Eve
“WAS THAT ROCKER?” I clutch my phone so tight that the case bites into my fingers. I’m surprised it doesn’t fly out of my hand with the force of my grip—and frankly, I suspect I should be aiming it at the biker lounging against the Princess Mobile.
Rev actually finishes his cupcake before he bothers responding. “He came by,” he growls, jerking his thumb up the street.
“And then he just left?” Although Rocker is the silent partner in our party business and his job description is limited to behind-the-scenes stuff like moving heavy objects and paperwork, my baby brother is super protective of me. He’s never quite gotten the memo that it’s my job to look after him—so he likes to show up occasionally and poke his nose in my business. For him to light out without so much as talking to me is highly unusual and I know exactly who to blame. The mom and the baby princess hovering near Rev must register the tension between the two of us, because they skedaddle for a battered minivan parked curbside.
“No shit.” I blame this entirely on Rev. It’s not difficult to imagine how his meet-up with my brother went—both of them act like dogs and I’m a hotly contested tree.
“He came by to see me.”
I’m trying to give Rev the benefit of the doubt. I’m not under any illusions that he’s a good guy, but maybe this isn’t as bad as it seems. Perhaps Rocker got a call and will be back in a few minutes. Perhaps he went to pick up something. Okay. I’m stretching and I can admit it.
“You ready to roll?” Rev ignores my last comment.
“That wasn’t a question,” I grit out. “That was my brother who stopped by to see me. Why did you run him off?”
We’re starting to attract attention. I’m not kidding myself—the dress helps, as does the bright pink RV, but the star attraction here is Rev. More than one of the departing mothers glances sidewise at him as they shepherd their little darlings down the driveway. The man is undeniably hot. Maybe it’s the casual power in the way he stands or the stubble that roughens his jaw. There’s nothing soft about Rev and absolutely everything about him screams dirty sex. I squeeze my thighs together, grateful for the dress that hides the betraying motion. God, I want this man. We don’t have much of a history together and he won’t remember my name in a year, but right now none of that matters and that’s a problem.
“It’s not safe for you to hang around him,” he says. At least Rev has the decency to not lie to me about having run Rocker off. Or maybe he knows he’s busted and not getting out of this one.
“The lack of detail is not helping your case,” I tell him, trying really hard not to stare at his thighs. Or his hands. There’s a whole lot of sexy real estate to choose from.
“I’m going to find out what’s going on,” I continue. “You might as well tell me.”
He makes a rough sound that absolutely, totally does not make my panties wet. Much. “Ask Rocker.”
“You ran him off—that makes this your problem.”
He nods slowly. “You know that your brother rides with the Black Dogs, right? He patched in with them a couple of years ago.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” I’ve done some asking around—wouldn’t you?—and so far I haven’t discovered any magic escape clause. It sure seems like membership in an MC is pretty much a lifetime commitment until death do you part.
“Your brother’s been a busy boy. He cut a deal with a Colombian cartel to move their product, but then he tried to cut them out of the picture.”
I try and fail to imagine my baby brother as a drug dealer. I mean, he doesn’t even smoke—how can he be committing felonies on that kind of level? You know he’s up to something. He was worried out at the lake, sure, but would he really do this?
“My brother wouldn’t have anything to do with drugs.”
Rev looks pained. “Loyalty’s good, princess, but you need to keep your eyes open, too. Ask him what’s up.”
Rev doesn’t sound like he’s bluffing. In fact, he sounds way too confident. This is Rocker we’re talking about. I mean, he colors out of the lines a little, but this would be the equivalent of taking a black Sharpie to the whole goddamned coloring book. If I knew for certain he was selling drugs, I’d have to do something. Drugs hurt innocent people. Drugs mean money, violence and turf wars. I’ve lived in East Las Vegas long enough to know that.
“Come for a ride with me.” Rev changes tactics. “I’ll drop you at your place afterward. It’ll be fun.”
“Does the caveman approach usually work for you?”
He shrugs. “It’s just a ride.”
Uh-huh. “You have a bridge you want to sell me, too?”
As much as I’d like to continue living in the land of denial—the weather’s awesome and orgasms for all—I’m a realist. This man wants something. I just don’t know if it has something to do with Rocker, my panties, or both. Maybe he wants to pick up where we left off the other night, or maybe there’s something else going on here.
“Ride with me,” he says, sounding a little impatient. “I promise you’ll enjoy the fuck out of it, Evie.”
So sexy.
So wrong.
This has to explain my answer. “Pick me up at six.”