Reckless Temptations (Tempted #4)(67)

Jack laughed, turning around to face us and handed me my patch before looking over his shoulder at Wu.

“I’ll bring the lube,” he sneered. “Let’s go boys,” he ordered.

We followed Jack out, walking backward through the restaurant with our guns held high in case one of these assholes decided to get stupid with us. We were halfway out the door when Wolf decided to send another message, walking back through the shattered door, the crazy fuck shot at the ducks that hung in the front window.

“You’re fucking crazy, you know that?” Pipe asked him.

“Fuck you, the kid said he wanted to go hunting,” he argued, pointing to me. “It just happens to be duck season,” he said as he climbed onto his bike.

“Quack, quack, bitches,” he called over his shoulder.

I loved Wolf, truly loved him.

Shit, that was kind of gay.

“Yo,” Bones called as he revved his engine. “We need to get your ass home and I don’t mean the Dog Pound,” he said, daring me to argue. “Your girl’s worried about you,” he added.

My girl.

“She knows what happened?”

“Nah, but she knows something is up. When we couldn’t get a hold of you I went to the apartment,” he explained, kicking up his kick stand. “Dude, you fuck that up and you’re the dumbest man on the face of the Earth,” he continued.

“You got a thing for my Kitten, Bonesy?”

“Man, every man breathing wants a woman like your Kitten,” he replied, peeling off in front of me.

Yeah, I imagine they did.





Chapter Twenty-Three





I heard the doorknob jiggle and sprang to my feet, hurrying toward the door. It swung open before I could get to it and Riggs stumbled into the apartment.

“Oh, thank God,” I said, rushing to meet him. Instead of over thinking everything like I usually did when it came to him, I did what I felt and wrapped my arms around him.

“Aww, Kitten, I missed you too,” he said, wrapping one arm around my waist. I heard the sharp hiss escape his mouth and I pulled back, gasping as I took in his face.

“Riggs,” I whispered, lifting my fingertips to his bruised cheek.

“It looks worse than it really is,” he offered, kicking the door closed, dragging me against him and turning the dead bolt on the door.

I twisted in his arms and rose on tiptoe to inspect his eyes. They were mostly swollen shut and a butterfly stitch was placed in the corner of his right eye.

“It looks clean,” I commented, cupping his face with my hands and turning his cheek to inspect the other eye. There was blood in the corner of his eye, hinting to a bleed but nothing too severe. I dropped my hands to his shoulders and ran them down his arms. I had never seen him in anything other than jeans—tonight Riggs was wearing a loose pair of black sweats and a gray fitted hoodie, looking less of a biker and more like a laid back trainer. I don’t know where he had the time to workout but he definitely made it his business.

No one ate chocolate pudding and cookies and looked as good as he did.

I wanted to drag the zipper of his hoodie down with my teeth and trace his abs with my tongue.

I bit my lip and rubbed my sweaty palms against my thighs.

“Are you okay?” I asked, hoarsely.

“I’m fine babe,” he assured, taking my hand and walking us toward the couch. He paused and bent down to lift the baseball bat that sat next to the couch. He winced again, sighing heavily in pain, before straightening up and glancing back at me with a smirk.

God, that smirk.

“Practicing your swing?” He teased, sitting down on the couch and pulling me onto his lap.

This was new.

“It’s a precautionary measure,” I insisted.

“Right,” he laughed. “Little Miss Safety,” he quipped, reaching up and pushing my hair over my shoulder. “Sorry I missed batting practice, Kitten,” he said huskily, as his eyes dropped to my lips.

“I know enough to know I’m not supposed to ask questions but…” I wrapped my arms around his neck, “…it’s kind of hard not to ask, looking at you like this,” I said, as I ran my fingers up the back of his neck where the rim of the backward baseball cap rested.

“Lauren,” he protested as I pulled the hat off his head. “Shit,” he ground out.

“What the hell is this?” I demanded, moving the hat out of his reach as he tried to take it back.

“My barber got mad at me,” he tried to cover, offering me his smile, knowing I was a sucker for it. But it wouldn’t work this time. He usually wore a hat but the few times he didn’t—I loved Riggs’ hair. It was the perfect length to run my fingers through, and even though I hadn’t done it all that often, if ever, some asshole with a razor robbed me of the chance.

“I hope you didn’t tip him,” I replied, playing along with my handsome…friend.

I hated that.

More today than yesterday and even more tomorrow.

He leaned back against the couch cushions and lazily stared back at me, watching as I cocked my head to the side to inspect the damage. I noticed the numbers shaved into his hairline and ran my fingertip along the fuzz, tracing the two, then the five and finally the zero.