“Hudson.” Rigor gave him a sharp hug and a slap on the back. “Good to see you, man.”
Hudson chuckled. “You too. Let’s hope we can make some cash out of these Mexicans, huh.”
“Fucking long way to come for nothing.”
“Ah, there’s always something. Starting with a drink. Come on, this way.” Hudson set his attention on Belle. “You’re the only chick, right?”
“Yeah, this is my sister Belle. She’s fluent in Spanish,” Rigor said.
Hudson nodded approvingly.
“And obviously as trustworthy as they come,” Rigor added.
“Useful.” Hudson smiled and scratched his nose, which had clearly been broken several times. He had three dark crucifixes tattooed on the side his wide neck. “Thanks for making the journey, Belle.”
“It’s nothing.” Belle shrugged. “Where am I sleeping?”
“Up there.” Hudson pointed at a two-story building with several doors on both levels and a skinny upper walkway. “Second from the right. Should have everything you need, and food, just hit Nina up. Behind the workshop.”
“Thanks.”
“You can use Carter’s room. It’s just next door,” Hudson said to Rigor. “He’ll sleep on his ma’s couch. The rest of your guys will be okay at Nina’s, right?”
“Yeah, they’ve got bed rolls and sleep sacks.”
To Belle’s right, a black van with dark windows was raised on a jack. A pair of long, lean leather-clad legs stuck out from it, complete with big black boots tied with neon yellow laces.
“Let’s drink before your throat goes up like a damn wildfire.” Hudson clasped Rigor’s shoulder and steered him toward Nina’s.
Belle blew another bubble, still looking down at shiny leather hugging strong thigh muscles.
Suddenly, the Barbarian beneath the van whizzed out. Groin, then a flat abdomen with a line of dark hair navel to waistband, chest exposed by an open cut, and hands greased with oil.
“Hey,” he said, looking up and squinting in the setting sunlight.
Belle said nothing.
He raised a heavily tattooed arm and touched his head, feeling through his thick black hair. He frowned as if concentrating.
“What you doin’?” she asked.
He had a nice face, ruggedly handsome, not a hint of vanity or preening, but with a softness that was rare for a club brother.
“I’m trying to find the bump … where I hit my head.”
“When’d you hit your head?” She shifted from one foot to the other.
“That’s the problem. I can’t remember, but I must have.” He gave a wide grin, and his gaze trailed from her face, down to her feet, and back up again. “’Cause I’ve got this vision standing over me. Some kind of goddess with legs made for wrapping around my waist and with the face of an angel.”
Belle laughed. “Seriously?”
“Fuck yeah, seriously.” He scooted out farther then stood, swiping his hands together. He was half a head taller than her. “Are you real?”
“You need to work on your lines.”
“I thought that one was pretty original.” His bangs hung around his eyes. “But then it’s clear you are … original, that is.”
“What I am is dog-tired.” She turned and grabbed her bag from Rigor’s bike box. “So say goodbye to your vision.”