Jasmine

“You are a confident, beautiful woman, Jasmine Elizabeth Buckley,” I said to myself as I stood in front of my bathroom mirror. “You do not let a man get under your skin.”

This was all true.

Until...

I shook off my thoughts with a frustrated growl. Valen “Alamo” Slater was apparently my kryptonite.

Alamo was the Sergeant at Arms for the Dogs of Fire Motorcycle Club, Savannah Chapter, and I’d met him when my best friend fell for his “brother,” Dash. Willow and Dash were now shacking up, which had surprised the hell out of me and Parker (the third bestie in our triangle), because Willow was the best “good girl” on the planet. Sweet, funny, and virginal to the nth degree. Now, however, she was Dash’s and he wasn’t letting her go.

God, I wanted that. No, that wasn’t entirely true. I wanted that with Alamo, but he wanted Parker. They always want Parker. Which was understandable. I loved Parker too. She was perfect. Dark hair, model body, giant green eyes. Everything I wasn’t.

That didn’t mean I thought I was less than. We were just different. I was tall, about five-foot-eight, I had long, red hair, and I was a big girl...as my mother said, in body and personality. I owned that. Reluctantly. I’d done the fad diets, worked out like a mad woman, and taken pills that offered rapid weight loss, but none of it stuck. I was way more Ashley Graham (according to Sparky’s woman Poppy) than Kate Moss, and that suited me just fine.

Don’t get me wrong, I did have days where I wished I was more of the “ideal” (like when Alamo was chatting up Parker...I wanted to be her. I wanted to be what he wanted), but then I’d remember it was impossible, shake those pesky little desires off, and be back to my normal, confident self.

Which led me to today and why I was staring into my mirror, willing myself to believe I had this shit covered. I’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed, after having sexy as hell dreams of Alamo going down on me, and I was back to feeling insecure. Probably because we’d just been at another get-together at the club and I’d spent the entire time watching Alamo...and Parker. God, he’d talked to her for, like, forever.

Damn it!

Forcing my insecurities aside, I gave myself another pep talk. I had a salon to run and a cosmetics empire to build. No time to moon over some sexy as fuck biker.

After giving my perfect, precious (and sometimes psycho) cat, Scruffy, a quick cuddle, I grabbed my purse and headed to my car.

I only had a few appointments today (Parker was my first), and my schedule was purposely light, so that I could leave early to join Parker and Willow for dinner and a movie. I loved owning my own business. I’d worked hard to get here, having chosen a route unlike my brother and sister who were both doctors.

I had a very successful salon and had just started looking at properties across town to open a second. I was also seriously close to finalizing the perfect formula for a new skincare line that could put me on the map. I loved my life and was proud of what I’d accomplished.

Walking into the salon, I disarmed the alarm and turned on all the lights before locking my purse up and unlocking the front door. I headed to the reception area and powered up the computer just as the bell rang, indicating a customer.

Which was weird, considering Parker wasn’t scheduled for another half-hour.

I glanced up and stalled. Okay, my lungs stalled, but my girl bits reacted with a violence I’d never experienced before. All six-foot-one of biker deliciousness stood before me in all his glory and my lungs constricted.

Lordy, I needed relief.

Immediately.

“Hi,” I managed to squeak out.

“Hey, Firefly,” Alamo said with his southern Texas drawl that caused my womb to contract as I yearned for his baby to grow in my belly.

God.

Yum.

Firefly.

I didn’t know why he called me that, but I loved it. So did my vagina. I bit my lip. “What... um... what can I do for you?”

“Was wonderin’ if you had time for a haircut.”

I absolutely had time for a haircut, but I was a little confused as to why he’d driven into downtown Savannah for a forty-two-dollar haircut... not that I would charge him that much money, but he could head to a local chain for less than twenty bucks.

“Ah, sure. I can do that,” I said, and stepped from behind the desk.

He nodded. “’Preciate it.”

I led him to my chair and he settled his big body into it. “Do you want the works?”

He grinned at me in the mirror. “I always want the works, baby.”

I shook my head, trying to bite back a smile. “I’ve heard that about you.”

He laughed, and I led him over to one of the sinks. Guiding his head back, I started the water and settled over his hair. “Temperature okay?”

“Yeah, babe, it’s good.”

I soaked his head, pumped out a quarter size of my favorite shampoo, and massaged it into his scalp. Good lord, his hair was soft and thick, and long enough to hold onto while he was going down on me. Okay, maybe that was wishful thinking, but it was all true.

His black, long-sleeved Henley was stretched over his massive chest and I itched to trace the curves of his pecs (and the rest of his muscles) with my fingers. If the size of his arms were any indication as to just how cut he’d be, I would have a lot of terrain to cover.

I spent a little more time at the sink than I normally did with clients, relishing the feeling of his hair in my hands. His eyes were closed, and he had a slight smile, which made him even more gorgeous (if that was possible), and it took every ounce of my self-control not to cover his mouth with mine.

Shaking off my erotic fantasies, I led him back to my chair and covered him with a cape. “How short?”

“Just a trim,” he said.

I found myself relaxing. “Good. Perfection like this should never be destroyed.”

He grinned at me in the mirror and his eyes got soft. I liked it when his eyes got soft... he looked at me like I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. “You comin’ on Saturday?”

“What’s Saturday?” I asked.

“Drinks and pool at Barney’s.”

“I actually have plans, but that sounds like fun. Give me more notice next time and I’ll try and make it.” I didn’t have plans, technically, but Barney’s wasn’t really my jam, so rather than insulting one of his favorite hang-outs (along with the entire club), I bent the truth a little. “Is Parker going?”

“How would I know if Parker’s goin’?”

I shrugged, forcing a smile. “Figured you asked her already, is all.”

Parker walked in a few seconds later and grinned. “Well, looky here...two of my favorite people.”

She kissed Alamo’s cheek, then hugged me, and leaned against my station desk. “Did you make coffee?” she asked.

“I did. I have to get a different comb, so I’ll grab you a cup,” I offered. “Do you want one, Alamo?”

“Sure, babe, that’d be great.”

I headed to the back, grabbed everything I needed, then returned to find Parker and Alamo laughing about something.

“You’re high,” Parker said, and Alamo laughed.

My girly bits contracted, and I almost dropped the coffees. Lordy, his laugh did dirty things to me.

“You don’t think so?” Alamo asked.

“No way in hell.”

I raised an eyebrow, handing Alamo a cup, then Parker.

“Thanks,” she said. “Alamo thinks the Cowboys are going to make it to the Super Bowl.”

“You never know,” I said. “Miracles do happen.”

Alamo grinned as he studied me in the mirror for a second, but I dropped my head and focused back on his hair.

“Well, you two are apparently smoking from the same crack pipe,” Parker said, and sipped her coffee.

After a few more snips, I ran my fingers through his hair to check length. I met his eyes in the mirror again and smiled. “How does that look?”

“Looks great, babe.” I grabbed a hand-held mirror and showed him the back. He nodded and said, “You do good work, Firefly.”

“Thanks.” I moved to his beard, but he stayed my hand.

“No one touches the beard, babe.”

I smiled despite being disappointed. His beard was long, but he obviously took good care of it, because it wasn’t bushy, and it was yet another item on his body I wanted to touch. “Well, you’re no fun.”

He chuckled as I removed the cape and shook it out, while he slid out of the chair.

He pulled a fifty out of his wallet, but I pushed his hand away. “On the house, Mo.”

“Don’t work that way,” he said.

“I’m not taking your money, buddy,” I insisted.

He raised an eyebrow, dropping the cash on the reception desk. “Keep the change, baby.”

He walked out, and I shook my head. “Stubborn, gorgeous...”

Parker laughed. “You okay?”

“I’m great.” I forced a smile. “I just have to sweep up and then I’ll be ready.”

“Want me to grab you a cup of coffee?” she asked. “I’m getting another.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Parker headed to the break room and I finished sweeping up Alamo’s hair. As I pushed it into the pan, I contemplated saving some. Maybe I could put a little in a locket and wear it around my neck. Better yet, I could research a love incantation and use his hair in a spell to make him fall for me. I rolled my eyes as I dumped everything into the garbage can. I’d probably need something weird like eye of newt, or frog’s teeth or something to make it all work, and I didn’t think I was ready to go to those lengths to make Alamo love me.

Parker returned with a cup for both of us and plopped herself into my chair. “Did you hear they found another body?” she asked.

“No.” I shivered. “That’s four in the last month.”

The top story of late was the discovery of several women’s remains in the area. The media was calling the serial killer the “Gentleman Strangler,” because he’d sexually assault the victim, strangle her, then dress her in fifties clothing, detailed down to the stockings and white gloves. Every woman was petite, brunette, and had olive skin. It was super creepy, and our little community was on high alert.

Parker nodded. “They found her in the park.”

The park she was referring to was Forsythe Park in the most historic part of town.

“Seriously?” I frowned. “That’s close.”

“I know. You have a client down there, right?”

“Yep.”

“Please be careful, Jazz,” Parker begged. “Whoever this guy is, he’s scary and seems like he’s reckless. If you’re in that area, stay aware of your surroundings. Especially if it’s dark.”

“I’m so not his type. He’s partial to brunettes,” I pointed out. “I also don’t go down there when it’s dark. And back atya, okay? You like to run the park.”

“I’m not running there now,” she insisted. “Too creepy.”

“You could take one of the guys with you.”

Parker raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever seen a biker run for fun?”

I thought about that for a second, then laughed. “Maybe you’re right.” I sipped my coffee. “Are you going on Saturday?”

“What’s on Saturday?”

“Pool and beer at Barney’s.”

“Um, no.” She wrinkled her nose. “Are you?”

I chuckled. “No. Alamo asked if I was going... I figured he’d have asked you.”

“Why would he ask me?”

“Because he wants you.”

Parker raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“He’s always all over you at the get-togethers,” I said. “Plus, you guys were all heads-together and giggling like lovers just a few minutes ago.”

Parker did a spit-take... like a bona-fide spit take. “What?”

“What, what?” I asked, handing her some tissues.

She set her cup on the counter and laughed. “Ohmigod, you beautiful, beautiful woman. You are so, so pretty.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you’re very pretty... not so smart, but super pretty.”

I rolled my eyes. “He is all over you... every time we’re at the compound.”

“Maybe so... but he’s asking about you.”

“What?” I squeaked.

“That man might be considered brooding, but he’s good at grilling for information, and the only topic he’s ever interested in is you.”

“Shut up,” I rasped.

She swiveled her chair to face me. “You like him.”

“My vagina does, yes... jury’s still out on if it’s simple lust or something else.”

Parker giggled. “Well, you’re both in the same place.”

“His vagina’s lusting after me?”

“Yes, yes, it is.”

“Weirdo.”

“That man is primed and ready for some Jazz... and it sounds like you’re primed for some jizz—”

“Parker!” I admonished.

She shrugged. “Whatever. He’s raring to go, and you won’t even have to work for it.”

I couldn’t stop a snort as I shook my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe so, but I’m not wrong.”

“If he’s really been asking about me, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew,” Parker said.

“How would I know if he’s always talking to you?”

“I wondered why you always changed the subject when his name came up.” Parker sighed. “I thought I was reading you wrong and you were totally not into him.”

I grimaced. “You weren’t reading me wrong.”

“Were you super pissed at me?”

“No! Why?”

“Because I can’t say I wouldn’t be jealous as hell, or want to scratch your eyes out if the situation was reversed.”

I laughed. “Well, I love you enough to not let a boy get in the middle of our friendship... even a boy as delicious as Alamo.”

She grinned. “Outside of the fact you’re obviously a better woman than me, Alamo’s totally not my type. I like men with longer hair.”

“Correction. You like men who are prettier than you.”

“No comment.”

“Okay, change of subject,” I said with a chuckle, setting my coffee down. “What am I doing to you today?”

As Parker gave me in-depth instructions on how she wanted her hair cut and dried, I allowed part of my mind to imagine Alamo primed and ready for me. God, that would be amazing.

* * *

Alamo

Fuck me, this woman was gonna be a challenge. I was still tryin’ to figure out if the challenge would be worth it as I walked into her fancy-ass salon, but then I saw her, and all those questions were forgotten. Jasmine Buckley was a fuckin’ knockout. She was tall and curvy, had big blue eyes, and the most glorious red hair I’d ever seen. All I wanted to do was wrap it around my hand and fuck her ’til she screamed... this thought made it difficult to focus, but it was no less the truth.

I’d first noticed her at Willow’s dad’s funeral. I doubt she saw me, but I clocked her the second she walked in. She was playin’ referee with Willow’s ex-douche of a fiancé and she was takin’ her role seriously. She wouldn’t let him anywhere near Willow, and since Brad Aljets was a total asshole, I was ready to jump in if he got nasty with her, but it hadn’t been necessary. She “handled” him perfectly.

When she walked into a pig roast with her friend a few weeks after the funeral, I knew I needed to get a little information about her... and endear myself to her friend in order to figure out my next move. I knew she was twenty-seven, owned a couple of businesses, and came from money. What I was intrigued by, was she didn’t seem to care about status. She didn’t wear designer shoes or carry thousand-dollar handbags, she was as down to earth as they came. All of this was confirmed by Parker. She’d promised she’d smooth the way for me with Jasmine, but apparently, it didn’t work.

Jasmine had cut my hair and refused my money, which pissed me off. I didn’t ask for shit I couldn’t afford, but then she’d called me ‘Mo,’ and I’d had to stop myself from kissing her stupid right then and there. The problem was, I could never get a good read on what she was thinking, and unfortunately, I’d flunked out of mindreading school.

The shit truth was, Jasmine didn’t seem interested, even though I know Parker approved of me (and Willow adored me), so now I planned to back off. If Jasmine wanted me, she’d have to give me some indication. I didn’t chase anyone I couldn’t catch.

I shook off my thoughts and headed to the compound. We were in the middle of opening a few night clubs, as well as rebuilding one that had been burned to the ground by some folks who wanted to fuck with the Dogs.

I took the long route to give myself some extra time to recalibrate. There was an older stretch of the highway that lead to Fredricks Mill Rd., and eventually to a network of semi-paved service roads. One of these roads ended about a quarter mile from the Dog’s compound, and even though the road was rough as shit at times, I loved to ride it when I had the time. Today, I was making the time. I had to make sure my focus was strictly on club life when I rolled through the compound gates. I took my role as Sergeant at Arms very seriously, and after the shit we’d just gone through, I had to show my club that I was in top fuckin’ form. I knew that we had a lot of shit to go over, and the guys would be buttoned up, and ready for business when I rolled in. When I arrived, I parked my bike around back, and inspected it for any damage that may have occurred from rocks or debris on the service road.

As I was looking, I heard a loud voice yell out from inside, followed by a crashing sound. I drew my gun, and quietly slipped in through the rear entrance. I crept down the long hallway towards the main hall, and could hear the sounds of a struggle. Had someone breached the compound? I quickened my pace, remaining careful not to make a sound. I crouched at the door and listened, waiting for my moment to move in.

“I swear to God, I’ll let him kill you!” a voice said to a muffled response. “Okay, I guess I’m just gonna have to choke you to death.”

Hearing that, I raised my gun, kicked the door in, and charged into the great room, only to see one of our newest recruits, Shadow, sprawled out on the ground, being held in some sort of half-assed Jiu Jitsu hold by Badger. Dash, whose leg was still in an air-cast after surgery due to his accident, was standing over Shadow with his cane raised in the air. All eyes were currently pegged on me, the only one in the room currently holding a gun.

Doc, Gator, and Milky were sitting together, opposite a large folding table that had clearly been snapped in half. Rather than acting like officers and discouraging whatever the fuck was going on here, each of them sat relaxed, beer in hand. Not even my dramatic, completely unnecessary, entrance seemed to phase them at all. That was until they started laughing.

“Fuck you, guys,” I snapped. “What the hell is going on here?” I holstered my weapon while Shadow freed himself from Badger’s hold, and scrambled to his feet.

“We were teaching young Shadow here a lesson,” Dash said.

“Tell me, Professor, which class of yours did I walk in on? Dumb-ass 101 or Grab-ass 201?”

Another round of laughter from the President and my fellow officers, Statler, Waldorf, and Statler, Jr.

“And what the fuck are you three doing?” I asked.

“What does it look like, Alamo? We’re drinking beer and watching Badger and Dash pummel the shit out of young Shadow.”

I turned to Shadow. “Do I even want to know why the fuck you’re gettin’ pummeled?”

“Careful now, Cleveland, don’t make things worse for yourself,” Dash called out.

“Alright, Dash, seriously what the fuck is goin’ on here?”

“Shadow’s only been in the land of peaches and honey for a short period of time, and it seems he’s not quite ready to give up the Philistine ways of his homeland just yet.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, he thought it would be kosher to bring the filthy mojo of his hometown team into this house, so we were in the process of re-educating the boy.”

I shook my head. “Aw, shit, Dash, leave the kid alone.”

“He’s a fucking Browns fan, Alamo! The fucking Browns!” Dash shouted.

He then spun around and addressed the room, his cane held high. “Are we gonna let this filthy Clevelandite sully this holy temple? This immortal shrine to the Falcons? I say nay brothers! Are we gonna let the horrific record of Cleveland skid marks contaminate that of our beloved team? I say nay, now what say you?”

The room made their unanimous decision known. The infidel was to verbally renounce his love for the Browns, and henceforth fly the flag of the red and black.

Since I could see he had no representation in this matter, I took it upon myself to act as the boy’s council. My opening statements were brief, yet eloquent. “Y’all are a bunch of fuckin’ idiots, who should have been sold off as medical experiments a long time ago,” I said, before turning to Doc, Gator, and Milky. “And you three should be ashamed of yourselves.”

“Oh, we are, but not for this,” Gator said, to howls of laughter.

“Gentlemen, the kid may have the misfortune of coming from a place with a shitty football team, but he took a beating rather than turn on them, so he’s alright by me. Besides, you’re all wrong. The Cowboys will always be the greatest team in the NFL.”

With that, young Shadow and I were assaulted with a barrage of boos and empty beer cans, but we stood proud.

“Dash, you and Badger clean this shit up,” I said. “The meeting starts in five minutes, and by the way, you owe me a new fuckin’ table.”

I headed into the conference room, unable to keep my grin to myself.