Chapter Seven – Red
Warren drove for some time and I forgot to overthink or worry about him. There was no room for worry or stress when I was holding tightly to the abs of Warren and laying my cheek against the strong sinew of his back. I felt so safe, though my body was open to the elements and the slight tilt of the body on this bike could be fatal. Maybe it was knowing how much he cared about his bike. Even if I wasn’t sure how he felt about me, I knew he wouldn’t let his bike crash or get scratched up. Which meant I was in good hands.
Warren drove quickly, with no regard for the speed limit or the law, until we turned into a dilapidated neighborhood. I would never go here without Warren, but he strode confidently towards a house that I wasn’t sure was even inhabited.
But Warren knocked on the door.
“Que? Esperame,” a woman called loudly from the front before the door swung open. I had to adjust my view as the woman was much shorter than her large voice portrayed. She was curvy, curvier than me, with golden curls tied up into a huge waterfall at the top of her head. She looked like a pineapple.
“Hola, Warren,” she said, smiling widely. She spared me a quick glance before turning around to walk back inside her house.
“Come on,” he said grabbing my hand. “You’re going to love it.”
I hesitated, but the smell grabbed me by the nose as soon as I stepped over the threshold. I didn’t know what it was, but it smelled delicious. Smells of fried food, onions, and cheese tickled my nose and begged me to get a taste.
“Oh my God,” I groaned. “What is that?
Warren chuckled with understanding. “It’s the greatest tacos you’ll ever eat on earth.”
Warren pulled me past a decrepit wooden staircase, a flattened couch, and a TV with Spanish pouring out to take me into a kitchen.
The kitchen had been turned into a small restaurant, with three round tables and a few chairs to the side of a regular kitchen.
“Siéntate,” she commanded, standing over us with her hands on her wide hips. “Me llamo Vilma Yohana González Días.”
I stared up at her, both uncomfortable by the intrusion of personal space and trying to remember the little bit of Spanish I learned in high school.
“Hola. Me llamo Alyssa.”
She smiled widely, revealing a few gold teeth, and leaned forward to kiss me on both cheeks, as if rewarding me for knowing the right thing to say.
“Mucho gusto.”
I wasn’t sure what exactly that meant. “Say it back,” Warren said not whispering. “It means nice to meet you.”
She stared silently, but still smiling. “Mucho gusto,” I said to her approval.
She and Warren began an entire conversation in Spanish, leaving me as the third wheel while she prepared something and dropped it into a big pan of oil. I sat beside Warren, mesmerized, and not sure who this man was. He was nothing like what I thought a biker would be. He was kind, funny, a hellion in the bed, and somehow fluent in Spanish.
“I’m sorry,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders. “We were just catching up. I haven’t been here in a while and Vilma was shocked that when I finally showed, I brought a friend.”
“You’ve never done that before?”
He shook his head. “Nah. This is usually a single outing or the entire MC kind of thing. I’ve never brought a woman with me.”
The woman said something in Spanish, and it looked like Warren blushed. “What did she say?”
“She said you look like marriage material. She’s been on me for being single for a while.”
“Aww,” I said, leaning into his touch. “Are you blushing?”
He leaned so close, I thought he would kiss me. “Don’t forget, Red, at the end of the day, I’m still a biker. You wouldn’t want me to have to take your over my knee, would you?”
His words shot straight in between my legs and I wondered if he could see the lust in my eyes. “No,” I whispered.
“Too bad,” he said with a Cheshire grin. “I would have loved to do that.”
I sighed loudly and tried to remember where I was. I couldn’t do this. How could I be into a man I barely know when I had no idea if I’d be able to survive past next week? There was too much on my mind. I was stressed with a capital S: about my husband, who refused to be my ex, money, and my car. I had a part-time job, which was how I met Daniella, but she paid me under the table. Which meant I had to take a serious pay cut because I could not risk being tracked by my card.
Warren slid his finger under my chin, bringing me out of my head. “Hey.” His eyes were full of concern. “Where did you go?”
What could I tell him? Nothing. I wanted to tell him. He looked trustworthy and I wanted to believe he would help if he knew, but I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk believing I was anything but a one-night stand that he wasn’t done with yet.
“Nothing,” I said, dismissing it and turning against his grip so I didn’t have to look him in the eye.
I couldn’t tell him a thing. If he figured out my past, somehow, he would underestimate Bryant and do something stupid, and then Bryant would find me. Some might say that’s irrational, but irrational has been keeping me alive. Anybody could be on Bryant’s payroll. He had the most unexpected people in his pocket. I wouldn’t put a biker past him. Once he hired a homeless man to follow me around all day when he still allowed me to work and it scared me so bad I ended up looking over my shoulder for months.
“So we’re back to that shit.” He pulled his arm from my shoulder and in his absence, I felt cold, but instead of pulling completely away, he pulled me onto his lap. “Red, I thought we were past this.”
“Past what?” I knew what he meant, but I didn’t want to face whatever would happen if I relented.
“Past the lies.” He pulled me forward until we were breathing the same air. “Look, if you don’t want to trust me, fine. You don’t have to tell me. But say that shit. Don’t say nothing. I can tell it’s been something since I met you.”
Vilma brought two plates with tightly rolled tortillas with shredded lettuce and some white sauce to the table. She had slipped on a colorful apron while we were arguing, and from it, she pulled napkins and hot sauce.
I tried to slide away from him, trying to allow the distraction of food to interrupt us, but he held tightly to me.
“You obviously have a lot of shit that’s going on, and believe me, baby, I ain’t trying to add to that. But don’t punish me for shit I didn’t do.” His grip loosened as his hands slid up my sides and to my breasts. I gasped as he tweaked my nipples through my bra. “Now,” he growled, “eat your tacos.”
He picked me up, moving me from his lap before sitting me down beside him. “And hurry up, because we got plans later.”
I thought he was going to take me back to the shop and fix my car. “We do?” I hated the way my voice squeaked.
“Yeah,” he said, burning me with his gaze. “We do. I plan to make up for the morning we missed out on.”
Oh shit. I took a deep breath, trying to see if he was serious. The way he bit into my taco told me he meant exactly what he said and was daring me to say otherwise.
I waited for the fear or guilt to set in and found nothing. All that I felt was desire and unbridled lust at what waited when lunch was over.
He looked at me out the corner of his eyes, making it clear I needed to start eating. I smiled and picked up a taco, groaning as the savory taste exploded on my tongue. Neither one of us said anything until we finished eating the six tacos Vilma served.
“Don’t you have to get back to the shop?” I asked as he thanked Vilma, paid her much more than six tacos should cost, and pulled us outside.
“Nope. I’m part owner. I can do what I want. I’m sure someone else will be working on your car.”
“But…”
“But nothing,” he said, climbing onto his bike and handing me my helmet. “I got more important matters to attend to.”