pakistan?” Her eyes languidly trace the bold, fine-colored lines that run up my tattooed sleeves and intertwine with the rest of the black ink.

“Yes, how did you...—?” When I got them done, I thought the meaning would remain inconspicuous, as I refrained from any flag-related imagery.

“It was a natural transition.” That lip pops out of her mouth as she smiles at me.

I don't know what I like more, her wickedly sharp mind or her smoking-hot body, and that predicament has me huffing out a smile of my own.

“I didn't think it was that obvious.” I step back to pour myself another dram of whiskey, because Jaguar knows to leave the bottle.

Smart man, I’ll f*****g need it tonight.

“It wasn’t obvious per se, but my mind likes to wander, you know... and given your career choices, it was safe to assume. Any… more?” She pushes out with unchecked excitement, even though most people tend to show disdain at the mention of war-torn countries.

I nod, and she trails my skin.

“Congo, Libya, Syria, and Iraq.” I steel myself, prepared for the civilian judgy look so many give, but it never comes. Instead, her eyes light up.

“Really? I’ve always wanted to explore every country on your list. Are you sure you’re not in my head?” She blurts out an answer all dreamy-eyed, as if I'm speaking of a fairy tale land.

“Despite the danger and poverty?” I c**k my eyebrow like I do my gun, hard and fast. For it's better than admitting how I’d like to be in her head.

“Even more so! What's the point of seeing the world through a resort? Then, you’re not seeing anything at all. Only wanting luxury would be living a life with blinkers on. I’m so sorry; I must sound sheltered and insensitive.” I shake my head out of the pink haze that’s taking over my field of vision.

Is this girl for real?

“Not at all; maybe try refreshing.”

Take another sip, big boy, and beckon the other big boy in your pants to stand the f**k down.

“Don't get me wrong. I am one for creature comforts and indulgence, but I could give them all up if I got to travel. Truly live, eat, drink, and talk—fully immerse myself and have a proper adventure. Running scared and fighting for what you think is right would feel right for once. I’m doing it again; I'm not giving the best first impression, am I? ” She gushes with this faraway look, fidgeting and wishing it was real.

Down, old man. No matter how much you want to whisk her away, you can’t.

“You'd never have to run again with me.” It tumbles out of my mouth so quickly, I very nearly punch myself to shut the f**k up.

“Would you go back? Not in a soldier capacity, but dare I say… as a tourist?” She blinks repeatedly, not quite sure if I meant what I said. I’m not even sure of it myself, and yet I absolutely did.

“With the right company, Little Bird, in a heartbeat.”