Raw and Dirty(11)

“If you don't want me to deal with the mayor, then what do you want from me, Royal? You can't run the club all by yourself, even if you wanted to.”

“We have a shipment coming in from Seventy-Seven Brothers,” I say, referring to another MC from down south. “Take care of it. Smoky knows the details.”

I pause as a black sedan pulls up next to Lyric's Chrysler and a smile curves my lips. Without even realizing it, I start walking towards her, the dogs at my heels.

“Dumb shit.”

Normally, I'd beat a man's ass for less. This time … Dober's right.

If I think anything's going to happen between me and this girl, I really am a dumb shit.





Get in the car and go.

That's my mantra when I climb out of my sister's black Taurus and try to make a quick getaway.

“Lyric.”

Shit.

“Yeah?” I ask, pausing as my sister rolls down her window and peers out at me through her sunglasses. Calling her last night was humiliating, but at least I know she won't tell Dad. At this point, that's all I care about. I just want to get whatever business I have left with Royal over with and never see the man again. Hurry up, Kailey. “Don't forget that Mom's birthday dinner's tonight at Larrupin's.”

“Like I could,” I say, forcing a fake smile to my face and starting to turn away.

“You said you wanted to go in on a gift, but I never heard anything else from you. What's up with that?” I grit my teeth and take a deep breath. Kailey, apparently, doesn't care that we're camped out in the middle of an outlaw motorcycle club compound. Nor has she apparently ever heard of text messaging.

“Get whatever you want, and I'll pay you back.”

I keep walking, hitting the button on my key fob and reaching for the driver's side door when I see my sister's mouth drop open, her pink painted lips gaping at something over my shoulder.

Somehow, I have an idea of what that might be before I even turn around.

Instead of climbing into my car and peeling out of there like any intelligent person would've done, I glance over my shoulder and catch sight of Royal McBride.

His dark hair is brilliant in the sun, tinted with shades of blue, like a raven's feathers. And … are those wolves walking by his side?

I turn completely around, my keys sliding from my fingers to the sun warmed pavement.

Oh yes, those are wolves.

My throat gets tight and my heart starts to hammer in my chest, my pulse so loud that I have trouble hearing anything else.

The man's already sexy enough in his leather vest and Alpha Wolves T-shirt; he doesn't need to frame himself with two gorgeous canine companions like that. Their heads hang low, tongues lolling, long legs covering the pavement in quick steps. The wild nature in their faces is reflected right back at me from Royal's, and their eyes are all the same shade of earthy brown.

I swallow hard and bend down to pick up my keys.

“Hey there, Pint-Size,” he says as he comes closer and the dogs' tails begin to wag. I decide it's best to remain casual, to forget the heat and passion I felt burning between us last night. This time, I know better than to look at Royal's face or his chest, so I focus on his knuckles, fingers tucked into the front pockets of his jeans.

The tattoos on either hand are different, but both colorful, swirls of vines and roses dotted with black cursive that's difficult to read from this far away. I see a pair of pistols above his left hand and, of course, several different wolf portraits climbing up his arm and disappearing under the fabric of his tee.

“Did you come back for a second dance?”

“I needed to grab my car,” I respond dully, pulse still pounding, throat still dry. I'm very aware that my sister's sitting right behind us, probably still gawping, waiting to be introduced. If it were my brother sitting there, he'd already be on the phone to the cops, making up some bullshit story to try and get Royal thrown into jail—just for looking at me the way he is.

Okay, so I'm not actually looking at his face, but I can feel it.

A quick glance up, and I can see him studying me again, trying to pick me apart.

My sister—as I'd fully expected and admittedly feared—gets out of her car and moves over to stand next to me, arms crossed under her full breasts. Like a woman in a sunglasses ad, she whips off her shades and lets her bleach blonde hair billow in the wind. I've always sort of, kind of secretly hated her.

“You must be Royal McBride,” she says, her twinkling eyes telling me she probably heard as much or more of Toni's stories than I did. “I'm Kailey Rentz.” Without waiting for Royal to respond, she extends her hand and lets her full mouth curve up in an artful smile.

Royal returns her smile right away, and I feel a small, strange twinge of jealousy. That's ridiculous. I literally met the guy yesterday. I try to tell myself that I'm just annoyed at him; Kailey didn't have to scream his name to get his attention.