Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(30)
That would soon change…
“I have it on good authority that your niece is traveling this way,” Qasim said conversationally, examining his fingernails. “She’s riding with a group of bikers.” Something flashed in Theodore’s good eye and Qasim cocked his head. “Friends of yours?” The old man refused to make so much as a peep behind his gag. “Ah.” He nodded, smiling appreciatively. “That is perfect. A few more bargaining chips to add to my pile…”
Chapter Seven
Highway 57, 10 miles outside Cairo, Illinois
Five hours later…
Mac had spent the entire ride staring at Delilah’s ass…
Not that he was overly partial to Delilah or anything—he wasn’t, by God! Well, at least not any more than any sighted, red-blooded, heterosexual male would be—but he was overly partial to asses. And Delilah’s ass, jiggling slightly against the hand-tooled leather seat of Big Red…not to mention the fact that her T-shirt and biker jacket occasionally rode up to reveal the tramp stamp on her lower back—two colorful doves holding a pink ribbon between their beaks with her deceased parents’ names inked onto it—and holy shit fire! It was a sight to see, to say the least…
Little Mac had been at full attention for most of the journey, and for anyone who’s ever tried to ride a motorcycle with a massive chubby, saying it was painful was belittling the definition of sheer agony. Of course, his own physical discomfort was eclipsed by a sharp spike of…some emotion—it wasn’t jealously, but it was a mean-eyed cousin thereof—when they exited the highway, stopped at a lonely streetlight, and Ozzie pulled up beside him and murmured loud enough to be heard over their grumbling engines, but not loud enough to reach Delilah’s ears, “Damn! That woman sure has a sweet dumper, doesn’t she? I’m going to ask her to marry me!”
Oh, for the love of—
Mac couldn’t very well tell Ozzie to shove his sweet dumper comment—I mean, come on, now. Dumper?—down his throat without alerting the guy to his…not-jealousy…unjealousy?…so he did the next best thing. He laughed and shook his helmeted head. “I think you’ve already asked her a dozen times, and I think she’s already turned you down each and every one.”
“Yeah.” Ozzie shrugged laconically. “But that was before I rode to her uncle’s rescue—quite literally. Now I’m going to the big, strapping hero. And, as far as I can figure, that’s pretty much catnip to the feline-esque female of the species.”
As much as Mac wanted to brush off Ozzie’s comment as a bunch of bull, he had to admit the sentiment actually held some merit. Not only was Ozzie handsome in the way of most movie stars—even with his mad scientist mop of blond hair—but the guy was also smart and charming and…fun. Delilah was fun. Ozzie was fun. Mac was…not-fun…unfun? So, yessir, maybe Ozzie was right. Maybe his riding to her uncle’s rescue would be just what Delilah needed to nudge her over the line from no way in hell, Ozzie to sure, Ozzie, let’s give it a go.
Unbidden, the image of Delilah arching beneath BKI’s tech wizard flashed in front of his eyes. Immediately, his ears began to burn and red edged into his vision. But he wasn’t jealous. Hell, no. He was just…something. Something that wasn’t jealous.
And instead of going with his first instinct, which was to tell Ozzie to just keep on dreaming when it came to Delilah finally saying yes to one of his myriad proposals, Mac went with, “Yeah, dude. You might be right. This little huntin’ expedition might be just the thing to turn her no into a yes.”
Ozzie flipped up the visor on his helmet, gaping at Mac in the dim red glow cast by the overhead stoplight.
“What’s that look for?” Mac demanded.
“I just figured,” Ozzie lifted a shoulder, “you know, given all the not-so-subtle sexual tension between you two, that you’d be a little less apt to toss her happily my way.”
“Hey,” Mac lifted one hand from his handlebars, making a dismissive gesture, “I don’t have, nor do I want any sort of claim over That Woman. The field is free and clear, my man. I say, go all Pat Benatar on her and hit her with your best shot.”
Ozzie’s chin jerked back as if Mac’d gifted him with a pop to the jaw instead of a magnanimous piece of advice.
“Okay, not that I don’t appreciate the ’80s music reference, dude, because, seriously? Pat Benatar? High five for that one. But if you don’t mind me saying, I think you’re completely full of shit.”
Why does everyone keep sayin’ that? First Zoelner, now Ozzie?
Mac opened his mouth to refute the guy’s claim, but, thank the sweet Lord, the light flicked from red to green. Twisting his wrist, Siren’s big engine growled appreciatively at the influx of high-octane fuel, and he motored out into the intersection, following behind Delilah and her luscious, world-class ass.
He wondered idly how all his teammates could be so wrong when it came to the relationship…non-relationship…unrelationship?…he had with Delilah. The Black Knights were usually a pretty astute group, constant ribbing and one-upmanship aside. But, he was sad to say, they were dead-eye wrong when it came to this…
***
Outside Charles Sander’s House
Ozzie wasn’t kidding when he called this place a ghost town…