Her Possessive Bikers

6. Jacoby

6

JACOBY

I can't take my eyes off her. Brick's infamous daughter. She's grown into quite the woman since I last saw her - what, fifteen years ago? Back then she was just a kid visiting her old man. Now she's all curves in that black dress, and that leather jacket suits her like she was born to wear it.

She's sitting at the bar next to Tres, nursing a beer and sharing stories about Brick. Lucky bastard hasn't left her side since she arrived. I lean against the pool table, pretending to watch the game while I wait for my chance.

"Remember when he caught those prospects trying to steal his bike?" Tres says, making her laugh. The sound carries across the room, drawing more than a few appreciative glances from the brothers.

"Prez!" One of the older members, Haus, waves Tres over. "Got something you need to see."

Tres hesitates, glancing at Indy. "You good here for a minute?"

"Go ahead," she says, lifting her beer. "I'm not going anywhere."

The moment Tres stands up, I'm moving. Slide right into his vacated seat before anyone else can claim it.

I raise my bottle to the urn sitting on the bar. "To the man who saved my ass more times than I can count."

Indy turns, her eyes catching mine. Damn, she's got Brick's stare down pat.

"Jacoby Wilson. VP. Your old man took me under his wing when I was nothing but trouble on two wheels."

"He had a habit of collecting strays," she says, a hint of a smile playing at her garnet-painted lips.

"That he did. I was running with a rough crew before he stepped in. The kind that makes our club look like choir boys." I take a pull from my beer. "Found me in a bar fight, about to get my head caved in by three guys. Know what he did?"

She leans forward, elbows on the bar. "Knowing my dad? Something dramatic."

"Actually, he walked right in, calm as you please, and told them if they wanted to fight someone, they could try him instead." I shake my head at the memory. "They took one look at him and scattered like roaches."

"Well, that also sounds exactly like him." Her fingers trace the rim of her bottle. "He always said the biggest fights were the ones you could avoid."

"Yeah, then he dragged my sorry ass to this clubhouse and put me to work. Said if I had enough energy to start fights, I had enough energy to rebuild engines."

A real smile breaks across her face. "Let me guess - you had to start with oil changes?"

"For three fucking months straight. Every single bike that came through."

She laughs, a sound that hits me deep in the gut. "He used to make me help him change the oil in that Chevelle before he'd take me for ice cream." She glances toward the door, where the classic car sits among the bikes. "I hated getting my hands dirty, but... now I kind of miss it."

I take another sip of my beer, studying the way she looks at that urn. "So what's your plan for his bikes? He had that sweet Ruby Red Chieftain and the custom chopper."

"Haven't figured that out yet." She runs a finger down the condensation on her bottle. "Got a meeting with his lawyer on Monday to sort through everything."

"Both of them are in excellent condition. He kept really good care of them."

"Maybe I'll keep one." Her eyes light up with something I recognize - that same spark Brick used to get before doing something crazy. "Always wanted to learn how to ride. Dad promised to teach me, but..." She shrugs, letting the words fade.

The thought of her on a bike sends my mind places it probably shouldn't go. I clear my throat. "Well, when you're ready to learn, you know where to find me. I'd be happy to teach you."

"Yeah?" Those doe eyes lock onto mine. "You sure you want to take on that responsibility? I've been told I'm a handful."

I'm this close to telling her, "a handful I'd like to get ahold of," but I use my better judgement and decide against it.

"Darlin', I've taught half these prospects how to ride without killing themselves. Pretty sure I can handle one stubborn paramedic."

She laughs, and damn if it doesn't hit me right in the chest. "Who says I'm stubborn?"

"You've got Brick's blood. Being stubborn comes with the territory."

"Fair point." She raises her bottle. "To stubborn genes?"

I clink my beer against hers. "And the poor bastards who have to deal with them."

The heavy tread of boots behind me signals Tres's return. I catch his reflection in the mirror behind the bar - he's got that look, the one that says he's about to remind everyone who's in charge.

"All good, boss?" I drain the last of my beer, already sliding off the stool. No point in making this awkward.

"Just club business." Tres's eyes flick between me and Indy. "Nothing that can't wait."

"Well, I should get back to work anyway." I turn to Indy. "Those bikes aren't gonna fix themselves."

"Thanks for the stories about Dad." She tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear, revealing a small constellation of silver earrings. "It's nice hearing about the side of him I didn't get to see much."

"Anytime, darlin'. Offer stands about those riding lessons." I tap the bar twice and nod to Tres. "Boss."

As I head toward the garage, I catch Indy's voice behind me: "He seems nice."

Tres's response is too low to hear, but I can imagine what he's thinking. VP or not, some lines aren't meant to be crossed. And Brick's daughter? That's a whole highway of lines I probably shouldn't even be looking at.

Still, can't help but glance back one more time before I push through the door. She's laughing at something Tres said, and damn if that sound doesn't follow me all the way to the garage.