"Remy Maximus, you son of a biscuit eater! You leave that poor girl alone!" Harper hissed, chest heaving, indignation straightening her spine. "She ain't your fated mate, so go sniff after some other tail!"
Remy, of course, ignored her. The big, mean Alpha werewolf did what he wanted, when he wanted, and paid no attention to Harper's anger, even though he totally should!
Thankfully, Becky wasn't a pushover.
"Woo!" Harper crowed, wriggling in her seat in sheer delight. "That's right, girl, slap that wolf good! Show him what's what! Then go and claim your man!"
Harper sniffed. "Besides, Remy’s mine. He just doesn't know it yet."
Pausing, Harper tilted her head to the side thoughtfully as she considered, "Although, he does need to be properly housebroken, but I'm just the woman for the job!"
Becky paid as much attention to Harper as Remy had—zero. Which wasn't really a surprise, as both Becky and Remy were characters in the audiobook Harper had been listening to for the last few hours as she drove westward, towards Cœur de Lyon Estates in the Colorado Rockies.
Yes, Harper Eirian Llewellyn, of THE Atlanta Llewellyns, arguably one of the most ruthless contract lawyers on the East Coast had a secret addiction to paranormal romance novels. She rarely had the opportunity to read any more, so had picked up listening to audiobooks so she could get her necessary fix of "True Love." She was a die-hard romantic at heart, but that was one of her deepest, darkest secrets. She had quite a few of those, all carefully hidden behind the exquisitely and ruthlessly crafted persona she wielded as both armor and weapon.
The blur of passing scenery made little impression on Harper as she spared a quick glance at the GPS screen on the dashboard while passing through Denver, heading up into the Rockies. Granted, it was still Oh-My-God-O’Clock early, dawn not even a hint in the rearview mirror, so it's not like there was much she could have seen anyways. Which was just how Harper liked it. It was a nearly twenty-four total hour drive from her grandmother's place in Kennesaw, a suburb of Atlanta, to the Estates, but Harper had broken the trip into manageable chunks so she could truly savor the freedom of finally being free.
She loved driving on the interstate at night. Less traffic to compete with, especially when driving through major metropolitan areas, and after driving in Atlanta for the last few years, Harper appreciated that fact almost as she just simply enjoyed the night. With it too dark to be distracted by the vistas around her, it was also much easier to focus on her beloved audiobooks. For as long as she could remember, Harper had found comfort losing herself in fictional worlds; in particular, fanciful romance novels with roguish, supernatural Alpha males with hidden hearts of gold. Of course, all the anonymity of night driving meant she sometimes allowed herself to get a little too caught up in her books.
See, that's the other convenient thing about driving alone at night, you can totally have discussions with fictional characters out loud, and not worry that other drivers or passengers may be judging you! Of course, when your beloved vehicle is a glittery, hot pink Ram 3500 Laramie dubbed Little Lady, one naturally drew attention on the road regardless, so the anonymity of darkness really gave Harper free reign to vent. It also allowed her to, temporarily at the very least, forget about all the real problems in her life; ones she had hopefully left behind in Atlanta.
At half-past-four on a Saturday morning, Denver was a ghost town, the highway empty and illuminated only by the flickering amber or stark blue-white glow of the street lights. The shadows of the Denver skyline were silhouetted against the obsidian Rocky Mountains and the violet of the pre-dawn sky. Eyeing the GPS display on the center console, Harper huffed.
“Still about two hours away,” Harper muttered in disgust, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck. Eyeing her gas gauge as she lifted her thermal mug and gave it the swoosh-check for fullness, Harper resigned herself to the inevitable.
“Little Lady, you are truly a thirsty, thirsty girl. Lucky for you, I could use some diesel myself, so let’s make a quick pit stop before we head up into those mountains there.” Oh yeah, you could also talk to your truck aloud when you were driving alone. Bonus!
Pulling off the interstate, Harper followed the signs for a truck stop. Putting Little Lady into Park, Harper paused her audiobook and hopped down out of the cab. Planting her hands at the base of her back, she twisted and stretched with a groan, getting all those annoying cricks out of her back.
A shiver raced down her spine as a brisk breeze gusted over her. Quickly, she grabbed the pump and started filling up her thirsty truck before she grabbed out her hoodie and slipped it on. Chaffing her arms as she rocked from foot-to-foot to stay warm—okay, so it was more of a teeny-tiny bladder dance, but the cold was as good an excuse as any—Harper kept an impatient eye on the pump.
When Little Lady finally, finally, had enough to drink, Harper quickly put the pump back, grabbed her largest travel mug, locked up her truck, and dashed into the store.
This early in the morning, the convenience store was empty except for the bored clerk leaning against the counter, watching Harper as she filled her mug with the sludge that was just barely considered fit for human consumption, then topped it off liberally with those little creamer canisters. A lot of those little canisters. Unbothered by the clerk’s interest, Harper grabbed a couple bottles of water, a Boston Cream donut, some beef jerky, a banana, and then spent a few minutes debating over fridge magnets before making her selection.
With her much needed provisions finally secured, Harper headed back towards her truck, but she was forced to pause as the doors swung open, framing three very, very large men. For a solid minute, they stared at her as she stared back up at them. Harper was not a tiny woman, at 5’11” tall and a solid size 16, but all three of these men, however, topped her by at least a head and probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds, at the very least. The largest of the three stood tall enough she was surprised he hadn’t needed to bend over to get through the convenience store’s door. There also was no way all three of them could fit through the door to come in at one time, even with both of them swung wide. Of course, with them blocking the entrance, there was also no way Harper could just leave.
Harper raised an elegant eyebrow, just the left one, leveling the look that had earned her the sobriquet Bitch Queen from more than one attorney who had the misfortune to sit across from her at the table.
Wearing a pair of yoga pants, her Ugg boots, and an oversized Emory University hoodie, with her wavy caramel-and-honey streaked blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, Harper wasn’t exactly dressed to impress, but she knew it was all about attitude; and Harper packed more attitude into her body than an entire Sorority of Southern Belles.
“Something I can help you with, gentlemen?” Harper drawled, unleashing the full force of her Georgia accent. She even graced them with a small smile. Not a big one, just a faint curve of her lip. Then one of them had to open his big mouth, and her smile disappeared.
“Sugar,” the brute on the left growled, low and throaty, as his dark, avid eyes swept over her curvy body. A black bandana was wrapped around his head, and combined with the black leather jacket, worn blue jeans that hugged sinfully strong thighs, and the heavy black boots, his entire body screamed bad ass biker.
“You can…” he continued, eyes fixating on the more-than-generous swell of Harper’s chest.
“No.” Harper put a stop to that, juggling her bag of goodies so she could bring her fingers up to her lips and give a sharp, piercing whistle that had all three men, and the cashier, wincing.
In a droll voice, now that she had their complete attention, Harper announced, “Flag on the play. Personal foul. Fifteen-yard penalty, no repeat of down.”
When all three men gaped at her response, the bad ass bikers all struck silent, Harper sighed. “Look, gentlemen, I’ve been driving for three days. I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I’ve dealt with professional football players for the last five years without a vacation until now. I’m sorry, but I’m sugared out.”
The largest of the three, who was also the meanest looking of the three, with a craggy face and a heavy, dark auburn beard going to gray, barked a deep, echoing laugh. Considering he wore only a sleeveless leather vest over his massive chest, revealing huge, heavily tattooed arms, he was downright terrifying. Of course, he wasn’t wearing only the vest, he also had the requisite jeans and biker boots, but when a guy with a chest that massive wore only a vest, all you really noticed was all the acres and acres of exposed muscles! Even Harper, who considered herself jaded after dealing with professional football players, who as a rule were ginormous, had to force herself not to stare.
Biggest Brute raised a massive hand, backhanding the guy on his right across the chest, rocking 'Sugar' back a step as he laughingly demanded in a deep voice tinged with a faint brogue of some sort, “Step back, Sweet-N-Low, and let the lady pass.”
All three men stepped back, two of them holding the doors open while the apparent leader swept into a deep, surprisingly gallant, bow, his bare, heavily tattooed, and obscenely muscular arm sweeping out as he said in his rich, deep voice, “After you, m’lady. Please, beg pardon for our uncouth, but sincere, appreciation of a goddess gracing us poor bastards with her presence.”
Okay, now it was Harper’s turn to be struck dumb and silent. Goddess?
Shaking her head, deciding a silent retreat was her best option in this case, Harper gave a brief nod of her head, and walked out. She didn’t run, but she may have power-walked towards her truck, the feel of eyes watching her progress a noticeable heat between her shoulder blades.
Harper didn’t relax until she had pulled herself into the cab and closed the door behind her. She barely resisted the urge to lock the doors, instead calmly placing her bag in the seat beside her before she wrapped both hands around the steering wheel as she took slow, deep breaths.
Okay, that was just plain weird. Harper thought, staring blankly out the windshield towards the convenience store.
The three men had already gone inside. Scanning the large, open parking lot, she noticed a group of about four other people still astride their motorcycles, relaxing and talking amongst themselves, with three empty motorcycles—probably belonging to the three inside.
Across the lot from them, she couldn’t get a good, clear look, but she noticed on the back of one of the jackets, there was a large patch. Squinting, she just made out what looked to be an animal skull of some sort, and…antlers?
Reaching up, she gently wrapped her hand around the hematite charm hanging from her rearview mirror as she centered herself. The three men in the convenience store, the four others paying absolutely no attention to her, she could sense the aura of dangerous power that hissed over her senses, but none of that violence was directed her way. Exhaling gustily, Harper shook her head as she ruthlessly tamped down on her empathic senses.
“Girl, you have got to let it go! New chapter, new life, remember? Don’t go looking for trouble where none exists.” Yeah, she had a nasty habit of talking to herself, but at least it guaranteed intelligent conversation!
With a shake of her head, Harper started up Little Lady and fired up her playlists. After a run-in with bikers, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with Alpha werewolves at all, so instead of returning to her audiobook, she pulled up her musicals.
As Cheyenne Jackson said, “What the hell, guys like me shouldn’t dream anyway,” Harper pulled out of the truck stop, as he, Kerry Butler, and the original Broadway cast of Xanadu raised their voices in melodies both mean-spirited and not. Harper’s raised her voice as well, but alas, melodious, it was not!