Rush - Blue Devils MC Book 2 (Book 1 Included FREE for a short time only!) (26 page)

She was so fucked.

Chapter 7

~ Lain ~

“So,” she said brightly, “where are your leather chaps?”

He stared down at her. They had just shared the most fucking wonderful kiss ever known to man, and the first fucking words out of her mouth were, “Where are your leather chaps”? Was she fucking nuts?

She turned and looked over the valley again, as if intrigued by the desert landscape. Which he wouldn’t fault her for - it was gorgeous, especially after a monsoon - but what the hell was she getting at? What game was she playing? You don’t tongue fuck someone and then discuss their clothing choices in the next breath.

Finally, he decided that he ought to play along and see what she was up to. Although, if she started asking him about the brand of his t-shirt, all bets were off.

“These are Kevlar jeans. They look like regular jeans but feel them.” He extended his left leg in an invitation for her to stroke the jeans. She gulped but did touch it lightly and then quickly withdrew. He smiled inside. Two could play this game.

He took her hand back and stroked it lightly up and down his thigh. “Feel how the fabric is stiffer than regular jeans? Kevlar is this amazing shit that’s woven into the jean fabric and makes these jeans actually worth a damn in an accident.” He dropped her hand and spun a slow circle in front of her. “But they look like regular jeans. It’s one of the many wonders of modern science. These fuckers cost well over $250 a pair though, so they charge quite a bit for their wonders.” He winked at her and she laughed up at him.

Beautiful thick blonde hair and a smile to knock a man off his feet. He tried to regulate his breath but it didn’t seem to be working too well.

“I only wear chaps on long rides. I wore them to the airport yesterday because I thought I was going to be riding my bike there, and didn’t remember until the last moment that you’d have shit like bags and would need the truck. Chaps are good protection for long rides but they’re too hot to wear every day.”

“‘Shit like bags?’” she repeated back to him, laughing.

“Yeah,
two
bags. I had to carry
two
bags. And all of ‘em were the property of some dude named Louis who apparently doesn’t like his ‘shit like bags’ to be thrown around. Picky fucker.”

She laughed out loud, the sound echoing off the desert floor and canyon walls. “You — are…
officially
…the first guy I know…to call Louis Vuitton ‘some dude,’” she finally gasped out. “In the Big Apple, most guys would recognize a Louis bag at a glance.”

“Well, they don’t teach us about identifying luggage in MC school.”

“They should. Who knows when you’ll get another reporter from New York out here? You could be schlepping bags for life.”

Schlepping
…who the hell uses a word like that? He suddenly realized just how out of his depth he was. She was so far out of his league, he couldn’t even see the baseball diamond.

But for the moment, he couldn’t seem to make himself care. Maybe if they kept talking, she wouldn’t have the time to think and realize that he wasn’t smart enough by half to be kissing a girl like her.

“I wear Kevlar jeans because my dad died in a motorcycle accident,” he said softly. “It happened on a ride years ago. Tire blew, bike spun out, it all happened so fast, two bikers behind him couldn’t swerve in time. They ran him over, threw them off their bikes too, but they landed in the ditch. They recovered. He skittered along the road so far…

“There wasn’t a damn thing they could do to save him,” he finished, voice tight. “Riding on a motorcycle is taking your life in your hands every time. I know that better than most. So my helmet is top of the line, I wear riding boots, not tennis shoes, I have my Kevlar jeans, I have my reinforced chaps. I love to take chances because life isn’t lived until you’ve done a 100 on a desert road, screaming into the wind, but I negate as much of the risk as I can when I do it. I try to be smartly stupid,” he finished, trying to lighten the mood. Trying to make her laugh. Her laugh was intoxicating.

She smiled and he realized - he loved that just as much.

“So this ride on Thursday and Friday that you’ll be coming on? It’s a charity ride, and it’s for my dad. The University of Arizona Trauma Center in Tucson tried to save him that day. They worked all afternoon and into the evening but then he…he never woke up. Those doctors and nurses gave their all, so the Blue Devils decided to do a fundraiser ride every year in his memory and donate the money to the Trauma Center to help them upgrade their equipment. My dad was the president when it happened…it was the worst thing that has ever happened to this club. In some ways, I’m not sure we really recovered.”

They lapsed into silence, Ella allowing him to visit the past in his mind. His father. Lain had been three bikes ahead and hadn’t realized anything had happened at first. By time he’d gotten back to him, he was unrecognizable. Blood and asphalt and white bone…

He looked up at her. He had to go. They had to go. He couldn’t stew on the past anymore. He had to ride. He had to escape his demons.

“Let’s head back,” he said, a statement, not a question, and buckled his helmet, swinging onto the bike. He waited until she settled into place behind him and then he did a U-turn and roared down the ride.

Running away. Running from the world that took his father from him.

Chapter 8

~ Lain ~

As they came tearing into Copper Lode, Lain began re-entering reality. The ride was, as always, a way for him to clear his mind. Leave the past behind. He realized that it’d been hours since Ella had eaten, and he didn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s performance. On a whim, he turned in at a fish taco joint. They pulled into a parking spot and he turned off the engine. In the resulting quiet, he asked, “Have you ever had a fish taco?”

“Fish taco? No. Sorry.”

“Well, be prepared to eat heaven. Let’s go in.”

She hopped off the bike and looked up at the restaurant doubtfully. He swung off and stood beside her, seeing the joint through her eyes. Beige, peeling paint, sign swinging in the wind, the chain broken, small…

Restaurant
might’ve been too kind. This was more of a shack than anything. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along.

“C’mon, best fish tacos in town, and that’s saying somethin’.”

They entered into the cool, dim interior and he heard Ella take in a deep breath of the AC air. The heat of Arizona was a bitch to get used to, but she hadn’t complained about it since he picked her up yesterday morning. Maybe she was made of sterner shit than he’d originally given her credit for.

Pushing the thought aside for the moment, he went up to the counter and ordered. “Six please, and two cokes.” He grabbed two glasses off the counter and they filled their sodas from the soda fountain before walking back to a booth to sit down.

“So how does he know what you just ordered?” Ella asked.

Lain stared at her for a moment, confused. “How does the waiter guy know what I ordered?” At her nod, he said, “Because that’s all they make here. This isn’t a Mexican restaurant. This is a fish taco restaurant. Or, shack. But yeah, this is all they make. You can have anything you want, as long as you want a fish taco.” He grinned at her and she laughed.

“Good thing you ordered fish tacos then. I’d hate to see you disappointed.” He glanced down at her lips, imagining sucking on them, licking them, making love to them. “Yeah, me too,” he said, his voice husky with lust. With any luck, he’d get
exactly
what he wanted that night.

In bed.

And there damn well weren’t going to be any fish tacos there.

The Hispanic employee delivered the tacos and then disappeared again without saying a word. They dug in and as soon as Ella took her first bite, her eyes popped open in surprise. “Oh
hell
yeah!” she exclaimed and then took another large bite. “I didn’t realize…damn, all this time. She chewed and swallowed so she could continue, “There’s a fish taco stand down the street from
Pout
. It always smelled good but I just thought that food from a taco stand couldn’t be all that great. I’ll have to try it when I go back to New York and see if their fish tacos are as good as these.”

Lain felt his stomach tighten at her comment.
When she goes back
…

Because she
was
going back. He was being a goddamned fool to forget that fact for even a second. But the problem was, with Ella around, he had a hard time making himself care.

~ Ella ~

She saw his eyes drop and his shoulders tighten as soon as the words left her mouth and she wanted to grab them out of the air. Take them back. Erase them.

Why would she be so stupid as to bring up her return trip to New York? This…fantasy she was living at the moment, she was quite enjoying it.

Fine, she was fucking loving it.

Leaving wasn’t something she wanted to think about. Going back to New York to her small, stupidly expensive apartment and the job she didn’t want —

She stopped that train of thought right there. This wasn’t a debate. No one decides after visiting a town for 24 hours that they ought to move there. That kind of shit just didn’t happen. No one fell in love, no one moved, no one did stupid shit like that, in just 24 hours.

No one.

“So I didn’t realize you’d eat meat,” he said, snapping her back to the present. “Last night, you had steak, this morning you had ham, and now you’re eating fish. I guess I just assumed everyone from New York ate tofu and sprouts three times a day.”

She giggled, the tension easing out of her shoulders, the laughter spilling out of her unconsciously. “Do you really think that I’d be built like this —” she said, gesturing to her body, “if I ate tofu and sprouts three times a day?”

“Thank God you eat meat, then,” he said. His words were teasing, sweet, but his tone was serious. She blushed, her eyes dropping to her hands. How could he find her beautiful? Every
Pout
magazine she’d ever read told her his words weren’t true. No one built like her ever made the cover. Or a glossy full-page spread. Or even a mention in passing, unless it was, “I
used
to be fat, but now I’m not - follow this diet and you too can just let the fat melt away!”

He was sweet, he was kind…but he was wrong.

“If you guys get a monsoon every afternoon in July and August,” she said, “then why schedule your dad’s charity fundraiser for July? Why not hold it later, in like December or something? It has to be cooler then, too.”

Her attempt to change the subject was not so subtle, but she didn’t care. The more obvious the attempt, the more likely he would leave the topic of her weight alone in the future.

“Because he died on July 26th. It was the fourth Thursday of the month. So every year, we start our ride out on Thursday and loop back on Friday. We start early in the morning before it gets hellaciously hot and we have a place to stop in the afternoon so we know we’ll be under cover if a monsoon hits. A monsoon doesn’t hit
every
afternoon for two months straight - I may or may not have been exaggerating when I said that - but it can be every day for a week straight, then a day or two off, and then more rain again. You just never know what’ll happen. But monsoons only hit in the afternoon, so we know we’re safe to ride in the morning.”

“Hold on, I just realized - how do you have time to babysit me?” she asked. “I thought you were in charge of the long-haul trucking business. Doesn’t, you know, shit need to be hauled somewhere?”

“Well, Brock dumps shit off onto me, so I dump shit off onto Rush. This is the way of the clan…or at least the Blue Devils.” He grinned at her.

“Who’s Rush? Was he there this morning at the clubhouse?”

“Rush is the guy you want standing next to you when you have bullets raining down. You mighta noticed him next to the windows - tall, blonde?”

Ella shrugged. To be honest, all she’d noticed was beer guts, blue bandanas, and Lain. The rest of the members were a blur. Well, except for Brock, but he was a guy she didn’t want to think about.

“Anyway, my best friend growing up,” Lain continued. “His parents are definitely not bikers, so they haven’t exactly appreciated me, or the club. We’re his family now. He’s my second-in-command in the trucking business and whenever I’m gone for something, he takes over. So I have
plenty
of time to babysit you,” he said with a flirtatious grin.

“I’ll keep that mind,” she said, grinning back. She flicked her tongue out and wetted her lips. Dammit, Lain made it hard to breathe.

Finally, her mind caught up with their discussion - one of the downfalls of staring at Lain’s mouth and drooling incessantly was that other things took longer to process. Like words.

“Just a second,” she said, “did you say his name was
Rush
? Who names their kid
Rush
??”

“Uh…” Lain paused with the last of the fish tacos halfway to his mouth. “Well, that’s not his real name but that’s what everyone calls him.” He suddenly got cagey and Ella just
knew
that he did not, under any circumstances, want to tell her what Rush’s real name was.

Which meant, of course, that this is all she wanted to find out.

“So,” she said, biting her lower lip and looking up at him seductively, “what is Rush’s real name?” She’d always wanted to know if her flirtation skills were up to par. Here was the perfect chance to test them.

Lain shoved the last bite of the fish taco into his mouth and made a big production out of chewing it. And swallowing it. And when he finally couldn’t put it off any longer, he said, “Listen, darlin’, I…I’d love to tell you. Really I would. But Rush…no way. He’d kill me. Nice and slow.”

“So my big, strong biker guy is afraid to tell little ol’ me someone’s christian name?” She ran her fingers lightly up his forearm, tickling the hairs on his arm, staring up into his eyes as she did so. He was
so
close to breaking, she could tell. A light sheen of sweat broke out on his upper lip.

He shoved his chair back. “You—” he cleared his throat, “you ready to go?”

Ella wanted to smile in triumph. She may not have wheedled the information out of Lain, but she did manage to get under his skin, which was
almost
as fun.

Lain paid the bill and they waddled back out the door. She felt stuffed to the brim. Lain seemed to be a man who wasn’t afraid of food, and who seemed to like the fact that she wasn’t either.

She pushed the thought away. Flirting, teasing, kissing, fucking…fine. Nothing more than that, though.

“You ready to go back to the clubhouse?” Lain asked as they mounted the bike.

“Yeah, I should probably go ask somebody a question or two, and earn this all-expenses-paid vacation to hell,” she said, teasing.

“Hell? You shoulda been here last month. No one ever believes me, but June is actually the hottest month of the year, plus there’s no monsoons to cool things down.”

Ella swallowed hard at the thought. Hotter than this just wasn’t possible.

The ride back to the clubhouse was fun, if short. With a town as small as Copper Lode, it seemed like everything was close to something.

What a difference from New York City
…

They walked back into the clubhouse and Ella immediately felt it - the air was tense. There were no neon flashing signs, but there might as well be -
You’re Not Welcome
was a brick wall she’d just slammed into. She looked over at the members and flashed a confident smile, but only got one in return from Brock. A smarmy smile. He was back out with the group again, dammit.

Lain headed for the bar again, abandoning her -
bastard
- so she headed towards the group. She sat next to Chili and smiled brightly at him. He stared back at her.

She turned towards the other biker at the table and focused her 1000-watt smile on him. Her eyes flicked down to his leather vest.
Dumbo??
She instantly looked up at his ears, and saw…nothing. His hair was long, covering them up, but whatever was wrong with them, they weren’t on the overly large side.

“So…Dumbo —” was it rude to call a stranger by what was obviously a nickname, and not necessarily a nice nickname at that? Somehow she doubted the advice given by Miss Manners covered this situation — “How long have you been a Blue Devils member?”

His eyes flicked towards Brock and then back to her. “A while,” he said.

Fuck
. So far, she could write an article extolling Lain’s stomach muscles, Chili’s ability to eat hot food, and how amazing authentic Mexican food could be. This
so
wasn’t going to fly with Dan. Or the
Huffington Post
. She doubted they wanted an exposé on the inner workings of a fish taco stand.

The room was dead silent.

Gathering up her courage, Ella started again. She couldn’t give up yet. She decided to turn her attention towards Brock. After all, the man agreed to have her come out here, right? Surely she could expect him to say something more interesting than, “A while.”

“Brock,” she said, giant smile plastered on her face, “how did you become the president of the Blue Devils?”

“Well now, that’s a real interesting question,” he said, leaning back in his chair. His eyes flicked over to Lain’s for a moment and then back to her again. “My daddy died of lung cancer. He’d taken over after Lain’s dad died. When my daddy died, I became president.”

And that’s where he left it. The implication was crystal clear - she’d asked a question that she obviously wasn’t supposed to be asking. She wanted to scream. What the hell did this man want out of her??

Brock stood up and ambled over to a long-legged blonde guy by the windows, and Ella strained her eyes to see. The patch on his shoulder looked like it could be “Rush,” although she couldn’t be sure at this distance. She stood up and walked over to the row of windows, pretending to look out into the completely uninspiring parking lot, hoping to overhear
something
.

Brock talked quietly for a moment, and all Ella could get out of it was
Chupacabra
, which threw her for a loop.
Chupacabra
was a mythical Hispanic creature that killed goats. What the hell were they discussing goat-eating creatures for?? Brock looked over at Lain one last time, and then ambled out.

Lain’d been given his marching orders to get her out, and he wasted no time following them.

“Hey Ella, why don’t we head back to your motel room?” he asked, walking towards her, smiling nonchalantly.

Simultaneously pissed at Lain for letting Brock order him around with only a look, and intrigued by the
Chupacabra
lead, she did the only logical thing she could do: She acquiesced to Lain’s plan. She wasn’t nice about it though. These dumbasses agreed to have her fly across the country to interview them, and then no one would say a goddamn word.

No, she didn’t have to be nice to Lain at all.

They rode back to the motel in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. She hopped out of the truck and went to slam the door when he called out, “See you at ten tomorrow?”

“Yeah, fine,” and
then
slammed the door with a pleasing thud. It felt good to slam something. He waited until she unlocked her motel room door and walked inside before he drove away.

Attempting to put his gorgeous eyes and sexy abs out of her mind for a moment, she pulled out her laptop. At least the wifi was good, even if the AC was…lacking. She pulled the only chair in the tiny room over in front of the AC unit and began researching
Chupacabras.
She didn’t find much until she tacked “Arizona” onto the end of the search. Suddenly, she wasn’t seeing pages of ghostly apparitions, but instead, info about another MC.

She read further, holding her breath.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God
.

The
Chupacabras
were not just an MC; they weren’t just an outlaw MC. They were
evil
bastards. Whether the Blue Devils were in cahoots with them or fighting them, it wasn’t going to end well. Last year, they had gotten off on kidnapping and extortion charges on a technicality and were all currently out of prison. The president and VP had been charged with human trafficking, and the pictures were…horrifying. Young girls, hands tied, bruises, gags, matted hair, cuts. The pictures turned her stomach, but the stories were worse. The
Chupacabras
were abducting and selling young girls into the sex trade, or at least that’s what they’d been charged with last year.

One of the cops had gotten overeager and had searched an apartment without a warrant, where he found the address where the girls were being held. The cops were able to rescue the girls and get them to safety, but since the search was illegal and the girls all refused to testify, the judge had thrown the case out. Because the
Chupacabras
were all from Mexico, they’d been sent back after the trial had been dismissed.

Ella sat back and stared off into space. What did she actually know? She grabbed a piece of paper and made a list:

One - Brock wanted me here before but doesn’t now.

Two - He’s told all of the members to shut the hell up around me.

Three - Something was happening with the
Chupacabras
. Or Brock was worried about them. Or something…