Page 2 of Retribution
“You should’ve gotten better ink for those,” she pointed toward his fading tats, still unable to make complete eye contact due to the sunglasses. “They went too shallow underneath the skin for the lines to take properly.”
He jerked his head back but didn’t say anything. Then he turned away from her and stared straight ahead, his foot twitching as if he couldn’t wait to get back on the road. Everything about his vibe screamed impatience and confidence, and a funny feeling burrowed in her belly as she stood watching him. She figured any minute now he should ask her if she was getting on or not—but he just stared into the distance, bike rumbling, waiting for her to slide behind him. Dakota pressed her lips together and noted the huge fractured skull patch on the back of his leather vest.
Ah, hell. He’s in a motorcycle club.She craned her neck and saw that he wore a patch that read “Nomad,” on the bottom and “Steel Devils” on the top. She’d seen them ride through Pocatello and Idaho Falls enough times to recognize their patch. They’d ride in twos, their big Harleys breaking the sound barrier as they sped through the town. When she was young, she used to think that with all the black leather they wore, they looked like a swarm of flies buzzing past her hometown.
Fear mixed with intrigue, and she wasn’t sure if getting on the back of his bike would be the smartest thing to do. Dakota had heard plenty of stories about the outlaw club over the years, and instead of even considering accepting a ride from him, she should be hightailing it out of there—the oppressive heat be damned. She glanced over her shoulder at the empty road and then back at the biker. She remembered the time when a few of the bikers had come into the tattoo parlor where she’d worked in Idaho Falls. Her boss had given them some new art, and now she wondered if this guy had been one of them. She squinted her eyes and stared at him, but she couldn’t recall if he’d been at the Ink Stop before.
Dakota shook her head. She knew enough about the Steel Devils’ reputation to stay the hell away. She’d had enough trouble with men for one lifetime, so there was no need to try her luck with anyone else who screamed “danger,” and the biker on the idling Harley definitely fit that bill.
“You done ogling me, baby?” he rumbled out, looking back at her through his aviator sunglasses.
Dakota gasped. “I wasn’t—”
“Yeah … you were. Are you comin’ or not?”
A loud horn ripped the answer straight from her lips. Her hand cramped where she was gripping her bag and she licked her lips. She tensed and moved to the side as a bright red Dodge Charger Daytona screeched to an abrupt stop right beside them.
“Fuckin’ assholes,” she thought she heard the biker mutter to himself.
The passenger side window rolled down and a preppy-looking college kid around her age stuck his head out with a huge grin plastered across his face. He looked like a golden retriever, all dopey and “aw shucks” like. Dakota raised an eyebrow, looking from the one stranger to the other with a mounting sense ofget me the hell out of here.
“Hey, are you having car trouble again? Didn’t we tell you last week to get that thing checked out? If you needed a ride, you should’ve called us—you know we wouldn’t have minded.” The stranger hit the side of the passenger door with his open palm and pointed with his thumb to the backseat. “Hop in and we’ll get you back to town.”
“Okay, thanks.” Dakota picked up on what they were doing—giving her an out with the biker. “My cell lost power awhile ago, and the Explorer doesn’t come with your top-of-the-line charger. You know how it goes,” she said, playing along. She hiked up her bag. “Are you sure you have room in there?”
“Are you going to be stubborn again? We always have room for you.” The guy’s grin grew wider, his eyes a little bit rounder, slightly inclining his head toward the small backseat. “Get in or we’ll be late for class again.”
A ride with two college kids was probably a better bet than one with the rough, rugged and, most likely, dangerous biker guy.
Dakota smiled and started to walk toward the car. “Sure, thanks.”
“I wouldn’t go with them.”
The words were so low that at first she didn’t think she heard them right. “What?” She stopped in place and glanced over at the biker, who was still staring straight ahead on the idling motorcycle.
“Get on back. Those fuckers are bad news.”
“Do you know them?”
“Don’t have to—I know theirtype.”
“Yeah, right. That’s real convincing.” She glanced at the two guys, who looked like they were still wet behind the ears, then back at the badassbikerwhose road name was probably “Menace” or something equally scary, and she shook her head.This is a no brainer.
Dakota turned away and didn’t look back at him while she jerked open the back door of the Daytona, trying to ignore a song from the Chainsmokers blaring from the surround sound speakers. Cool air wrapped around her, and she figured listening to electronic music instead of her preferred hard rock was a small price to pay for air conditioning.
She leaned back against the cool leather seats and fixed her gaze straight ahead as the car sped down the road.
