I beamed angelically up into his scowling face as he continued, “Lou, got Cyclops, Skeleton and Curtains, other wise known as Cyc, Skell and Curtains.”
“Why Curtains?” I asked warily, because the other two biker nicknames made sense but I couldn’t picture the skinny, stoned-looking ginger biker sewing curtains.
His pale skin went as red as his hair when the others burst out laughing but he continued to pass out the cold beers he’d grabbed from the bar fridge.
Zeus clapped him on the back, rocking his slight frame with the movement. “Think you’d be used to answerin’ that by now, Prospect.”
“It’s, uh, cause the curtains match the drapes,” the poor kid told me.
I blinked at him before I dissolved into laughter. “That is too funny!”
When I stopped laughing long enough to see him frowning at me, I laughed even harder. “You should feel grateful no one thought to call you ‘Fire Crotch.’ At least Curtains is kind of subtle.”
“Fire Crotch,” Skell snorted beer through is nose and all over the bar. Immediately, Curtains grabbed a rag to wipe it up. “Damn, we missed out, boys.”
“Do I get a nickname?” I asked, leaning forward to bat my eyelashes at Skell who stopped laughing and blinked dumbly at me.
“Uh, you want one, I can think of a few things to call you, sugar,” he finally responded on a wide grin.
“Don’t you fuckers have better things to be doin’ like, oh, I don’t know, findin’ those scumbags that scared Lou so fuckin’ bad?” Zeus asked, deceptively calm.
Immediately, the men snapped to attention like soldiers, only Curtains tossing me a wave as they moved in formation out the doors of the clubhouse.
I turned back to Zeus, watched him as he collected an unopened bottle of Knob Creek Canadian whiskey and pried the cork out with his teeth. It was astonishingly sexy, watching him manhandle the bottle like that. I wanted his teeth on my body, his big hands plumping my flesh before those strong white teeth bit into it.
He caught sight of my expression and scowled at my flush.
“I’m gonna make you a deal, Lou,” Zeus started, his voice and face stern like a parent lecturing a child. I didn’t care because he hadn’t called me Lou once since I’d seen him again and the sound of those syllables in his mouth were better than a song.
“Okay,” I agreed, apparently too eager, because his face darkened with disapproval.
I squirmed in my chair because he was impossibly sexy in stern Dad mode. I resolved to be naughty more often.
“There are rules. You know I didn’t want this life for ya, but you seem hell-bent on it so I figure the only way to get you through is to show you myself.”
“Show me what?” I breathed.
“Show you how to live on the wild side. You wanna drink, party and rebel? I’m the safe place to learn that shit.”
“Definitely,” I agreed again, this time carefully trying to hide my enthusiasm.
It didn’t work.
His scowl deepened. “Before you get too fuckin’ excited, there’ll be rules.”
I echoed his frown. “I thought bikers don’t follow rules?”
“So young and naïve, little girl.” He leaned forward, his messy tumble of hair framing his rugged face. “See, without rules, a person is aimless. You gotta believe in somethin’, adhere to some kinda code or your soul can wander down some dark fuckin’ paths. We got rules; brotherhood, bikes and bitches you treat like fuckin’ queens because they give you the kinda sweet a rough man can’t find anywhere else. And you know who enforces those rules, Lou? Me.”
“You aren’t the boss of me,” I told him because I couldn’t help myself. Something dark and eager inside my soul called out to him, wanted to test his edges like a sharp blade point against my thumb. I wanted to see how far I could push him, if it was farther than anyone else ever had and what he would do when I finally went too far.
Something told me, it would be just as dirty and dark as I’d always imagined.
“I’m the boss of this world. All those monsters you picture under your bed, in the dark corners of hospitals and night black forests? They’re fuckin’ real, Lou. And I own ’em. So, yeah, you want this world, you better believe I’m the fuckin’ boss of ya.”
“Fine,” I pouted just to watch his hot eyes fall like a kiss on my lips. “What are your rules, then?”
“No touchin’,” he responded immediately as he dragged his eyes away from my mouth. “As in, you don’t get to touch me.”
“What?” I cried, thrusting my arms in the air so that he had to duck away from my flying hand. “That’s so unfair.”
“Tough shit, kid. I don’t need you touchin’ me, cuddlin’ or some shit when you get scared and, trust me, little girl, you’ll get scared livin’ this life. Can’t coddle you every time somethin’ goes sideways.”