The next day…
Shedding my shirt, Iuse it to wipe the sweat from my brow. The sleeves are ripped off, but it’s no match for this Texas heat. Beads of perspiration run down my chest, and I quickly swipe over them too. South Carolina’s hot, too, but it’s a dfferent kind of heat, more humid than Texas. Here, I feel like my nuts are going to melt off.
“What the fuck could it be?” Nightmare hisses angrily, staring at his ride.
He has his bike partially taken apart; random pieces are strewn about in the motel’s parking lot. I saw him get pissed and kick the old wooden picnic table outside, so figured he could use some help. We’ve been out here for a while and have gotten everything back together where it’s supposed to be, but he’s still irritated. I would be too if my shit weren't running right.
Letting out a deep breath, I pat the back of my neck with my shirt and then tuck a piece of the material into my jeans pocket, thinking about what the issue could be. “We’ve been over everything. The only issue I can think of at this point is if the gas had something in it. You filled up at that ghetto petrol station a ways out, and we all skipped it to eat. I’d clean out your tank with some fresh gas and hope that does it.”
“If that weasel’s selling fucked up gas and screwed my bike up, I’m going back and torching that fucking station.”
Ruger steps out of his room, wiping down his piece with a cloth, right in the open. “’Sup.” He chin lifts, and we return the gesture.
“Brother,” Nightmare acknowledges.
“Talkin’ about torching another place?” he asks, and I chuckle, remembering how much fun we had blowing up the last building.
Night shrugs. “If the fuck down the road sold me shoddy gas, I’m burning that shit hole to the ground.”
“I’m down,” Ruger replies.
“Yep, me too.” I nod. If the owner has insurance on the place, we’d most likely be doing him a favor anyhow. It’d be good if Nightmare had a few of us watching his back as well.
“Has Scot mentioned a new job yet?” Ruger asks, and I turn toward Nightmare, curious as well.
I’m a bit surprised we’ve been stationary for this long considering we didn’t get paid for helping out the Oath Keepers with their California problem. I’m not hurting for money; I don’t use much out on the road, but some of these guys blow through it like they have an endless supply.
“Nope, he hasn’t said anything.”
“Surely one of the Chapters needs more weapons; we haven’t taken shit up to Montana in almost six months,” he mumbles, but brings up a good point.
“He has a point.” I cock my eyebrow at Nightmare, and he shrugs.
“I think Scot has a thing for the bartender,” he confesses after we stare at him for a moment.
“You fuckin’ with me? That bitch has been ran through so many times; she probably couldn’t keep a dick in her twat if she tried to.”
They both laugh as a car passes by on the old highway that runs between the motel and bar, gaining our attention.
“Goddamn!” Ruger gushes as the driver and passenger drive by slow enough for me to realize it’s Cinderella.
Once it registers, I let loose a loud wolf whistle, trying to get them to stop.
Nightmare’s lip raises a touch in his ‘I don’t ever fucking smile’ sort of way, ‘but this is the look you’ll get when I’m amused.’
Ruger grins. “I could stick around for some chicks like that.”
My temper ignites almost immediately, wanting me to teach his mouth how to stay shut when it comes to her, but I fight myself inside to hold back. Taking a few deep breaths, I begin to feel like my normal self again when a car turns into the gravel drive of the motel. It’s not just any car, though; it’shercar.
Ruger puts on a cheesy smile, strolling toward the passenger side that’s closest to us. The girls have the windows rolled down and music blaring, but it gets quieter as they come to a stop directly in front of us.
Cinderella’s gaze is trained on my naked torso while her friend is busy looking at Nightmare like she wants to eat him alive. I don’t think she even really notices Ruger in front of her. She should, though, because Nightmare would easily break her.
Taking quick strides, I round the car to the driver side before Ruger notices that Cinderella’s a twenty when her friend’s barely a nine. He even thinks of touching her; I’ll wire his mouth shut after I break it. Brother or not, I feel almost feral when it comes to her. I have no fucking clue why, but I’m damn sure going to find out.
She licks her lips, and my pants grow tighter at the sight of her tongue. She doesn’t look like last night. She looks even better now—hair windblown, crystal blue eyes sparkling, wearing a little bikini top with short-shorts and flip-flops.
The savage inside me pounds his chest once I get a chance to take her in. I want to pull her out the car window, throw her over my shoulder and carry her straight to my room. I know that’s not logical thinking, but fuck if I can’t stop imagining it.