She throws her arms up and huffs. “Men won’t take me seriously, especially when it comes to cars. They’ll see this mark and then look for a man, instead of taking me seriously.”
“Then they’ll find me right next to you, and I’ll tell them you run The Pit.”
“You don’t understand, Mercenary. I don’t want them to look for a man at all. They should see me in charge.”
“Excuse me? Too fucking bad, because I’ll be there and if any of them disrespect you, I’ll knock their fucking teeth out.”
“Some woman may fall at your feet hearing you proclaim that Tarzan crap, but I can take care of myself. I happen to enjoy doing the knocking out with my own two fists.”
“Fucking shit, you’re a pain in the ass.”
She climbs out of bed and searches out her shorts and one of my shirts.
“What are you doing?”
“Going home.” Chevelle sulks acting every bit of the flustered woman she was just claiming she isn’t. She busily pulls her clothes on and covers up that beautiful body that I was lucky enough to get very acquainted with last night.
I jump out of bed and pull on a clean pair of jeans, garnering her attention.
“What are you doing?”
“Going with you.” I shrug, gearing myself up for an argument. She’ll no doubt have something to say especially right after I put a dark purple, huge hickey on her throat.
“Uh, no...” Chevelle trails off and shakes her head. She continues searching under random objects for her other shoe.
“You’re not going back there alone. We don’t know if there are Iron Fists waiting for you to return, and my bike’s still there. We came in your car, remember?”
She sighs. “Fine, but we’re stopping to get breakfast on the way, and since you want to be all manly, you’re buying,” she grumbles, and I yank on my shirt.
“Hard deal, but I think I can manage being forced to eat and pay.” I tug on my boots, ignoring what I’m sure is an eye-roll directed my way.
We ended up going back to the taco shack to pick up breakfast burritos and thankfully the dumbass from yesterday wasn’t working again. I don’t think I could’ve handled seeing him eye my woman right after I’ve claimed her. I’d probably break his frail little beta male neck.
“Does it bother you that I don’t cook?” Chevelle peers at me curiously. We’re in the middle of eating after doing a search of The Pit. It was all clear, so now I’m enjoying nearly cold eggs, bacon, and cheese wrapped in a freshly made tortilla.
I shake my head. “Nah, why would I give a shit if you can cook?”
“Because I’m a woman.” Her gaze flicks to the ground, and it has my own curiosity flickering to life. Is she actually nervous about what I think and over something so insignificant?
“That’s pretty damn sexist,” I mutter around my mouthful.
“I know, but most of the men I’ve come across tend to think something’s wrong with me.”
I swallow. “Well, for one, I’m not most men. And for another thing, they’re fucking stupid. I’m used to eating out or my own cooking. I don’t give a fuck if it’s got to stay that way either. If I get too hungry, I could always just feast on your pussy.”
She bites her bottom lip, her neck flushing at my suggestion and her gaze grows thoughtful. “What’s your story, cupcake?”
I nearly choke on the new bite I’ve taken. “Uh, what?” It’s so out of the blue that my mind spins over her question.
“What happened to make you decide to become a hard-ass biker? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re nothing like I’d expected when you first came to The Pit.”
I swallow and offer her a smile. “Believe it or not, nothing.”
“I’m not buying it,” she admits, biting off her own mouthful of burrito.
“You don’t have to, but it’s true. I grew up with both of my parents, they’re good people. I had a fun childhood, well, besides normal hormones and teenage shit. My family had enough money to get by, and I have an older brother who’s a doctor.”
“You’re shitting me!” She stares at me, chewing slowly.