“Taking it slow tonight, aren’t you?”
Train shrugged. He had to keep his wits for when Killyama showed up … if she did. He was growing increasingly more frustrated. He had expected her to be there with bells on for the party the two clubs had planned. Leave it to her not to show. The woman never did what he expected of her.
“I’m still recovering from last night,” Train lied. It was bad enough that he was sitting on his stool like a lovesick puppy. He didn’t need to give Rider even more ammunition to make fun of him. From the sideway glance Rider shot him, his lie hadn’t worked.
Rider took a drink of his beer before slamming it down. “I’m going to go dance with Ember. She misses Raci. Want to help me so she won’t feel so lonely?”
“Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Sure you will.” Rider gave him a mocking look before heading toward the dance floor.
Train tightened his grip on his beer. He could handle the brothers knowing he wanted Killyama, having never cared what other people thought of his actions. He had learned at a young age that expectations came with chains that you couldn’t break from. Train would be damned if he would let anyone keep him from accomplishing anything he wanted to.
With a father who was too lazy to work, the entire neighborhood had shown their judgmental attitudes every time he had walked out his door. The fights that had taken place between his parents had just added more gossip to feed the gossipmongers. The whispers about his parents had grown to include him as he grew older, following him down the school’s halls or when he tried to date one of their daughters.
When he was younger, he had received sympathetic looks. As he grew older, though, they had grown warier, assuming he had inherited his father’s violent temperament. Train had quickly learned to meet his date somewhere rather than have a judgmental father slam a door in his face.
Train eyed the rowdy crowd. Viper and Stud were sitting at a table to his left. The presidents of the two clubs were talking as they watched their men become increasingly boisterous, each club member claiming bragging rights as to who had settled the score with Raul.
When their attention went to the door, Train stiffened as Sex Piston, Fat Louise, T.A., Crazy Bitch, and Killyama filed inside.
His gut twisted in need, fighting the urge to get off his stool and carry her outside to her ugly green car she refused to get rid of. If she hadn’t driven, he wasn’t picky; he could fuck her against the side of the building or spring for a room at the local hotel.
His eyes stalked her as she followed her friends to the table Fat Louise’s husband was sitting at.
Biding his time now that she was here, Train motioned to Mick to hand him another beer.
“Thanks.” Train started to reach for his wallet, but Mick stopped him.
“It’s on the house for fixing my car. It hasn’t run so well since I bought it.”
“I enjoyed working on it. I usually only have the men’s bikes to work on.”
As Mick talked, Train made sure that Killyama didn’t slip out of sight. He knew none of the brothers would ask her to dance, but he was interested to see if any of the Destructors would. From the file Crash had given him, he knew no men were sleeping over at her apartment, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sleeping over at someone else’s.
She was wearing blue jeans and a black top that rose up the front, showing her flat waistline, then rode to her hip, accenting her ass. The plunging neckline showed the gleaming V of skin between her breasts. Her pert breasts were so firm Train thought he could bounce a quarter off them. The thin straps crossed at her shoulders, lacing down the long length of her arms.
Killyama had the best body he had ever seen on a woman. She moved like a lioness, confident in her ability to handle anything or anyone who dared to think they could tame her.
Train took a drink of his beer. He should have asked for something stronger. Usually, beer was all he had, but he was sure he was going to need something stronger tonight.
The women were joking and laughing among themselves, all except Killyama, who every now and then would respond to one of them. She seemed a part of their group, yet curiously detached, always keeping her eyes on what was going on around them.
“She’s a nice-looking woman. She yours?”
Train’s lips twisted. “No. I don’t have a woman.”
Mick raised a brow. “Then why are you staring at the redhead like a rare steak?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want her.”
Mick chuckled as he stepped out from behind the bar, going to Killyama’s table to take their drink orders. He came back a few minutes later to fill several beer mugs, placing them on a tray on the bar. Taking a bottle of tequila off a shelf, he then poured out just as many shot glasses before loading the round tray then carrying them to the table.