To be fair, he was right.
She might have been the most grating woman I'd ever met, but she was also one of the most beautiful. Which was saying something, because Navesink Bank was never short of gorgeous women.
But Danny was in a league all her own with her soft oval-shaped face with a slightly wider jaw, her deep-set blue eyes, and her full lips that seemed perpetually turned in a bit of a frown. And all that was framed by long, soft-looking wheat-blonde hair.
If you managed to look past that face, then there was the treat that was her body too.
She had the sort of body that said she hit the gym pretty often, but wasn't going to turn down a slice of a pizza either. She was fit, but curvy in the hips, thigh, ass, and tit departments.
I'd always considered myself a guy who was into feminine women. Ones in those intoxi-fucking-cating sundresses and heels and cut-off tops and short shorts.
But Danny challenged that belief because she had a more tomboyish style. I'd never seen her in anything but jeans—usually black—, an understated tee or long-sleeve tee, a leather cut or leather jacket, and Converse or combat boots. Nothing soft or girly.
But, fuck, was the woman a gut-punch whenever she entered a room.
Until she opened her mouth at least.
Because after she did that, I was pretty sure I wanted to pummel her, not fuck her.
Then again, though, those wires were a little crossed if I were being completely honest. The attraction and hatred could often go hand-in-hand in a way that made no fucking sense to me at all.
This was the woman who'd had my father snatched off the street, strung up, and tortured. And while we were distracted by trying to find him and take him home, she stole our business out from under us.
Sure, we got a lot of it back, but that wasn't the point.
The point was that the woman had made herself an enemy of the club.
So there was nothing to be attracted to.
But there was no denying that my gaze slipped in her direction more than a handful of times after she arrived. She'd grabbed herself a hightop table for two. And promptly ignored any man who moved in at her side to talk to her. Not even shooed them away. Just straight-up pretended they didn't exist. And when one idiot decided to invade her space and try to pull out the chair across from her, she casually kicked up her heels on it, then shot the fucker a look so scathing that I felt the impact of it from across the room.
She engaged no one but the bartender who switched her from what looked like straight vodka to beer. She didn't even seem to look at anyone, staring instead at the back wall or the TV that was playing old fights.
Most people came to bars for two reasons. To hang out with buddies. Or to meet someone to take home and fuck.
So what was Danny's reason for being at Chaz's if she clearly had no interest in either?
"You fucking her?" Slash asked, snapping me out of my useless thoughts, making me feel immediately guilty.
"Her? No. Fuck no."
"Then can I?" he asked, shooting me a dark smirk.
"No. Absolutely not."
"She doesn't look like the type to spook easily," he said, making me realize he knew exactly what Dezi was talking about with his scars scaring off chicks.
"Yeah, well, she's also the type to kidnap and torture MC presidents."
"No shit? That's her?" he asked, a brow raising. "And no one thought to mention how hot she is? You all said female biker president, and I pictured a middle-aged woman with a bad dye job and nicotine-stained teeth."
"Nope. That's Danny."
"I mean, if you want to get some information out of her, I'd take one for the team," he offered with a smirk. "Or, rather, let her take one for the team."
"She's off-limits," I said, tone brooking no argument, even if most of the guys had agreed with Dezi a while back when he suggested the idea of a honeytrap.
"Alright. Shame, but alright," he said, shrugging.
"How are your men doing on their trip? They almost here?"
To that, Slash let out a snorting laugh. "Fucking Sway insisted on stopping for a night in each state along the way. He's on some mission to bag a woman in each state. But Crow is keeping him mostly on track. They should roll in sometime tomorrow night."
"Sounds like you have a Dezi of your own," I said, waving over toward where the man in question had his arms around two women while chatting up a third. The fucker would likely be able to get in all of their pants, too, despite them being friends.
"We all love pussy, but Sway takes it to a whole different level. Followed his dick into the arms of a cartel member's wife once. Bloody mess, that was," he said, absentmindedly rubbing his upper arm where I'd caught sight of an old, puckered bullet wound scar. Likely one he'd gotten from Sway's mix-up.