CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Ricky’s apartment was what I’d expect for student housing—a place the size of mine, with a bedroom, bath, and all-purpose living and dining area. About as tidy as mine, too, which meant not spotless but not noticeably messy. Casual and lived in. I got comfortable on the bed while I did some work for Gabriel.

When the door opened a few minutes later, boot steps told me it was Ricky. He rounded the corner into the bedroom. I started to close the laptop.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” he said. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

He stood at the foot of the bed, a little bleary-eyed after a long day but waking up now, brown eyes glittering as they traveled over me, facedown on his bed, dressed only in my panties. As he admired me, I twisted to look over my shoulder and did the same back. He’d shucked his jacket at the door and wore a dark T-shirt, tight across his biceps, the edge of one tattoo peeking from under a sleeve. His blond hair was mussed from the helmet, raked back with his fingers, falling forward now as he watched me. His jeans were faded, fraying at the seams, sculpted to his thighs and everything else. I rose and his gaze never left me, sliding down then back up to my face, lingering at points in between. Then he lifted his hand, stopping me.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he said, gesturing at the laptop.

“Yes,” I said. “But not with this.” I closed the computer and shot a pointed look at his bulging crotch.

A rough chuckle. “As tempting as that is, I’m going to have to insist you go back to work. You tested my distractibility. Now I get to test yours.”

“Oh?”

“Um-hmm.”

He walked over, opened the laptop, set it up, and waited for me to flip onto my stomach. Once I did, he retreated. A moment later, the bedsprings creaked. Hands slid over my calves, up to my thighs, squeezing gently before tugging down my panties. The hands again, pushing me up a little, parting my knees, and then . . . a warm mouth, hot tongue, and . . .

“Oh,” I said.

“Um-hmm.”

I sighed, quietly closed the laptop, and let myself be fully distracted.

—

An hour later, we were stretched out on the bed, naked, talking, drinking beer, and eating leftover nachos he’d brought home. He did most of the eating. I was still stuffed from dinner. He asked where we’d gone. When I told him, he whistled.

“Very nice. Gabriel footed the bill, I hope.”

“He did, though he can expense it. Also, he’s picking me up at my apartment at ten tomorrow, so I can’t sleep in as late as I’d hoped. I suspect he’ll want me to do some work after that.”

“I’ll be home studying. Got a midterm next week. Seems tomorrow’s going to be a write-off for us, then. I’m expected to hang at the clubhouse a few nights a week, and I’ve been remiss. If I don’t, my dad will know something’s up.” He took a last slug of beer and crushed the can. “Once we’ve gone public—with my dad and Gabriel—I’m going to need to ask you to join me now and then, if you can. Not your scene, I know . . .”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll make it easy. But if the guys know I’m seeing you, they’ll wonder why you’re not there with me. Whether you think you’re too good for them or I’m embarrassed by them.” He made a face as he popped open another beer. “Politics. Motorcycle gang or country club, there’s always politics.”

“Do you usually date girls from there?” I said. “I know one seemed a little territorial.”

He sputtered a mouthful of beer. “Lily? She’s eighteen.”

“You’re twenty-two. It’s not cradle-robbing.”

“With Lily, it would be. She’s a very young eighteen. I don’t date girls who hang out at the clubhouse. Ever. Did you actually see them?”

“I’m not judging.”

He laughed. “Judge away. That is not my dating pool. I mostly go out with girls from school. Not a lot of that, though. I’m too busy, and it’s too complicated. Either way, no one expects me to bring casual dates to the clubhouse.”

“If you need me, I’m there.”

“Okay. I, um, wouldn’t make plans for next Saturday then. If you want me to keep my mouth shut a little longer, I will, but I’d rather come clean with my dad.”

“Just warn me, and I’ll talk to Gabriel. We can both get the this-is-a-bad-idea speech at once.”

“I know.” He took a long drink of his beer, then said, “But it’s not going to change anything, right?”

“Not for me.”

“Good.” He put the beer aside and pulled me over.

—

When I told Ricky about his late-night visitor, he didn’t seem too concerned. He doubted it had anything to do with the club. There were territorial issues, of course. I’d gotten a crash course on that from Ricky a while back. In Chicago, there were Illinois natives the Outlaws and the Hell’s Lovers as well as chapters of other gangs, like the Hells Angels and Wheels of Soul. They were all much bigger than Satan’s Saints, and the Saints basically stayed out of their way, having no interest in expanding their territory. As for “territory” in their less-than-legal activities, Ricky said it didn’t overlap much with others’. His father had carved out their own niche.

Most likely, Ricky figured, it was exactly what I’d suspected—a third-rate reporter hoping for a story. If the guy came around again, he’d take care of it.

—

It was probably a good thing I’d be spending Sunday night at my apartment. TC was not impressed with my gallivanting. Can’t blame him, really. Get trapped in a basement, finally make it home . . . and your damn owner only pops in on breaks to give you food and water before vanishing again.

I got back an hour before Gabriel was due to arrive. I had a call from Howard, which I returned. Just a check-in for my mother—I’d gotten busy and forgotten yesterday. TC spent the next half hour following me and jumping onto the nearest tall object to give me the stink-eye. When a rap came at the door, he planted himself in front of it, as if forbidding me to answer. I moved past him. He stalked back into the living room.

I opened the door to find Gabriel standing there, a coffee in hand. He passed it to me. “Yes, I’m early, but I need to get a photograph of Seanna from Rose. I’ll give you this while it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.” When he started to go, I stepped into the hall after him. “Gabriel?”

“Hmm?”

He turned. His shades were on, but I didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was still in a good mood. The mocha suggested it. His stance and expression, relaxed and at ease, confirmed it. I hated to screw that up. I really did. But I had to warn him.

“She knows. Rose, I mean. If you planned to grab a photo and not mention why . . . She already knows.”

“Ah.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, setting my drink down. “I asked her if you’d been to the station, and . . .”

“She didn’t know what you were talking about. You had no reason to think I wouldn’t have told her. I intended to. I just hadn’t gotten to it. I’ll apologize, then, for putting you in that position.”

His face was still relaxed, no sign of concern. When I glanced up, he lifted his shades onto his forehead, and there was nothing more to see in his eyes. Calm and centered.

“Okay,” I said. “I just wanted to warn you.”

“I’d need to explain when I asked for photos of Seanna anyway. It’s not as if I’d want a few for decorating my apartment.” A quirk of his lips, no bitterness in his eyes. “This saves me from having that conversation, and since it saves you from having to listen to it, we’ll go over together.”