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“I’ll protect myself and those I care for at any cost,” I said. “And back to what I said earlier. Don’t fuck with kids, the elderly, or animals or I’ll probably show up at your door.”
“That’s admirable,” she said.
“What? That I don’t like people who take advantage of those incapable of protecting themselves?”
She smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
“When I was in school.” I clenched both of my fists and raised them to my chin. “I beat the absolute shit out of kids who took advantage of other kids. You know, the kids who called others names and shit? I ran ‘em down and pounded their fuckin’ asses.”
“You bullied bullies?”
“God damned right.”
She laughed. “I like that.”
“Joined the military for the same reason. I was capable of standing up for what others might not have been able to, so I did. I stood up and tried to make a difference.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Did you make a difference?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Sore subject. Next Question.”
Her lips were full, her skin was without a single blemish, and her hair hung from her head like strands of brown fucking silk. Her eyes were brown, but not like any others I’d seen. They were translucent gold with little brown flecks, making them unique – at least to me. Watching them as she formulated each question was driving me insane.
“What are the differences between a riding club and an outlaw MC?”
I stared back at her. “You’re gonna write a story about my club, and you don’t know the fuckin’ difference?”
“I do know. I want you to tell me.”
“Fuck that,” I growled. “You tell me your interpretation first.”
After raking her fingers through her hair, she rubbed her palms together and grinned. “A riding club follows the guidelines of the American Motorcycle Association, and many are sanctioned by the AMA. Outlaw clubs don’t and aren’t.”
I laughed. “Read that on the internet? AMA’s website?”
She shook her head. “No.”
She crossed one of her perfectly tanned legs over the other and then met my gaze. Slowly, I felt my cock began to stiffen.
“So, in your own words. What are the differences?” she asked.
I was done answering stupid questions about bullshit she wasn’t going to use in her publication. So far, her questions were nothing more than a half-assed attempt on her part to get to know more about me. If she wanted to know who I was, showing her would be a hell of a lot easier.
It’d save us both a lot of agony in the long run.
“I’m done with this question and answer bullshit.” I slid off the edge of the workbench and turned to face her.
“I’m nowhere near finished,” she complained. “We’re just getting started. I’ll need several hours of interviews for a story.”
“I wanna fuck,” I said flatly.
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?” Her expression was equal parts excitement and shock.
“All these questions are getting’ under my skin. Let’s fuck.”
