But as soon as I said “Roman,” the man who's name patch said Stryker walked over and punched the button. The gate slid open, and I walked through it, leaving my car parked on the curb.
It was early evening. Two men were arguing over drinks at the bar. I'd never been inside the place before, and it was about what I expected. Dark, smoky, dizzying.
The sharp stink of booze and testosterone clung to the air, and I stumbled forward along a narrow corridor, trying to get my wits.
“Sonofabitch!” A man growled. “Hey, lady! Look out!”
Something sharp whizzed past my face. There wasn't time to dodge, or even wonder if it was a bullet. It smacked the wall just a few inches from my head, a long metallic dart, lodged in the wood like a stray missile.
An angry looking bald man looked at me, straightening his cut. When he saw it hadn't taken out an eye, he spun around to face his partner, a strong, younger man I'd seen riding around town.
“Asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you trying to get somebody killed?” Baldie slapped both hands against his brother's chest.
The other man took a swing, missed, and drunkenly hit the floor. Before I knew it, I was watching a mini-biker brawl, two men on the floor cursing and throwing fists.
Ugh. Not exactly how I wanted to re-introduce myself to Roman and his friends. I was about to say something and try to ease the scuffle when I heard footsteps.
I looked up, and there he was, coming toward me. My heart thudded like a bomb's aftershock, and it didn't let up until he'd closed the gap between us, two fucking years apart.
Roman and I locked eyes. The words I'd practiced so many times died on my tongue.
I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe how he'd changed. Could I even believe my own eyes?
Was he always so huge – or did prison add a few inches to his bulging muscles? His face looked tougher too, accented by a few more lines in his forehead, a sharper angle to his powerful jaw. He'd probably just passed his thirtieth birthday in jail, and he had all the insanely hot finishes of a man aging into his prime.
Jesus. Before I came here, I told myself over and over I wouldn't feel the old heat. This was going to be business like, personal, but I wouldn't let my old attraction take over. Not before I saw what he was like.
Yeah, good luck with that.
As soon as his dark hazel eyes sucked me in, I lost it. The tattoos on his muscular arms rippled in my peripheral vision, forcing me to remember those hands on my body. They'd held me down so tight while he fucked me, fingered me, warming me up for that battering ram between his legs.
The men stopped fighting when they saw him coming. The young guy with the sandy hair helped himself up, holding onto the bar, nursing his ribs after they took some cringe-worthy kicks from Baldie. One look at Roman, and he started shaking, making excuses.
The bald guy retreated behind the bar, fixing himself a drink. Roman stormed right past his beaten up brother, giving him a quick shove, muttering when he tried to stand up. “Get the fuck outta my way.”
I'd stolen all his interest. While we stood there staring at each other, lost in our memories, everything else in the clubhouse might as well have been happening on the dark side of the moon.
“Sally.” I flattened myself against the wall the instant he said my name.
It wasn't just his body changing behind bars. Prison or age deepened his voice, given it a smoky richness to go with the deep baritone he'd had before. My mind went wild, recognizing the same wicked cadence and thunder I heard that summer when he growled into my ear, ordered me to suck his cock, to come each time he fucked me senseless.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Good question. My lips tasted bitter against my tongue, as if they didn't want to move, didn't want me to remember why the hell I'd come to confront him.
“I had to see you. I heard you were out of jail.”
“Yeah, word spreads fast.” He folded his huge arms, and his biceps bulged so thick I swore they'd bust his seams. “What the fuck is this? I'm surprised you showed up. Pretty sure you'd forgotten my ass when I didn't hear from you. It's been – what? – two goddamned years?”
Ouch. Steeling myself for this crap before I walked through the door was completely different from actually facing him. The lump in my throat didn't want to go down, and it had to before I could form words.
“I'm sorry, Roman. When I heard the news from Blackjack, I didn't know what to do. He said I couldn't see you in person, told me it wouldn't be good to visit you –“
His hand shot up, right in front of my face. “And he was right. You were wise to stay the fuck away. This world's not for you, babe. If I'm not worth writing to, then I'm sure as shit not worth your time now that I'm out.”