FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (76 page)

Crash

I knew those guys were trouble from the moment I walked into the bar. They were staring at the sexy little Latina chick like they were trying to formulate some plan and it was taking every brain cell they had.

I lifted my hand to run it through my hair, a nervous tic, but my fingers touched bald skin.

Oh yeah, I remember now.
  I kept my head shaved because the hair didn't grow over the scars. I tried growing it, but it looked like someone had ripped fistfuls out in a fight. I'd looked even worse.

And with my brain and my legs already in the minus column, I didn't need one more reason for people to regard me as a freak. 

Being part of the MC gave people a real reason to be afraid of me. I had liked that part. But now all I had to go with was my fucked up face. I threw my colors on the ground a few hours ago, making sure to step on them for good measure. But I was still in my riding leathers and that counted for something, I knew. If shit started with those assholes in the booth, I had the intimidation factor on my side.

I wasn't wearing my cut though.  I rolled my shoulders from side to side, feeling different. Feeling like a weight had been lifted. But without that weight, I might easily just float away.

I sat down at the bar and that floating feeling continued. In fact it grew worse.  The pretty little chica was making eyes at me, but I couldn't summon the focus to talk to her. "Beer, whatever you got," I told the bartender as the colors of the neon signs behind him blazed with an unnatural vibrancy. The whole bar was blazing with colors, glowing so brightly that I could feel the colors in my teeth.

"Shit,
fire
," I grimaced. Or maybe I didn't say it, I wasn't sure. I could have just thought it.

I was never really certain.

Panic rose into the back of my throat, the awful clarity singing through my  nerve endings, setting them on fire.

You pushed yourself too hard. Sit. Relax. 

This isn't really happening. It's your brain.

I tried to listen to my gut, the only part of me that actually worked properly. The fire was roaring through my body, burning me from the inside out, leaving me hollow and in danger of collapse.

It was a delayed reaction to the day, several hours in coming. I should have expected it; after all, this had happened before. "Crash's freakouts," they called these back at the clubhouse. Giving me shit, as always. But at least when I was there I had Doc.

Doc would know what to do right now.

The world slid sideways and I gripped the bar. I was definitely going to float away. The singing, swirling colors intensified, making me sweat.

Fuck.

"You're having micro-seizures,"
Doc had explained the first time he saw this happen to me. He sat back in his camp chair, lacing his fat sausage fingers over his impressive gut.  His beard nodded into his belly as he peered at me while I sweated and cursed
. "Shit's still trying to heal up there and things are getting crossed."

"Like colors and shit?"
I panted as Doc seemed to melt and swirl.

"That's right, Ben."

"Like how shit doesn’t taste how it should?"
I smacked my lips against the taste of pennies in my mouth. It tasted horrible.

"Precisely.  Don't let those other guys give you shit. They weren't the ones who gave the finger to death, you are."

Doc wasn't here right now, but his words were.
I gave the finger to death
.
I can survive my burning brain for a bit.

I stared at the neon sign on the bar wall. It was glowing as brightly as the sunshine, haloed and trailing out little fingers of light into the dimness of the bar. It was kind of beautiful as I counted back from ten, consciously slowing my breathing.

The seizure was over.

Gradually the world righted itself. The fingers of light receded, the haloes dimmed until finally the sign was just a normal sign. The vibrant colors dimmed and for a moment I almost missed them. There was always that sense of seeing something special, something normal people weren't privy to. It almost made the agonizing weirdness worth it.

I did it. I survived. And I did it alone.

I'm going to be okay.

I looked back up at the pretty
chica
, hoping she wouldn't mistake my panicked breathing for me being a creeper. I wanted to talk to her, maybe just look at her. She had a sweet face, but the way she was sitting with her shoulders straight and her tits all jutting out like perfect little melons had me thinking there was a wildcat lurking underneath. She had these lips, soft and pillowy, made for kissing until they turned bright pink. I put my hand flat on the bar, feeling the steadiness. I was okay now. I was me again. Time to do my thing.

But she seemed to be having her own little freakout, fishing through her bag and throwing money on the bar. "Have a good night," she smiled to me.

Well shit,
there went that idea.  I nodded at her, regretting the lost opportunity. She was gorgeous, but the timing was pretty shitty.

Chicks come and chicks go though. No sense crying about anyone specific
, I reminded myself. But then I thought about Lexi's freckled tits and hated myself. Hated her and hated Case. But mostly myself.

"Fuck this," I growled. I grabbed some money from my back pocket and threw it down on the bar, ready to stalk out of there.
Florida
, I reminded myself.

But when I got up, I saw that the three assholes I had my eye on were surrounding the pretty chica and giving her a hard time. Fuck, I hadn't been paying attention. I knew those idiots would cause a scene and here they were doing exactly that.  I should have trusted my gut.

The little firecracker seemed to be holding her own though. I sidled forward, listening, and chuckled when she put the tall dickish guy in his place. Damn, she had a temper on her. Listening to her tear him a new one was getting me kinda hard.

The tall dick's manner suddenly changed. He resented the hell out of this chick, thought she owed him her pussy on a golden platter or some shit. That rapist shit, I couldn't stand guys like that, won't listen to a chick when she says no. I may be an asshole, but I always make sure whoever I'm fucking is properly enthused about the idea.

He wasn't going to let up until he had her, wasn't listening to her when she told him to fuck off.  I saw him bend low and get in her face, the two lackeys on either side of her moving in. Fuck, this was going to end badly, that guy seriously wanted to hurt her.

I took a quick risk assessment. I could fight them, but three on one was shit odds even when I was feeling top notch, which I decidedly was not. Or I could fuck with them. And have some fun in the process.

I made my move. "Hey baby, these guys giving you a hard time?"

She turned to me, startled and the three assholes stepped back. Good, they saw I wasn't someone lightly fucked with. I slung my arm around the chick's shoulder possessively, putting on a show.  I stared them down in turn, my hand brushing the smoothness of the skin on her upper arm.  I was enjoying myself a little too much.

Fuck it, let's go for broke.
 

I swung her backward and planted a kiss directly on her soft, pillowy mouth.

Gabriela

The heat of his lips was so intense that my indignant shriek died away. I felt my eyes close involuntarily as the warmth of his tongue sliding over my lips melted something deep inside of me.

It was the best fucking kiss I had ever had in my life and I didn't even know who the hell this guy was. The biker took his eyes away from me, and there was something there in the deep sapphire blue, a twinkle of mischief that I recognized. But the minute I thought I had a hold on it, it was gone.

Then very slowly and deliberately he winked at me, and turned back to Fitch and his gang of idiots. "Why are you all hassling my girl?"

Fitch gaped at me open mouthed as my mind worked quickly. This wasn't exactly what I had planned on doing, but Fitch was the kind of troglodyte asshole that would take the hint. "Yeah baby, he’s starting to really annoy me," I whined, laying my head on his shoulder like some hothouse flower.

The biker nodded and stepped forward menacingly. "I'm going to have to ask you assholes to get the hell away from my woman."

Fitch looked at me dumbfounded. "Who the fuck is this dipshit, Gabi?"

Before I could stammer out nonsense the biker took a quick step forward. Fitch stepped back in terror, tripping over himself. It was only a quick motion of his friends catching him that made it so he didn't land on his ass. I clapped my hands over my mouth, laughing in glee.

I might be slightly drunk, but this was the best comedy I'd ever seen.

"I said get the hell out," the biker repeated.

Fitch and his minions stumbled towards the door. Fitch took one last backward look at me, right as the biker slung his arm around my shoulder once more. "Just look at me," the biker said in a low voice that thrilled through me. "Just until they leave, then I'll let go of you."

"That was actually pretty smooth," I told his chest.

The biker laughed slightly. "Those assholes seemed like the kind of guy who'd only listen if a man was talking. No disrespect."

The feminist part of me bristled slightly, and then I realized he was right. "Unfortunately, yes. Your instincts were correct. They haven't yet evolved above pond scum."

The door shut, and true to his word, the biker dropped his arm from my shoulder. I suddenly missed it.

I shuffled awkwardly in front of him. "Well, thank you," I said, feeling slightly faint. Maybe I was drunk, because there really was something familiar about this guy. The way his jawline seemed to square off just below his ears, the strong structure of his cheekbones and the heavyset brow that shadowed his piercing blue eyes. It was a face I knew, but I didn't know why.

Why the hell would I know a biker?

The glowering menace that had sent Fitch on his way was suddenly gone, replaced with a boyish smile, almost sheepish in a way. "My pleasure," he grinned, and the way he said it nearly knocked me backwards. He looked like my pleasure would be his highest priority.

I swallowed as a strange clutching sensation moved into my belly. "I've never seen you here before," I stammered.

The biker looked around the bar. "I've never been here before, that's why."

I really needed to go to sleep. But the maddening mystery of who the hell this guy was wouldn't allow me to sleep. I held out my hand instead. "My name is Gabriela. Gabi."

He looked down at my hand and smiled that half smile again. There was a dimple on his left cheek, shadowed in the stubble of his jaw, that popped out when he grinned at me. "They call me Crash," he said.

"Crash?" A biker name. A dangerous name. "That sounds pretty bad ass, Crash," I heard myself say, rolling his name around my tongue, tasting it.

"From what I saw, you're a bit of the bad ass yourself, Gabs."

I laughed and steadied myself against the table. "Oh those losers, thanks for the help with that and all, but if you hadn't come by, Fitch would have probably got himself a knee in the groin."

Crash threw back his head laughing. "Damn, I shouldn't have got in the way then," he said, eyes twinkling. "I would've liked to see you in a fight."

"Oh really?" I think I was flirting. I don't know what I was doing but I think it was definitely flirting. "I fight dirty." I told him sliding forward a little, so that the heat coming off of his skin made its way to my body in waves, I could detect his scent, leathery, the clean smell of exertion, and underneath it all something masculine and deeply primal. I felt the clutching deep inside my belly.

I think Crash felt that same thing, because his deeply sapphire eyes darkened almost to black. He lifted his chin towards me, hands shoved into his pockets. "Dirty, huh?" he said, his voice lower, a kind of rumble that rolled through me, all the way down to my toes. "Are you a dirty girl, Gabi?"

In any other man's lips, that line would have come off as incredibly cheesy. But the way Crash said it, the frank lasciviousness of it, nearly caused my panties to soak on contact. He looked at me like he already knew the answer.

"You'd have to fight me to find out," I managed to gasp.

"As if I could fight a woman." He was leaning in, and I was leaning in, and his lips were getting very close. Dangerously close.

"Are you afraid I would win?"

"Oh, I would definitely let you win."

The dangerous promise in his words was all it took. I leaned forward the extra half-inch, all the space that lingered between our lips, closing the distance between us with a soft moan. When my lips brushed up against his, I felt the hot spark that had been so long absent in my life these days.

Crash let me kiss him, not resisting, not pulling away, but not deepening it either. He waited patiently, like he expected more and was willing to wait for it.

I pressed against him, frustrated, running my tongue over the edge of his lips, tasting the bourbon that he had been drinking. It tasted like me. I tapped my foot on the floor, trying to dispel some of the frantic desire that was bubbling up in my chest.

Then I broke away. He fixed me with those piercing blue eyes again, the patience in them at sharp contrast to my panting desperation. Without a word he lifted his hand, cupping my chin, and brushed his thumb across my bottom lip. It was a gesture of such incredible possessiveness that I felt like an amateur. A shudder went through my body when I realized that he was claiming me as his.

"That was nice," he rasped, holding me in his gaze. I could no more move from the spot then if he had lashed me to his side. "Let's do more of that."

I felt myself nod up-and-down. Whatever he wanted, whatever he wanted to do to me, I was totally okay with it. The obligations of sleep were gone from my head, the aggravations of Fitch were a distant memory.

"Where are we going?" he asked me, running his thumb along the top of my lip, the Cupid's bow, before he let it sink in between my lips.

I bit down against his skin, a delicate pressure, eager to have at least a small part of him inside me. He widened his eyes and ran his tongue over his teeth. "Where are we going, Gabi?" he repeated, more urgency in his voice.

"My place," I whispered.