Her Older Biker - Page 6

“Run this back to the kitchen, will you Mom?” he asks. His eyes stay fastened to mine. It feels good—so good—to be noticed like this. Cared for. Without another word, he plunks a cold glass of soda in front of me. The ice clinks in the glass as it hits the countertop, and little drops of condensation roll down the side.

The burger is delicious. Hot and greasy, with gooey cheese and perfectly cooked onions. I groan with pleasure at the taste as Caroline laughs and sits on the stool next to mine to tuck into her own burger.

“He likes you a lot,” she says. She wipes her mouth and takes a small sip of dark, foamy beer. “Honestly, I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

“Like what?” I ask. I stab at a few lettuce leaves with my fork, trying to appear neutral.

Caroline raises an eyebrow. “Brought you into his house, insists on feeding you dinner—he’s not the warm and fuzzy type with most people, but he’s really laying it on thick for you.”

I glance over at Warden, who stands in the corner of the room, talking to two other huge, brawny bikers. He turns his head and meets my gaze with his, and I feel my face warm.

“He’s just a nice guy,” I mumble, and swallow my soda. “That’s all.”

She rolls her eyes. “He’s notthatnice. He’s a good person, but prickly as hell. I’ve been his mother for thirty-six years, and I know how he is—he plays around with the sweet butts who hang around this place, but you’re the only woman he’s ever locked in on like this. I’m telling you. Helikesyou.”

On my other side, a skinny guy slides into the stool and leans in close.

“Hey, baby,” he says, flashing an orthodontist-perfect grin. A canvas vest hangs loosely off his lean shoulders, with a patch that reads PROSPECT on the breast. “You new around here? Looking for somebody to party with?”

“I don’t think so,” I say cautiously. “I’m just here for work.”

Without asking me, he slides an arm around my shoulders and leans in close. The unwanted touch feels oily and invasive, and I’m about to shrug him off when a huge hand clamps over his shoulders and yanks him off the stool. He topples to the ground in a heap. I spin around to see what happened.

Warden. His face is stony with anger, but softens when he glances up at me. He steps closer and drapes his warm, heavy arm around me. It feels comforting and secure, and I immediately relax after the uninvited invasion from the prospect.

“Fuck off, prospect,” Warden says. His deep voice is edged with fury. “I’ll let you have this one mistake, but that’s it. Do not touch any woman in this bar without her permission first, especially not this one. Emma is my property, got it?”

By the time he gets to the word property, the bar is silent.Everyonehears it. My head spins as the prospect scrambles to his feet, stammering his apologies.

Property?

I don’t belong to anyone. I spent my teenage years in the foster system, unwanted and forgotten, and maybe I have a lot of work to do on myself after that, but I amno one’sproperty.

But before I can push Warden away and demand that he explain himself, he drops a kiss against my temple and walks away without another word, heavy boots clicking against the wood floor.

“What thefuckdoes that mean,” I seethe, turning to Caroline. “Property?”

But Caroline just laughs, slapping her hand against the bar. “That prospect probably has to change his shorts now,” she gasps between howls of laughter. “God, he was so scared.”

“Did I miss something?” I demand furiously.

Caroline sighs, still smiling broadly. “When a biker claims a woman as his property, it’s not about ownership—he’s declaring that you’re off-limits to the rest of the club because he wants you. If anything, you ownhim, I guess.”

“So it’s…” I consider my words carefully. “Belonging?”

Caroline nods. “Yeah. Belonging.”

That’s a lot different, I think. I haven’tbelongedwith anyone in years, and I find that the idea sits a lot better than being owned.

But still—it’s intimidating. Trusting someone with my whole self. My trauma. My heart. I’m only eighteen, and Warden is so much older—thirty-six, Caroline said. I love his soothing presence, his watchful eye and his gentle kisses, but I’m worried. What if he changes his mind? Or what if I fall so deeply under his spell that I’ll forget myself? Or never have the chance to learn what I could be on my own?

Maybe I need some distance from all of this.

I finish my burger as fast as I can and get to work, running back and forth from the bar and slinging drinks until I’m ready to drop, exchanging as few words as possible with Warden or Caroline. It’s about half past two when I finish wiping the tables. Warden waits for me by the door, and my belly churns as I collect my purse from behind the bar and walk toward him.

“Ready to head home?” he rumbles as he pushes the door open.

I step out into the cool night and pause to face him while he locks the door behind us.