Page 26 of Property of Kevlar

“Wait.” His fingers curled around her arm, jerking her back toward him.

“Let me go,” she growled, glaring down at his offensive touch.

She had enough of him grabbing her without her permission.

“Come on,” he pleaded, without releasing her, though his grip loosened. “Don’t be like that.”

She glanced around the parking lot. While plenty of cars were about, apparently the people who owned them were busy elsewhere. She would have to handle this alone.

Meeting his gaze, she narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to say it again.”

With a sigh, he released her. “We should talk.”

She scoffed. “About what?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Pretty sure I was clear last night.”

Pete placed his hands on his hips. “Things got out of hand. We both did stuff we shouldn’t have.”

Kelsey couldn’t help but laugh at his absurdity.

He reached for her again, and she immediately stepped back. She wanted no part of his hands on her. Once had been more than enough.

A loud rumble drew their attention. Pete’s gaze flicked behind her, and she turned. A pair of Harley-Davidsons pulled into the lot, and Kelsey’s heart fluttered for a completely different reason.

On a steel horse, her knight in worn leather had arrived.

How had he known?

Pete growled as Kev pulled his bike into a spot.

“My ride is here,” Kelsey lied confidently.

With an extra sashay in her step, she swiveled her hips as she sauntered toward Kev and his friend, who had cut the engines of their bikes. Kev’s focus wasn’t on her or Pete yet; he seemed intent on surveying his surroundings.

Was he aware she was there? Had he noticed the pickle she was in? She was about to make damn sure he did.

“Kelsey,” Pete called after her.

The heavy clomps of his footsteps followed her.

She quickened her pace as Kev and his companion turned in their direction.

Please save me again, she pleaded silently, hoping he could read her mind.

14

Kevlar

Laundry Land, the laundromat that housed a casino in the basement, was the base of operations for the Dixie Mafia. It lived within a strip mall, nestled between a beauty salon and a coffee shop that, if memory served him correctly, served the best pastries in Oklahoma City. He could go for a croissant.

“Kelsey,” an annoyed, gruff voice sounded to his left, and instinctively he turned toward it.

There she was, wearing jeans that hugged every one of her generous curves and a black T-shirt with a deep V, displaying her ample cleavage. Her outfit wasn’t anything fancy, merely a run-of-the-mill ensemble, but holy hell, did it look good on her. His mouth watered, and his dick sprang to attention.

Unfortunately, behind her was a pissed-off Scorpion.

His eye twitched.

As she approached, with a hint of fear in her crystal-blue eyes, he lifted his arm. “Kitten,” he greeted as she nestled into the sanctuary he offered.