Her Possessive Bikers

10. Tres

10

TRES

I rub my temples, staring at the endless stack of paperwork before me. Running a club isn't all bikes and brotherhood - there's bills, permits, and enough red tape to strangle a man. My phone buzzes for the hundredth time today.

"What now?" I growl into the receiver, listening to another supplier's excuses.

The door creaks open and Candy slinks in, wearing what barely passes for clothing. Great. Just what I need right now.

"You look tense, baby," she purrs, strutting toward my desk. "Let me help you relax."

I hold up a finger, focusing on the call. "Listen, I don't care about your distribution issues. Fix it, or we'll find someone who can."

Candy's already under my desk, her hands sliding up my thighs.

"Not now," I mutter, covering the phone.

"Come on, daddy," she whispers. "You work too hard."

Her persistence isn't surprising, but it's irritating. I focus back on the call, the supplier still rambling excuses.

"Look, just get it done," I snap and hang up. My eyes drop to Candy, who's busy undoing my belt.

"Really? Right now?" I ask, but my mind wanders to Indy. She's been a constant presence in my thoughts since the funeral. That 5'7" smoke show with those fuck me eyes...

Candy looks up, misinterpreting my pause as encouragement. She smiles, and before I know it, she's working my zipper down.

I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes. Maybe imagining it's Indy down there will take the edge off. Candy is the most seasoned whore's at the club house. I know her hands and mouth are skilled, but maybe I'll picture Indy's touch instead – her tattoos brushing against my skin, her long black hair cascading around us.

A sharp knock cuts through my thoughts, and Benji's head pops through the door. "Boss, Brick’'s daughter's here to see you."

My eyes snap open. "What?"

"She's waiting outside. Says it's about?—"

"Jesus Christ, get up," I growl, pushing my chair back. Candy's perfectly lined lips twist into a pout.

"But baby, we just started?—"

"Get the fuck up." I zip myself back up and tighten my belt. The mere thought of Indy waiting outside while I'm in here with this, nobody, makes my skin crawl.

"You've never turned me down before." Candy stands, crossing her arms under her barely-covered chest. "What's so special about the little princess? Got a few less miles than us?"

"Watch your mouth." The warning in my voice makes her step back. "Show some respect for Brick."

"Whatever." She snatches her purse from my desk. "When you're done playing gentleman with the princess, you know where to find me."

The door slams behind her dramatic exit. I straighten my cut, running a hand through my hair. The mirror on the wall shows my reflection – at least I look presentable.

"Send her in," I call out to Benji, organizing the papers on my desk.

My heart's racing like I'm some prospect about to meet the president for the first time. Get it together, old man. She's half your age, and Brick would rise from his grave to kick your ass if he knew what you were thinking.

I quickly pour myself a scotch to steady my nerves as Indy steps through the door, looking like sin in tight jeans and a faded t-shirt that's seen better days. Her eyes follow Candy's dramatic exit.

"What was that about? She looked at me like I'd pissed on her stilettos or something."

I take a long sip. "Nothing worth mentioning."

"Oh." Her eyes widen, darting between me and the door. A knowing smirk plays across her lips. "Shit, did I just cockblock you?"

The scotch catches in my throat. My mind instantly floods with images I shouldn't be having about my late best friend's daughter. Christ. I set the glass down before I drop it, willing away thoughts of Indy's curves pressed against my desk.

"Something like that," I manage, my voice rougher than intended.

"My bad." She drops into the chair across from me, completely at ease. "Though from the look she gave me, I probably saved you from a stage-five clinger."

I bark out a laugh, grateful for the tension break. "You might be right about that."

"Anyway." She leans forward, elbows on my desk. "I came to talk business. I'm selling one of Dad's bikes. Figured I'd offer it to family first."

"Which one?" I question.

"Cher."

"Shit." I whistle low. She's a beauty. "What're you asking?"

She names a price that's way too low. "I'd rather it stay in the club."

"Add five grand to that and we've got a deal."

"What? No, that's too much."

I level my gaze at her. "That's what it's worth, Indy. Your old man would haunt my ass if I took advantage."

Her eyes soften at the mention of Brick. "Okay. You've got yourself a deal."

"Perfect," I say as I down another shot of scotch. Being around this woman is unnerving as hell.

"So, about getting the bike," Indy says, fidgeting with her painted black nails. "I don't exactly have a way to transport it. Any chance you could pick it up?"

"Tonight work for you?" The words leave my mouth before I can think better of them. Real smooth, acting this eager.

She nods, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Yeah, I'll be home. Well, at Dad's. You know where it is?"

"Been there plenty of times." I clear my throat. "What time?"

"After seven? I'll need to grab some dinner first."

"I'll bring beer." Christ, where did that come from? "Unless you've got other plans?"

Her eyes light up. "Actually, that sounds perfect. I drank the last of the shitty pale ale in the fridge last night." She stands, stretching slightly. Her shirt rides up, revealing a sliver of skin and what looks like the edge of a tattoo. She heads for the door, then pauses. "Oh, and Tres?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't bring any girly shit. Dad might have trusted you with his life, but I draw the line at Smirnoff."

I can't help but laugh. "Noted. See you at seven."

She gives me a little wave and disappears, leaving behind the faint scent of leather and something floral. I wait until her footsteps fade before dropping my head into my hands.

What the hell am I doing?