Cocky Secrets (Cocker Brothers #29)

28. Jett

TWENTY-EIGHT

Jett

A s I stroll back to the Ciphers, Scratch informs me as if I don’t already know, “That body would drop any man to his knees.”

I give his shoulder a solid smack. “I know it’s tough but keep your eyes off her. She’s mine.”

Honey Badger chuckles deep and rumbly as all four of them watch me head out the door to chase her down. I’m not letting a woman like that get away until I’m done with her.

Squinting against the Southern California sun, I search for the feral beauty. The parking lot has the same unimpressive cars in it as when we rode up.

Out of habit, I do a quick scan of our Harleys as I pass them for the sidewalk, to make sure no one’s been dumb enough to fuck with ‘em. No sign they’ve been touched. So I stroll past purple Bougainvillea bushes growing up a fence on the property behind the diner, and discover gold.

There she is walking up Coldwater Canyon.

Her sweet, round ass is ticking from side to side as though to say time is running out, buddy.

She made some distance. On foot. So she doesn’t have a car.

I’ve got a ride I can give her.

“Hey!” I shout up the street. Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t slow down.

She’s gonna make me chase her.

That I can do.

My boots hit the ground heavily as I break into a run. I don’t slow until I’ve reached her side.

“You’re wasting your time,” she growls.

“What’s your name?”

Silence.

We walk a ways longer, toward Moorpark. There’s an Arco on the left and I make mental note, checking my memory for when we gassed up last. It was in Pomona. We’re still good.

Since she hasn’t given me her name, I offer mine. “I’m Jett.”

“Good for you.”

Chuckling, I run in front to make her stop walking.

Truth is, I shouldn’t be messin’ with this kitty.

We came for a dangerous and tricky job.

But we don’t back down. Ever.

So now I’ve got two missions, and one is staring at me with fiery deep brown eyes in caramel skin, with lips I need to feel on me in so many places.

She runs a hand through long black locks. She smells dusty – the shampoo smell faded days ago.

So…she probably doesn’t live nearby.

Not with how dirty she looks.

What’s her story?

I bet her pussy tastes nice and ripe. I don’t mind that at all. I love all the flavors.

“Look buddy,” she snarls, and means it. “The only reason you don’t have your balls kicked into your neck is because you lack the rapist vibe. But ‘persistent prick’ will get you there, too, if you don’t let me pass. This warning is me being nice.”

She’s got no accent. If I hadn’t heard her speak ever, I’d have guessed she’s from Mexico, Guatemala, or maybe even Cuba. You never know in L.A.

“Gimme your number and I’ll be on my way.”

“That smile of yours…” she mutters, irritated as shit. “…tells me you think this tactic is going to work. It won’t.”

Someone honks at her from a passing Buick and makes sloppy kissy sounds.

“Fuck you!” she calls to the taillights.

I watch the car leaving. See the hand waving out the window. My eyes land back on her tight-lipped expression. It’s gotta be a pain in the ass being this beautiful when there’s a world full of cocks who’d love to dive into you. That those douche bags honked with me here, wearing this patch and clearly not someone you’d fuck with, says it all about her. If they weren’t protected by moving metal, they wouldn’t try that shit right now.

But she inspired them to do it.

They practically couldn’t help themselves and took a chance, knowing I couldn’t chase them down.

This gives me insight into what she deals with daily. Which means she’s right. This tactic ain’t gonna fly.

I walk closer to her, changing my tone to a more intimate one, friendlier and less asshole-who-gets-a-ton-of-ass. I don’t want to scare her away and I just realized I was about to.

Fuck, we guys sure can be stupid.

“Sunshine, forgive me. I was being a dick. I won’t force myself on you.” I lean in really close to her. A few more inches and we’d be kissing. The feral beauty holds her breath, dark eyes searching mine like she’s confused why she’s not punching me. “You don’t want to tell me your name, you don’t have to.” Without warning, I kiss her nose and smile, “I’m sure I’ll see you again,” right before heading off, back to the diner.

“No…” I turn around. She’s looking over her shoulder at me, holding the strap of that beat up backpack. “You won’t.”

I feel like I’m standing on a cliff, that moment where you decide if you’re jumping, or if the mountain will make the decision for you.

She heads away. I turn around and walk off, too, to meet her chess move and see if she’s bluffing. I keep expecting the sound of footsteps, or a shout of my name, if she even remembers it.

My chest tightens as the distance grows between us.

Those footsteps never come.

I may see her.

I may not.

The odds aren’t in our favor.

Fuse, Scratch, Honey Badger and Tonk are all strapping on their helmets and looking for an answer to what happened on my end.

“Next move?” I ask Scratch, changing the subject.

Our salt and pepper-haired MC Vice President smacks my shoulder as hard as I smacked his in the diner and announces, “Motel, Striker. ”

I pull my keys out with the chain that keeps them attached to my faded blue jeans. My head is still on the girl. I’m only half paying attention when I mutter, “Striker?”

Fuse laughs and shakes out his longish hair before he straps on his helmet.

I don’t like the sound of that laugh. “What? What am I missing here?” I ask him, then look around at all their amused faces.

Tonk’s not sure if he should be the one to spell it out for me, since I give him so much shit all the time. He decides to be brave. “You struck out, Jett.”

“ Striker, ” Fuse chuckles. “It might stick.”

Grinning, I mount my bike, feeling the warmth of a sun-heated seat on my balls. “Fuck you guys.”

“She was worth the try,” Honey Badger laughs, his large belly bouncing as he jumps on his ride. His little helmet on that big head and body is always an interesting contrast, but no one would ever say that aloud. Despite his rotund appearance, Honey Badger earned that name. He can be vicious. Not with us. But we don’t get on his bad side…like pointing out how he should get a bigger helmet.

“We’re only gonna be here a couple nights,” Scratch tells me from his hog. “That woman? She’s the type who’d make you stick around.”

“Let’s drop it. We’ve got better things to do.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that,” Fuse laughs.

I shake my head at his joke and turn on the ignition.

The roar of our engines harmonize, and one after the other, we cruise up Ventura Boulevard, away from Coldwater in search of our next temporary home. We never stay at the same place when we visit a city for a second, third or fourth time, unless there’s only that one option. Definitely not the case in a metropolitan city like this one.

In Sherman Oaks, mere blocks west of where we ate, Scratch pulls into a motel that’s cleaner than any you’d find in those forgotten towns along lonely highways.

“I can use a good shower,” I tell my chosen brothers as the engines die, thinking it’ll be a cold one with that feral pussy still on my mind.

Scratch announces to the group. “With what we’re about to face, you’re all gonna need more than that.”