Page 54 of Property of Kevlar

If it was me, Kitten, I would’ve stopped.

Dots blinked, indicating she had typed something.

They went away.

Came back.

Disappeared again.

His smile grew wider. Either she wrote him a novel, or she was second-guessing her next message. Which he found absolutely adorable.

So, you’re not stalking me?

She definitely tried several responses before settling on this one. He liked it. The frowny face at the end made him chuckle.

He wouldn’t call what he did stalking. Watching over was far more accurate. But he’d never confirm nor deny. Kevlar knew better than to admit to things in writing.

Miss me?

He had nothing on the agenda tonight except meeting up with Kid, Torch, and Lionel at the Knucklehead. He could make some time to swing by her place afterward. His bike was familiar with the route.

What woman wouldn’t miss her own personal security guard?

“Hey!” Remi snapped her fingers and drew his attention away from flirting on his phone.

His sister stood beside him, glaring with her hands on her hips.

What was her problem?

He helped her—for free.

Sure. He and Kid were back on the payroll, but they wouldn’t receive a dime of the money that would be in the records. The arrangement was purely for tax purposes—to keep the federal government from breathing down their necks. They were able-bodied men, which meant they needed employment.

“Either you work or you don’t. You can’t stand around here watching porn on your phone,” Remi reprimanded as she rolled her eyes.

She had a point. Kevlar told her he’d do jobs for her, so he nodded and returned his phone to his pocket.

After one more pointed look, his sister walked away. She had a hell of a lot of balls on her. No one on this planet could give him as much attitude as Remi. They wouldn’t even be able to get the snark out before he put a bullet in them.

She was different. Blood relative and all that.

His sister got special privileges. Not to mention, she chose her battles wisely. Remi would never talk to him like that in public. Raised in a biker household, she knew the rules and the consequences for breaking them. She got some leeway, but not free rein.

She showed him respect. The least he could do was return it and not flirt with Kelsey on his phone when he was supposed to be doing an oil change. Reaching for the box of gloves, he stuck his naked hand into a new one and went back to the job.

With a renewed pep in his step, he whistled as he went about reaffixing the filter to the car. He had something to look forward to this evening. Not that having beers with his growing club wasn’t fun, but getting laid was better.

The only thing that would make the evening perfect would be if they found a few more recruits to grow their membership. Screening potential prospects was a delicate process. It shouldn’t be rushed. Not everyone was cut out for the life of a one-percenter. He’d rather have low numbers than shitty brothers he couldn’t trust. If his father had followed that mantra, he’d still be around today.

Which was exactly why he shouldn’t get distracted by women. There were plenty at the Knucklehead who noticed his cut. Patch whores were a dime a dozen. If he were getting laid on the regular, he wouldn’t be tempted by random snatch.

Still, hitting up Kelsey occasionally wouldn’t be a bad idea. She was willing and fucking able. This was a win-win. As long as she didn’t catch feelings, he could totally keep tapping her fine ass.

30

Kelsey

TwoWeeks Later