Raw and Dirty:Bad Boys MC 01(3)

Dober said the kids were here, but I don't see either of them.

"In the back watching TV," she says with a sniffle and a small smile, one that fades just as quick as it came. "I need to talk to you."

A crash sounds from somewhere outside, but I don't bother to check on it. I'll leave that to Smoky-he's my sergeant-at-arms and even drunk, he's good.

"What about, sweetheart?" I ask, and I actually feel bad, I do. I killed your husband, I'm sorry. It's what I should say, but I can't bring myself to feel anything but betrayal. He put all of us at risk, all of us, even you.

Rebecca puts her hands on her lower back and turns in a small circle, her brown boots clicking against the cement floor of the office. Even as a grieving widow, she cuts a nice figure in her tight denim and leather jacket. It's not hard to see why Landon was smitten with her from the beginning all the way until the end.

I grit my teeth against the pain, push it back and bury it away. I haven't felt pain in years. I can't. It doesn't fit my job description.

"There are things a man can tell his wife," she begins and then pauses, breath hitching as she stares at the soft sage green on the office wall's-Janae's pick, not mine. "There are things a man should be able to tell his wife that don't leave the four walls of their home."                       
       
           



       

Shit.

When I fed Rebecca the bullshit story about Landon's death, she didn't react. I thought it was shock. But now?

"Look, Becca," I begin, but she's already spinning around and fixing me with those bright blue eyes of hers. I want to go cold, shut my emotions off like I do when I'm with the club, but the way she's looking at me  …

"I know Landon was feeding information to the feds."

There's a long moment of silence, too long. Part of me knows that Rebecca is a loose end, that she should be taken care of the way the Alpha Wolves former president took care of things, but that's not me. I don't hurt innocent women and children. The fuck kind of monster would I be if I did?

I took my best friend's life to protect the club, but I won't hurt his family.

Fortunately our conversation is over before it starts. Rebecca breaks down into hysterical sobs again, her makeup running down to her chin and dripping on the red fabric of her tank top. Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I step forward and wrap my arms around her, holding her tight until the shaking subsides and she pulls away, swiping an arm across her face.

"Thanks, Royal," she says, looking up at me with a tortured half-smile on her face. "You always knew how to take the edge off, for Landon and for me."

I try to smile back at her, but the expression won't come. It's frozen inside of me, trapped down there with all of the other emotions that I fight off, that I push back just to survive.

I take a step back and open my mouth to respond when a flicker of movement catches my eye, the blurred streak of a face at the window.

Who in the bloody hell is that?

Shit, shit, shit.

I knew following Royal over to that office was a bad idea, but I just couldn't help myself. As soon as I pulled through the front gates, I saw him walking towards the bike shop with his leather vest slung over his shoulders, his legs encased in that dark denim. It was almost like there was this magnetic pull between us, urging me onward.

And now  …

"Stupid heels," I mumble as I click across the wet pavement, my arms springing with goose bumps and my teeth beginning to chatter. I feel sort of  …  naked in this dress. And stupid, too. Why am I even wearing it again? Oh yeah, because I had to prove Janae-but mostly Royal-wrong. I'm not intimidated by a little alcohol or  …  are those girls topless?

I pause for a moment, my jaw dropping as a pair of shirtless blondes explode from the front door with shrieks of laughter, two men in leather jackets hot on their heels.

Okay, so maybe I am a little intimidated.

"Wait up."

Boots pound the pavement behind me, and I pick up my pace, wondering how my brand-new studded peep-toe pumps are going to hold up if I sprint across the wet blacktop while I'm wearing them.

"Hey, you." Royal's big hand wraps around my bare upper arm, sending thrills of flame through my body that I just have no idea how to interpret. What is happening to me?

"Let go of my arm," I snap, jerking back on his grasp as I whirl around and come to face him, narrow eyed and panting, the wind fingering that sexy dark hair of his into a mussy mess. Royal lets me go fortunately because there's no way in hell I could get him to let go if he didn't want to.

"What the fuck are you doing over here?" he growls at me, taking a menacing step forward that would have me shaking in my heels if I wasn't so used to men trying to bully me around. "Get your ass back to the party and maybe I'll forget the fact that you were spying on me."

"Excuse me," I breathe, my own voice precariously close to a growl. "Get my ass back to the party? Who the hell do you think you are?" Royal gives me a quick once-over and then his lips tilt up at the edges in a slight half-smile.

"Well, hello there," he says, cocking his head to the side like he's finally just realized I'm wearing a red dress that's about two inches shorter than I'd like it to be. His five o'clock shadow emphasizes the naughty curve of his mouth and makes my thighs clench together when I imagine all of that stubble sliding along them  …  "Sorry about the outburst, but you caught me off guard. Tell you what, let's go back to one of the dorm rooms and I'll make it up to you."

"W-what?" I ask, taking a single step back, my heart thudding against my ribcage and my entire body turning to liquid beneath me. I want to melt into Royal's arms, let him scoop me up and show me exactly what he can do in the privacy of the club's dorm rooms. But I won't let him talk to me like that. First rule of business: show no weakness, take no crap. "How dare you speak to me like that," I snap instead, using the heat and desire that's boiling in my blood and turning it straight to anger. "What on earth would make you think I'd ever want to go anywhere or do anything with you, Royal McBride?"                       
       
           



       

There's a moment of strained silence as Royal blinks stupidly back at me and lets his mouth fall open with shock. It's a strange look to see on a face as confident and handsome as his. I doubt this man's at all used to being shocked by anything.

"Fucking hell," he murmurs, running his tattooed fingers over his strong jaw. "Pint-Size, is that you?"

I furrow my brows and cross my arms over my chest. I don't think the action is quite as effective as I'd meant it to be. I'm trying to look imposing here, but all I think I've really done is draw Royal's eyes down to the pale swell of my breasts. Crap.

"I have a name, you know?" I say, feeling my cheeks heat and my body quiver beneath that powerful gaze. My God. If the man hadn't just insulted me, there's a good chance that I'd be leaping into his arms right now. How scary is that? "Lyric-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Rentz, I know. I remember you. We only just met this afternoon." I roll my eyes as Royal flashes me a sultry grin, his teeth white against the dark stubble on his face. "The mayor's daughter. You'd think you'd be here if I hadn't invited you?" His accent is warming up all sorts of places better left cold. Getting involved with this guy-even for a second-would be a very, very bad idea. "I'd been expecting that ugly gray suit jacket of yours. Good God, babe, I didn't even recognize you."

"Doesn't make what you said any less offensive," I insert, but I can already see that Royal's moved on. He's circling me like a  …  well, I hate to make this pun, but like a wolf. I feel like he's studying me with those predator's eyes of his.

I turn with him, refusing to give him an uninterrupted shot of my ass.

"I thought you were a leather lover," he says, his voice long and drawn out, like he's too caught up in staring at me to think straight. I try to brush the thought away, but it sticks to my mind like a cobweb. Royal  …  likes what he sees?

"A leather lover?" I ask, blinking back at him as he pauses in front of me. I can smell leather and some sort of rich, deep scent, like wet earth and leaves. I wonder if it's cologne? Aftershave? "What's a leather lover?"

Royal takes a step closer to me, and I fight the urge to step back. I won't let him intimidate me.

"A leather lover," he begins, reaching over and brushing some of the loose brunette strands of my hair over one ear. I shiver at the touch. "Is what I call the club groupies, the girls who hang around the clubhouse."

"Groupies?" I ask, my voice sounding strangled and way too naïve. Again, I'm not stupid, but really? "Rock stars have groupies," I correct, lifting my arms up in an attempt to cover my breasts. Doesn't work. This stupid red dress is too low cut, too stretchy, too tight. I should never have raided my sister's closet. "Not bikers." I can't help it, but that word slips out with a hint of distaste. Oops.