She’s sitting on her hood by the time I pull up next to her. Shirt back in place, covering the gorgeous exposed flesh that I’d only gotten a brief glance of. Even more fucking beautiful than I’d initially thought. It’s rare in my case that you meet an alpha female that can truly capture your attention. I like them meek and willing usually, but this chick...well, she lights a fire under my ass so hot it burns inside, and we’ve barely even spoken to one another.
Climbing out, I come to stand in front of her. Legs spread shoulder width apart, arms firmly crossed over my chest, brow cocked. I know she has something to say after that show of dominance. That thought has me snorting, wondering what she’d do if I bent her ass over that hood and fucked her until she begged to know my name? Doubt she’s had a man in her life or bed wild enough to stand up to her, but she’ll learn.
“That lap took me one minute, fourteen seconds.”
I don’t ask how she knows, only swallow and remain quiet, because that time is damn good.
“That’s how long you have my attention,” she finishes, and I breathe deeply to keep my temper under control. It’s not often that I’m not the one bending people to my will. I don’t like it, but I need her to hear me out. I’ll take the minute.
“Viking said you have some Iron Fists around here. I want in. He wants me in.”
She scoffs. “I see you know where the gas pedal is in my car. Do you have anything besides that two-wheeled machine you rode in on?”
How does she know I rode my bike? I could’ve driven...maybe because of the vest.
“He said you owe him.”
“He said a lot, apparently. Where is he?”
“With his woman at his club, as he should be. We do his bidding. You damn well know that.”
She smirks again, and I don’t know if it needs to be kissed off her or smacked off at this point. She’s arrogant, more so than even possibly myself. I don’t know how to deal with bitches like this. I prefer it when they crave my touch, wallow in my protection. Clearly, Chevelle doesn’t think she needs either. She’s wrong, however. If the Fists are around, then she needs me here whether she wants to admit it or not.
“Fine.” She breathes the word after a beat. “Keep the Camaro, but listen closely cupcake. You fuck up my car, I’ll bust your goddamn knee caps so badly you’ll never walk straight again. This is my pit. Learn the rules and play by them or get the hell out. Tell your President that my debt is paid. And you get one race, and then you pay entry fees like every other snake in this place.” She slides off the hood, landing on her feet.
Cupcake...she called me a fucking cupcake.
“My name is Mercenary.” It sounds positively feral, more animal than man.
“I heard you the first time,” she smarts off, and before she can blink, I have her hair in my fist, her head wrenched back as I lean in.
Scenting her neck, my hard gaze set intently on hers. “Then you’d be smart to remember it.” I rasp, and she cackles. With a grip on my wrist, she twists, bends, and sends me flying.
My back lands on the packed dirt and rocks knock the breath from lungs. Not often does someone get the beat on me. I’m blinking up at the sky, getting my thoughts together, willing myself not to kill her when her head pops over me. She blocks out the brightness of the industrial size lights, her hair draped around her enough to make out every single feature of her face.
“I wasn’t kidding about busting out your knees. First race is Saturday night. Oh, and cupcake? Keep your hands to yourself, for your own safety.”
I can’t speak. I’m positively livid, and my growl gives it away easily enough. She smiles and then trots off without another word. Climbing to my feet, I glance around, thankful for the small mercy of being alone. I’d have to kill someone if they witnessed what just happened.
Instantly I seek her out, watching as she walks away. Her ass is beyond perfect, her hair nearly touching the juicy globes. Her attitude makes me want to rip someone’s head off. Her smirk makes me want to implant my fist into a wall, and that body, fuck me, do I want to do things to that body.