Her Possessive Bikers

20. Indy

20

INDY

K yler leads me down a hallway I've never been through before, opening a door near the end. The scent hits me first - leather and motor oil, mixed with something distinctly Dad. My throat tightens.

"This was his room when he'd stay overnight," Kyler says softly. "We cleaned it up, put fresh sheets on, but..."

"But it's still him," I finish, running my fingers along the dresser. A few old photos are tucked into the mirror frame - me at various ages, always grinning next to Dad on his bike.

The bed's been made with what looks like new dark blue bedding, and there's a small vase of wildflowers on the nightstand that seems hilariously out of place in this testosterone-heavy space.

"The flowers were Jacoby's idea," Kyler says, scratching his neck. "He thought it might make it feel more... you know."

"They're nice." I set my bag down, taking in the rest. Dad's old leather jacket still hangs on a hook by the door. His boots are lined up perfectly beneath it, just like he always kept them. The sight makes my chest ache.

"We weren't sure if we should move his stuff," Kyler continues. "Tres thought maybe having some familiar things would help, but if it's too much-"

"No," I cut in. "No, it's... it's perfect actually." I sink onto the edge of the bed, touching the worn leather of Dad's jacket. "Thank you. For keeping pieces of him here."

"Course." Kyler hovers in the doorway. "Bathroom's across the hall if you need it. And uh, we're all just down the corridor if you need anything else."

I nod, still staring at the jacket. "Thanks, Kyler."

He leaves to head down to the kitchen. The flowers are a sweet touch, even if they look bizarre next to Dad's heavy metal posters and the skull-shaped ashtray on the windowsill.

"How'd you like the flowers?" I turn to see Jacoby leaning against the doorframe.

"What old lady's flower garden did you steal them out of?" I say with a smile.

"A good magician never reveals his secrets." He replies with his finger over his pouty lips.

He walks inside taking a look around the room. "Tres made sure it stayed empty after..."

"After he died," I finish, dropping my duffel on the bed. A group of women pass by in the hallway, their whispers and glares burning holes in my back.

"Look what we got here - princess gets the premium suite while we're stuck in the barracks," one of them sneers, her black and blonde hair, looking like a damn skunk, swishing as she stops to stare.

"Lacey, the barracks are for temporary entertainment. This room's for family," Jacoby shoots back with a sharp grin. "Plus, we have to make sure the help sanitizes ya'lls shit frequently. Now fuck off."

They skulk away, but not before the woman tosses one last venomous look my way. I sink onto the bed with a sigh. "Great. Not even here an hour and I've already made enemies."

"Darlin, you made enemies with them the moment you stepped onto those front porch steps. They're just jealous. Old ladies have been trying to claim this room for years." Jacoby sprawls into the room's only chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. "You'll get used to the politics around here."

"I don't plan on being here long enough to get used to anything," I say, unzipping my bag. "Just until this Dos Banditos shit blows over."

"That's what they all say." His eyes twinkle with amusement. "Then they get a taste of the lifestyle and never want to leave."

"I'm not 'they.' I have a life back in Alabama. A career." I start unpacking my clothes into the dresser. "This is temporary. Very temporary."

"If you say so, darlin'." He stands, stretching. "Dinner's at seven in the main hall. Don't be late - cook gets cranky when food gets cold."

"Goodbye Jacoby, I'm going to take a shower." I say brushing him off.

He laughs, knowing good and well I don't mean it.

Hot water cascades down my back as I try to process the surreal turn my life has taken. Not long ago, I was pulling double shifts in Alabama. Now I'm living in a motorcycle club, dodging bullets and rival gangs.

The shower's decent at least - good pressure, plenty of hot water. Dad always did insist on the finer things, even in a clubhouse.

I'm am curious, however, as to who splurged for the expensive shampoo and body wash. I was fully banking on bathing with a bar of Old Irish soap.

"Get it together, Cooper," I mutter, working shampoo through my hair. "It's just temporary."

Temporary or not, I can't ignore the flutter in my stomach when I think about sharing space with Tres. The way he threw himself in front of me during the shooting, all protective alpha male... Stop it. He is my dad's best friend. Well, was my dad's best friend.

Then there's Jacoby with his easy smile and shameless flirting. The man could charm the pants off a nun. Not that I'm thinking about pants coming off. Maury Povich filters into my brain, "the lie detector test determined that was a lie." Of course I've thought about Jacoby with his pants coming off. I'm only human.

And Kyler... My fingers drift to my lips, remembering how close we came to kissing. The heat between us when I was removing his stitches, the way he makes me feel desired, seen.

"This is ridiculous," I groan, rinsing my hair. "I'm not here to play out some biker romance fantasy. I'm here because people are literally trying to kill me."

But the thoughts persist. The hot water trails down my body as my mind wanders to dangerous territory. I close my eyes, letting my imagination take over.