Falling for you

Chapter Three

JUDGE

A pocket-sized and dark brunette bombshell with obsidian almond-shaped eyes stares back at me, as her cherry-plumped lips part in surprise, rushing to stand up. Frozen in the headlights of my gaze, her beer slips from her dainty fingers.

I am momentarily rendered speechless as I take in every smoking feature, one by one, raking over that sexy-as-f**k body that can't be more than 5'3 to my 6'7. Maybe I should tone down the smoldering attitude towards her, but I’m intrigued to see how she will react. Bane let it slip that she was completely unfazed by his brick-shithouse build and f****d-up scars, which are precisely why he mans the gate. He knows he’s one scary son of a b***h, and f*****g revels in keeping the wolves at bay. Yet, she dared to joke and tease.

So no. I reckon I will definitely poke and prod.

“Who are you?” I drop my already gravelly voice a few octaves more for the sole purpose of watching her crack.

“M—Me? I-… I’m nobody, really.” She looks down at her boots like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, but betrays herself by sneaking my way a couple of withering glares.

This should be interesting…

Something shifts, and she moves tentatively. Her dark eyes sparkle with curiosity through the glossy and silky-smooth locks that gracefully cascade down her back and cover her face. She’s a serendipitous puzzle I want—no, need—to work on until it all starts to make some f*****g sense. That poise winding my chest so tight, my skin tingles with anticipation that has f**k all to do with the prickling chill of a late October’s night.

She's an enigma I can’t wait to unravel, but too many burning questions will such urges away.

“Who sent you?” I menacingly take a step forward, making her jump. But she’s quick to stand her ground.

Fear gets most people to talk, yet she refuses to acknowledge my towering frame. We are both working to find an angle, and keep the other one guessing. A feat not too many accomplish, for I wield my cut and badge like a weapon, sharpened by reputation. That much is clear; she’s a stranger to our world, and her defiance, albeit a turn-on, is still cause for concern. Not to my authority, but to her safety. This exotic flower is daring herself to stay, despite her own reservations, and her cold shoulder is a self-effacing front. A diffidence that uniquely magnifies the pull to dig deeper. Maybe her story does hold some weight, but the faint blush coloring her cheeks has me sidelining the truth for something else entirely. Something that makes the corners of my mouth twitch into a smirk and recognizes an undeniable longing that mirrors my own.

Keep it in your pants, even if you could watch her emotional whiplash all day long.

“I think they’ve done it again.” Her answer stops me dead in my tracks. The pinball game she’s been playing drops through the rabbit hole of swirling, twisted scenarios. And discarded ones make their way back to the surface at the mention of ‘they’.

“They?” I parrot. “Who are they?” I ask brusquely. My tone is sharper than intended at this new, key piece of information. Sure, Roadster had already filled me in. But if Jake’s truly involved, I need to hear his name from her pretty little mouth.

Consider my curiosity well and truly piqued.

“Matthew Hopkins and his merry band of jockey goons.” That name, striking a chord for both of us. A lone tear races down her flawless olive skin, and I cringe at the guilty feeling it stirs inside.

Shit, I’m such a f*****g dumbass. Did I push too hard?

Her moon-kissed features, as she turns towards the dewy amber light that spills through the bar windows, are nothing short of hypnotic. I find myself fixin’ to decipher her heritage that makes her so goddamn beautiful, instead of pressing about the map.

She’s so perfect. I could fall to my knees and retrace her stained cheek, worshiping every soft inch of her skin.

There’s so much to look at; however, my gaze yearns for those dark yet luminescent obsidian eyes to return. Her devouring orbs dance in the depths where lights catch. The black crystals of volcanic glass, born from the fury and destruction of a thousand suns, in her core cool. And that swirl of opalescence, hiding out her pupils, shimmers. Her tear, the diamond I’ll buy after I break down her defenses and I claim her as my own. I’m helplessly consumed in her fire, and I need to burn in those damn eyes forever.

Holy f**k, Romeo! What's next, sonnets under her balcony in the moonlight?!

I clear my throat in an effort to rid my mind of its sudden wave of lust that someone’s blues should not provoke. My intent ain’t to intimidate her into furthering her response, but that’s how the alluring femme fatale takes it. She squares her shoulders. The sadness that was there a moment ago leaves her eyes, and she defiantly tilts her head up, blessing me with a full view of her face and schooling me in what true beauty really is.

“Matthew’s a slimy sadist who enjoys terrorising me, both verbally, and more recently, physically. This was only his latest attempt, in the endless string of practical jokes, to put the nerdy and fugly loser where she belongs. I apologise for the intrusion; I should’ve known better. I should know my place by now, as their flawed little project.” She huffs, frustrated with herself, and rolls her eyes as if to say ‘duh’.

“A prank? You can’t be serious.” That's all I say. I can't believe this stunner thinks she's ugly.

She owns a mirror, right?

Somehow, it physically irks me that she would refer to herself as some freak and ugly experiment. My fingers twitch in possessive anger. She seems completely oblivious to the fact that since she walked into our compound, she has had all three men she has met, sporting angry hard-ons for her sexy, c*m-beading wiles.

“And the text from Ice with a map, pinged on our location?” Our eyes lock, and for a split second there I let my shameless gawk roam down her body.

“I’m afraid it was a ruse. Matthew, and his best friend Jake Taylor, would never invite the likes of me to one of their parties, unless humiliation was on the menu.” And there it is. Roadster didn’t want to believe it either, but he has clocked it too. My son is one of her bullies.

What the flying f**k, Jake?

I blame myself for not being a better single parent. Jackie didn't have a motherly bone in her body, when she just upped and left. Despite being deployed, I vowed to be present. I brought him up with a stern hand in the testosterone-driven environment of the MC. In which, soldiers from the Special Forces and rehabilitated convicts all loved my boy like their own. After all, we’re bound by blood and an inviolable oath. We each took care to instill in him wholesome core values. One of them being, to never hurt women. My momma taught me, and I taught him. Women are sacred. Yet, we both caught Jackie with her legs wrapped around that white-collar motherfucker. He treated her like some disposable fucktoy, but she still chose to leave us and never look back.

For f**k’s sake, my boy. Why would you choose to be like that rotten apple that would spoil the sweetest of pies?

My son’s inexcusable behavior has certainly earned my full attention. However, tonight’s extremely critical bureau adjustment, concerning the future of each of my brothers in the MC, has to remain at the forefront of my to-do list. In a matter of hours, s**t is about to hit the proverbial fan. Although having this delicious distraction on my doorstep ain’t conducive to the task, I cannot seem to let her go.

I’m getting shafted in every direction—Jake, the mother chapter, the copious amount of paperwork, and my ex. So what's the harm in having some fun?

Ah yeah, how could I forget? The crippling weight of responsibility makes any fun run a mile.

I catch Roadster’s ice-cold stare, calling me back to Earth.

“Can you please describe this, Jake Taylor?” I temper my voice, after spotting how she furrows her neatly-shaped brows with concern.

She is scrutinizing whether to spill or not any more damning details. Yet, she appears to almost be sharing in my pain—watching me, as intently as I’m watching her.

“I am not a tattletale. Bullies always know, and I don't need any more trouble.” She bites her lip and hugs herself like a caged animal. The slightest creak of the floorboards has her flinching, as she involuntarily shows off how big that oversized leather jacket really is.

Fuck Jake, what have you done to her?

For a fleeting moment there, she’s gone. Scared, alone, and raging war within herself, but just like that, the baritone sound of my voice brings her back. The thought of my voice, anchoring her in any way, makes my c**k hard-as-a-f*****g-rock.

“Tawny mop of hair, tan skin, stocky, tall, 6', no scars?” I casually ask with a self-satisfied smirk curling my lips.

Perhaps she will be fooled into giving me a brief description with a few well-placed errors.

He does have a scar on his chin. He got it when he was 8 years old on the edge of the pool while learning how to dive, but it’s healed and barely visible. Nobody would know it’s there, unless he gets up-close and personal. It’s a deceitful and underhanded move, but I need to know what kind of man would bully such a pretty youn’thing.

My guilt over my not-so-subtle scheme is short-lived. She keeps looking at me with each trait she describes, purposefully pairing them against my own.

“No. More like 6'7.” Those mesmerizing pitch-black eyes sweep across my body with a longing gaze.

“Black hair, and a faded scar on his chin.” Her fifty-shades-darker stare holds strong on my face.

Hot damn, I can just picture those eyes heavy-lidded with my c**k f*****g her senseless.

I almost roll my eyes at my inappropriate bullshit. However, I can’t risk giving the game away to someone who reads imperceptible social cues like lit-up, f*****g billboards.

“He’s built like a rugby player, as the captain of the team should be.” She pauses, checking out my broad shoulders tense in acknowledgment.

Well s**t… She’s good.

“Tanned.” Another check. She’s taking pleasure in cornering the king with a hint of a dirty smile.

Goddamn, those are some f*****g blowjob lips that make me want to beg for just one kiss.

WTF? I don't beg.

“As well as a red and blue skull tattoo with a chinoiserie flair covering his neck and left shoulder.” Her eyes dart to the skull above the door, headed by our clubhouse name. Our insignia, if you will.

And yes, Jake does have it tattooed on his neck.

“That's my son.” I cut the crap for its checkmate, and shake my head in disappointment.

“Your son?” Her cat-like eyes widen in a newly discovered fear, and she fumbles for something in her pocket. I hear a few faint taps on a cell’s touchscreen and the double tick of a w******p message being sent.

Damn it all to Hell… I don’t want her to leave.

“Please let me buy you a drink. I can’t imagine what Jake did, but please know you’re safe and that I don’t approve. I give you my word that I’ll address it tomorrow when he's back from college. So you can relax, and call whoever you want to pick you up.” Signaling towards her pocket.

“Fine, but I’ve already texted him. He knows where I am, and he’s on his way.”

Good girl, don’t trust anyone. But why do I feel a pang of jealousy the minute she mentions a man?

“Boyfriend?”

I have to ask.

Roadster throws me a look with a cheeky smirk, like he wanted to know too.

“No, best and only friend... Enzo is the only one your son and his mates haven't managed to scare off.” Flicking her hair over the shoulder as she passes my extended arm holding the door, but she stops and peers up at me.

“Sorry, I probably shouldn't have said that. I didn’t mean to sound invidious.”

Fuck me, she smells good. Is that blueberries and warm sugar?

“Oh, don't apologize, Little Bird. Jake's got it coming. He will have to listen to me— whether he likes it or not. Our club rules demand it. Now that you are under my protection, he’ll never touch you again.” She furrows her brows again and bites her inner cheek, as her all-natural set of full lips pucker into a pensive pout.

She ponders whether to inquire what exactly these club rules entail and decides against it. A myriad of emotions flashes through her eyes; however, doubt wanders no further, and she turns to step inside. Yet, it’s my step that falters, for I’m lost in that blueberry haze of her scent, and my body stiffens at the smutty s**t it conjures. The raging b***r, straining in my jeans, begs me to take a moment to right it. And Roadster’s nod, casually mimicking my own with a breathy sigh, lets me know. I may have just invited in a whole heap of trouble.