Riding Him (Ghost Riders MC #5)(11)

“There’s just one problem with the camping gear.”

“What?”

I turn back to her and blatantly look down at her tits pushing against the tank she’s wearing. I lick my lips and then look back to the road. “Only brought one blanket. Guess I’ll have to keep you warm,” I tease her. It’s just my nature. It’s how I am. I’ve always been the lighthearted one. Cas and I can go back and forth for hours doing it. Hell, it’s how we spent many nights when all she had was me in her ear while she was high in the hills waiting for her shot or go call for hours. It helped. Sometimes laughter is all you can go to when death is beating at all the doors around you.

“That’s fine with me. I’m used to sleeping with dogs,” she says, and I clench my jaw.

Thinking about her being with someone else makes anger flood my veins, and having her call me a dog is just as bad. I’ve not so much as given any woman a second glance since I saw her. How can she possibly think I’m a dog? I know there are rumors about me, but that’s all bullshit. It still stings she believes that shit. How can she not see that she’s all I look at?

I grip the steering wheel with both hands and try to concentrate on the drive instead of pulling over and demanding things I know I won’t get from her. I want to shatter that wall she’s got around her. See who’s really standing there when the damn thing crumbles.





6





Violet





He’s cocky, he thinks he knows everything, thinks I’m not good enough for the club. He’s too muscled, he’s too tattooed, and his beard is too…too beardy. I tell myself all these things to try to push back what he makes me feel. Being in the vehicle with him isn’t helping. His masculine scent keeps filling my lungs and warming me in places it shouldn’t be.

I stand beside the SUV as he unpacks the camping gear and sets up the tent, if you could even call it that. It looks big enough for one person, and the blanket he mentioned is even smaller. I did bring a jacket, so I guess I’ll be sleeping in it tonight, trying not to freeze my ass off. It’s warm in Kansas City, but at this altitude in the Colorado mountains, it’s going to get cold tonight.

I agreed with Scribe it’s best to stay off the map as much as possible. He even had me pull my phone apart so we couldn’t be tracked. He did the same with his own and opened a burner. No one should know we’re here.

We got here just before dark and made camp. We’re about an hour from where the Five Aces are having their party, if you take the windy road down the mountain, but I’ve got a clear shot of what’s going down from where we are.

Scribe found the best site possible for us to set up, only we can’t have a fire. We don’t want to attract any attention, so we’re going black for the night. The sun slowly slips behind the mountain, taking the light with it. At dawn I’ll get in the spot I’ve got picked out while Scribe gets closer and tells me what I need to know. He’ll be my ears on the ground, and I’ve got to trust him. The only thing I’m not trusting right now is my body. I’m starting to feel like it’s not mine. It’s also not helping that every time I try to cut him down he just smiles and keeps on flirting with me. Which I equally hate and love. Hate it because each time he tries again, I fall a little more for him. And I love that he isn’t giving up. Almost like he’s fighting for me, even if I don’t want him to. He’s trying to get close to me.

With most men, when you cut them down and give them a no, they either walk away or turn into an utter ass, further proving my point about why I said no to begin with. Not him though. He just goes at it again, and usually with a smile on his face. Until I’d made that dog comment. That one seemed to hit deep for him.

“We may be here a couple of nights,” Scribe says, pulling my attention away from his ass.

He’s got on loose jeans that hang low on his hips, and his tight T-shirt has ridden up on one side. It exposes the tattoos at his waist and the dip on his hipbone that leads to what I can only assume is a child’s size bat in his pants. I knew when my knee made contact that there was a lot going on down there. It would be a shame for ovaries everywhere to deny that man his baby-making duty to the world, but I can’t help but smile at the memory. I quickly wipe it away. I don’t ogle men. Haven’t in forever. Not since… I push that memory away. That’s the second time in 24 hours I’ve thought about that night.

Oddly it wasn't the killing that sat with me for so long, it was the fact that you’re not always safe when you think you are. I’m small, and I learned it’s easy for me to be overpowered by a man. I’ve learned to keep most at a distance. But right now all I can think about is having him against me.

“I love camping,” I say, shrugging. What am I supposed to say? Oh no, please don’t press your sex-god body against me and dry hump me into oblivion while I pretend to sleep. Instead I just lean back against the SUV and wait, trying to play it cool. I seem to be getting really good at it when it comes to him.

We stopped for supplies a few towns back, just to be sure we didn’t run into anyone we know. I got the essentials—water, food, chocolate—while Scribe loaded up with Slim Jims and Doritos. I don’t know where all that junk goes, but it goes to all the right places.