Page 28 of Bleed Me

Dagger’s one blue eye studied me as he waited.

My blood ran cold. “You’re the one who vouched for me?”

His nod was slow, steady, and cautious.

Determined to be heard, I turned to my President. “If I ever fuck him over, I won’t have meant to. Please, let me carry my own weight and take any punishment deserved.”

“Ain’t how it works, kid.”

“But-But… I’m screwed up,” I tapped my temple, “here.”

He blew me off. “There’s not one man or woman here who ain’t.” He gestured to Justice, now about twenty feet ahead of me. “Now, get gone.”

Frustrated, because I wasn’t sure Prez understood how serious I was and because I didn’t trust myself for shit, I left the men to catch up with the Road Captain, believing they were dumb as fuck to leave me alone with a woman. When my eyes locked onto her ass that was owning those tight jeans she had kickin’, I was even more convinced this was a mistake. But what does a seventeen-year-old know?

Barely. Shit.

Not a word was spoken as we walked across the back field to a standalone warehouse, but I noticed a tattoo at the bottom of her neck. It read one simple word: found. She opened the door and went inside. When I didn’t follow, her head peeked back out. “Problem?”

I looked back to the courtyard where bikers should’ve still been carefully watching me, but weren’t. I exhaled, then pointed to what waited behind her. “Anyone else in there?”

“My gun. Do I need anything else?”

I wasn’t sure. I had myself built up in my head to be the worst of the worse. “Will you use it?”

A dark manicured brow lifted. “Want me to shoot you in the foot to prove it?”

That had me cracking a smile and walking past her. “Nah. I’m good.” If any female was going to be able to handle me, it was her.

Inside, only daylight slipping through the open door lit the room until she flicked on some lights hanging from the ceiling. Free weights and benches took up part of the wide-open space. There were no mirrors, like in some gyms. This was far more barn-like, rustic, with concrete slab for flooring and some rusty folding chairs. A few shelves with folded white towels were the only sign of ‘bunnies’ having been there. This was clearly a place for bikers only.

In the far left-hand corner, there was a ragged boxing ring. To the right were a few hanging red boxing bags. In the middle of the two was a hallway that led into what looked like a huge locker room, light green tile on the flooring, from what I could see.

Justice was headed to the bags, so I followed. From some shelving along the wall, she grabbed a roll of white gauze and tape. “Take off your shirt.”

My face scrunched. “Why?”

Smirking her red lips. “Paranoid much?” She held up the tape. “This is for your hands.” She lifted her chin, gesturing to my body. “Trying to save your clean shirt.”

The thought of taking off my shirt had me thinking of Delilah. Had I been fully naked when I—

“Prospect.”

I blinked. “Yeah?”

“We got another problem?”

“Honestly? Not a clue.”

Her grey eyes were like looking through fancy windows on a church. The kind of windows that had designs of color and deep meanings. Those eyes made me want to go to church and be caressed with scripture for the very first time in my life.

Long dark eyelashes pointed down as she concentrated on the gauze in her hands while walking toward me. “Have you ever heard of a nervous dog?”

I swallowed as she got closer. I was truly afraid that I would turn into the part of me that even had Diesel edgy. “No.”

When the tips of her biker boots touched the tips of my sneakers, I glanced down to see her shoes were clean. Mine were with drips of blood. My own.

She took hold of my right hand and examined it. “Damn. What did you already punch?”