Biker's Bride: A Bad Boy Romance (Demons MC) (Includes bonus novel Kinged!) (32 page)

B
y Wednesday, I was already worried about why he hadn’t texted me. I was thinking about him constantly, and I wondered if he felt the same. All of the information about him kept running through my mind. On paper, he was obviously not someone I should get involved with. He owed money to dangerous mobsters and was fighting in illegal matches to pay off his debt. He drank and cursed and fought when he wanted to. He was dangerous and covered in tattoos.

But that was at odds with how I saw him as a person. He was sweet, kind, and protective. He was funny, and he understood my sense of humor. While I didn’t love that he called me spoiled, he managed to pull it off by being so cocky and self-assured. I knew he was a violent man, but he wasn’t unpredictable. From what I saw, he didn’t seem to enjoy violence, so much as embrace it as a last resort. And he seemed genuine when he talked about wanting to get out. I believed him when he said he was clean and wanted to change his life.

Work felt a little more boring than usual. The office was still brightly colored and laid back, but it was a pale shadow of what I felt when I was in that bar with Rex. I felt alive there, while I felt stifled in the office. I knew I had a good job and a comfortable life, but something was missing. I didn’t feel that when I was around Rex.

By midday, I found myself wandering the street on my lunch break, desperate for something new. The city was mid-summer and the sun beat down on the pavement. I was sweating through my thin black dress, and my small heels made loud clacks on the sidewalk. I sat on a low wall in Rittenhouse Park square and watched a busker play the guitar for tips. I leaned back and looked up at the sun light through the leaves, and felt the breeze cool my skin, and thought I felt okay for the first time in a while. As I breathed deep, my phone vibrated. I pulled it from my purse and checked the message.

I want to see you tonight, miss spoiled chick
, it read. I smiled and felt that familiar thrill run down my spine. I had been eagerly waiting for him to message, but I hadn’t realized how relieved I’d be when he finally did. Part of me thought he never would, and that I’d been forgotten about.

See you at Drake’s?
I typed back.

No, meet at the art museum at eight
.

That was unusual. We hadn’t gone anywhere other than his apartment and the bar. And as far as I knew, the art museum closed at seven. Was Rex a secret artist? I doubted it, but shouldn’t put it passed him.

What are we doing there?

You’ll see.

Okay. I’ll be there
.

I put my phone away and looked out at the park. I could feel the smile burst across my face, and it didn’t leave for the rest of the day.

––––––––

I
rushed home after work and got changed. I put on a short dress, flats, and a light leather jacket. I washed my face then redid my makeup. I realized half way through getting ready how nervous I was. Going to the bar was hard, but at least I knew what to expect. Rex didn’t say what we were doing, which made it feel like a real date. Somehow sitting at Drake’s wasn’t the same as going somewhere public. I realized that I wanted to be seen with Rex. I wanted people to see his strong, tattooed arms wrapped around me. There was something exciting about being with Rex around other people. I was briefly worried that I really was slumming it with him, but I knew that my attraction for him wasn’t because he looked dangerous. I wanted to be seen with him because of how beautiful he was. I wanted to show him off.

I laughed to myself as I made my way toward the art museum. I imagined showing Rex off as if he were a trophy wife. I knew Rex was not the kind of man to enjoy something like that, and I almost felt bad about my silly fantasy. Fortunately, I lived just a few blocks south of the museum, and it was an easy walk. I wondered if Rex felt the same way about me. I was pretty, but not beautiful. I had a good figure, but I probably wasn’t the best dresser. I wasn’t talented, but I was funny. I wasn’t sure what I brought to our relationship, or what he liked about me, but he clearly saw something that I didn’t. I wanted to find out what that was. I felt braver when I was around him, more sure and confident. I felt like my best self.

As I got closer to the art museum, I didn’t see him. I walked passed the large brass fountain with the sculpture of a man riding a horse, and made my way toward the famous steps. It was one of my favorite parts of Philadelphia. The art museum was on a small hill at the end of the Parkway, which was a long, tree- and flag-lined road. Further north was Boathouse Row, and the long jogging path that wound along Kelly Drive. The river ran along all of that, and at night the boathouses lit up in gorgeous strings of white.

I crossed the street and started my long trek up the museum steps. I had always wanted to run up them ever since seeing Rocky, but I hadn’t gone for it yet. My pulse quickened as I pictured Rex, and my legs moved faster, until I was at a full on jog. I breached the top of the stairs, somewhat out of breath, and I jumped up and down in victory. Ahead, sitting on a small stone pedestal, was Rex. He grinned at me as I caught myself, smiling awkwardly.

“Hey there, tourist,” he called as he walked over. What a jerk.

I blushed, embarrassed. I was a tourist, but he didn’t have to catch me acting like one.

“Hey there yourself, creep. Were you hiding in the shadows?”

He grinned. “Just a dangerous, scary tattooed man lying in wait for an unsuspecting young lady.”

“Yeah, so scary. I almost swooned when I saw you.”

He laughed, grabbed me by the hips, and pulled me close.

“I am a scary man,” he said quietly. I looked up into his perfect face and didn’t feel the slightest bit of fear.

“I don’t see it,” I said back. He leaned down and kissed my mouth gently, his lips soft against mine, but his grip on my hips tightened. I ran my fingers through his hair as he kissed me. Finally, he pulled away, and I felt breathless all over again.

“Is that all you wanted to do?” I asked.

He grinned his devilish smile and shook his head. “No, if that’s all I wanted, you’d be at my apartment.”

I smacked his chest with my hand. “What are we doing here, then?”

He shrugged. “Since you’re new to the city, I wanted to show you one of my favorite spots.”

I looked around. I had to admit, I was a little surprised that Rex’s list of favorite spots included the art museum, but it was a very pretty area.

“Well, it’s nice up here.”

He looked confused for a second, and then shook his head. “Not here. We just met here. Follow me.”

Before I could protest, he took me by the hand and started walking to the left, toward a path that wound down alongside the staircase.

“I wish I had seen this before I took the steps,” I grumbled.

“What, and not get your Rocky moment?”

That was a good point. “So where is this mystery place?”

He gestured back toward the art museum. “Behind this, right next to the river. It’s not far.”

We lapsed into silence as he made a left down at the bottom of the path and followed the sidewalk that led us toward the back of the museum. We turned left at the first light and walked up the museum’s back driveway, toward a row of statues. Behind the museum, a long garden leading down toward the water spread out before us, punctuated by statues of famous Philadelphians. Most of them were Revolutionary War heroes, according to their plaques, but we didn’t look at them all. Rex took me toward a low, beige building resting right next to the water.

“This is the old Philly water company,” he said, pointing at the building. “It used to house the water for the whole city, but I think it stopped a hundred years ago. It’s a restaurant now.”

I was impressed. It was a pretty building, all marble and Roman columns.

“Am I on a historical tour right now?”

He laughed. “Something like that.”

“How do you know this stuff?”

He looked thoughtful for a few seconds as we continued to walk toward the left side of the building.

“When you live in a city like Philadelphia your entire life, you learn things. I never cared about history or whatever in school, but Philly has so much of it just lying around. It’s hard not to absorb some.”

I nodded. That made sense to me. New York was like that in some places, but in New York they were constantly trying to update everything, to make it more modern. Philadelphia wore its history on its sleeve and was proud of its origins. I was surprised to hear Rex talking that way, though. I didn’t think he was a meathead, exactly, but he seemed like the kind of man to let his body do the thinking. And he was, as far as I could tell, a genius with his body. I realized I was seeing an entirely different side of him, one he probably couldn’t show me at Drake’s.

We continued on, and he told me some more of the history of the area. I liked to hear him talk. His voice was deep and genuine, and everything he said drew me in. I didn’t feel like I needed to answer him, because his voice was my only focus. Plus, he hardly spoke every other time we hung out, and it was nice to have him lead the conversation for a change. Finally, we reached the edge of the wall overlooking the river, and he stopped talking.

“Almost there,” he said. “Just down here.”

I looked around, confused. “Down where? Are we going swimming?”

He pointed, and I followed his gaze. A few feet away was what looked like the beginning of a ladder, or maybe a staircase.

“Uh, what is that?” I said. He led me to the edge. It was a long, black, metal spiral staircase that wound its way down toward a small ledge overlooking the river.

“Down there,” he said, and started to walk down the stairs.

“Are you kidding me? You want me to walk down that thing?”

He laughed, stopping. “It’s completely safe, look.” He jumped up and down, and I swore the whole thing rocked and creaked under his weight. It did not look safe at all.

“No way. Sorry. Not doing it.”

“Come on, you coward. Let’s go.” He started down and quickly disappeared.

“Rex! Hold on!” He didn’t answer, and I stood there unsure. I was terrified of the thing, but I couldn’t let him go without me. I gingerly put my foot on the first step, then my other foot, and stood there. It felt solid enough. I grasped the handrail and took another step. I looked out at the brownish water, lit up by streetlights and houses, and knew that this was a turning point for me. I could follow Rex down these terrifying stairs, out onto a secluded ledge, or I could turn around, go back home, curl up on my couch, maybe call Amy, and watch a movie. I could go back to my safe, normal life, my good and comfortable job, or I could take a chance.

I took another step, then another. I wound my way down the stairs, and finally stepped off at the bottom, elated and terrified, my pulse pounding.

Rex grinned at me, leaning against a tree. “Took you long enough.”

“What is this place?”

“This is Fisherman’s Wharf.”

Fisherman’s Wharf was maybe fifteen feet wide, at most, and had a single concrete path running down its center. Trees were planted on either side. To the right, there was a sheer brick wall leading back up to the main level. To the left, the river continued to flow, lazy and uncaring.

Rex started walking. “Come on, it’s just ahead.”

I ran to catch up, and grabbed his hand. He smiled down at me and squeezed my fingers. I didn’t feel afraid anymore, even though we were completely alone there, in the semi-dark next to the river.

I trusted Rex. I had made a choice, and I was going to follow him.

W
e walked further down the path. Carvings of fish were embossed into the concrete, and I guessed that’s why they called it Fisherman’s Wharf. We walked a bit further, and the path widened into an open area. To the right were two benches, and to the left was an enormous rock jutting out over the river. Standing next to the rock was a plaque.

I let go of Rex’s hand and walked over to the flat bronze page. “The Schuylkill River was chosen by William Penn in 1682 as the site of what eventually became Philadelphia. It is approximately fifty-eight thousand miles long and exists entirely in Pennsylvania.”

Rex laughed at me. “School-kill,” he said.

I looked confused. “What?”

He walked over and pointed at the word “Schuylkill.”

“It’s pronounced School-kill. It’s one of those weird Native American words that nobody knows how to say.”

I laughed and looked at it again. I had heard that word before when people talked about the river, but I had never seen it written down. “Definitely doesn’t look like it should be pronounced that way.”

He moved over to the rock and sat down on it, overlooking the river.

“Appearances can be deceiving sometimes, spoiled girl.”

I walked over and sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “Yeah, that’s very true.”

We sat in silence for a few moments, overlooking the river. It moved slowly, and I reflected again on how beautiful the area was. Quiet and empty, I could almost imagine Rex and I were back in the old days of the city, before electric lights, alone in a vast, beautiful place. That was how I sometimes wanted the city to be: a landscape of movement, light and sound, but empty except for those that I loved. At certain, special moments, it felt that way to me, and I understood why people fell in love with Philadelphia.

“Do people actually fish off here?”

Rex laughed. “Yeah, some people do. But there’s not much to catch. Mostly just sludge and dead bodies.”

I looked surprised. “Seriously, dead bodies?”

He grinned. “Maybe, or maybe not. That’s what everyone says at least. The river is pretty polluted though, so nobody eats the fish from there.”

“Do you come down here often?”

He shrugged. “Not as much anymore. Not really for years, actually.”

I wondered when he last brought someone down those steps.

“Seems like a good spot,” I said.

He nodded. “It really is.”

“So tell me about growing up here,” I asked. I didn’t want to pry, but I felt desperate to learn about him.