Riding Him (Ghost Riders MC #5)(3)

I pull up to the main house, which is huge. A few bikes are parked out front, and I recognize one right away. Scribe. I didn’t even see him leave. I thought he was still in the back of the bar.

I pull myself from the truck as Cas pulls up next to me. I follow her in and see only Scribe and Savage sitting in the main area where everyone normally hangs. Savage is sitting on one of the sofas looking every bit of his name, taking up most of the thing with his massive bulk. He has a hard look on his face like he doesn’t really want to be here. Scribe is sitting in one of the stools at the old wooden bar with his computer open next to him.

His eyes come straight to me when he hears us enter. Then he shakes his head. I don’t know how the f*ck he beat us here. I figured he’d still be in the back of the bar with the blonde. I inwardly smirk that his time got cut short because of the meeting being called.

“Don’t start,” Cas barks, a slash of heat behind her words. I guess she knows too that Scribe doesn’t like the idea of my being around.

“She’s not ready.” His eyes run over me. I never seem to get the funny, flirty Scribe everyone talks about. I only ever get distaste. We all know why we’re here. I know they’ve been talking about me coming into the Ghost Riders, and today is the day I find out if I’m in. If I get a shot.

I try not to flinch at his words, keeping my face impassive. I don’t want him thinking he bothers me one bit. He’s just like the boys on the playground when you’re a kid. If they know they get to you, they’ll keep doing it. You just have to ignore them. Or punch them in the face. That trick worked, too. I have a feeling I’ll be doing that one soon.

“You questioning my judgment?” I hear Cas say from behind me as I make my way towards Scribe. His eyes stay on me, giving me a look I can’t quite make out. Good, you should keep looking at me, because I’m the one coming for you.

“She’s going to get herself hurt. Maybe even killed.” His eyes shoot over my shoulder at Cas, then back to me as my feet eat up the distance between us.

“We aren’t going to let anyone near her. She’ll be miles out from danger.” Cas is standing hard behind my being here.

“Doesn’t matter,” I say, sliding up next to him, taking the stool next to his and turning to face him. His musky sweet scent hits me, and I didn’t know a man could smell like both at the same time, but he does. “I don’t need to be miles away. I can handle myself right here,” I tell him, looking him dead in the eyes. “You don’t know me.” My words are flat, brooking no argument. It’s nice to be farther away from your target, but I learned at a younger age that isn’t always the case. Sometimes you have to be close. Sometimes life just gives you the option and you have to learn how to protect yourself in that moment, and I have.

“I know a lot more than you think.” He glances at his computer, then back at me. “In fact, I feel like I know almost everything.” A small smirk plays at his lips, and I wonder if that’s a trace of the flirting I’ve heard so much about. Does he think I’ll turn into some blushing girl in front of him and bat my eyelashes? Not happening. Not for him. Never for a man who doesn’t think I belong. I may not know shit about men in this area, but I know how the men in my life treat their women, and I want that.

“That so?” I scoot a little closer to him, wanting him to know I don’t care what he thinks. That he has no effect on me, even if that’s a total lie. I want him to know that I’m here and I’ll be all up in his f*cking space and this place whether he likes it or not. “Just because you went through my life with your computer doesn’t mean you know shit.”

“I beg to differ.” He leans a little in himself. “You finished college in under three years, spending hours up late writing your papers and studying, that when you can’t sleep you read Harry Potter, and you like to scroll JJ Watt’s Twitter a little too much.” He says the last part with gritted teeth. “You’re too young to be here.”

All the things he said are true, except the part about me being too young, but that’s unimportant. These are things he shouldn’t be looking at. My personal f*cking business. Has nothing to do with this club. I get they need to know shit about me, but that is just a little too intimate. He doesn’t have that privilege. I haven’t granted him that privilege.

I also don’t throw in his face that everyone in this room was fighting in a war when they were 18. I’m 21. I feel my age is just fine and not part of this equation because I can do what they need me to do and that’s all that matters.

I reach down, grabbing the knife out of my right boot and slamming the blade down into the wood of the bar, leaving the handle sticking up.

“Shit,” I hear from the other side of the room, but I don’t turn to look to see who said it. Neither does Scribe. He didn’t so much as blink. Not even when I pulled out the knife.

“You can’t see everything behind that computer,” I tell him, pulling the knife from the wood, still looking straight into his eyes as I lay my left hand, palm down flat, on the bar, fingers spread wide. I start to unhurriedly hit the blade between each finger, slowly picking up speed. Moving my right hand faster and faster as the knife lands between my fingers, hitting the wood of the bar. I’m sure it’s leaving nice little nicks each time it hits, but I don’t give a f*ck. Finally, he pulls his eyes from mine and looks at my hand. “Not everything is as it appears on your little screen. I think someone like you would know that, because most of you are nothing like you seem.”