Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(8)
Rad had surprised himself, offering to take her home. It wasn’t that chivalrous behavior was beyond him, but he didn’t know this woman from Adam’s off ox—one of his grandmother’s many old turns of phrase he’d understood without understanding—and he wasn’t in the habit of going above and beyond for strangers.
Helping out in a crisis, sure. He’d never known a biker—a real biker, not just a jerk on two wheels—to ride past anyone in need. All the bikers on the road behind the wreck tonight had helped, and those who’d been close enough ahead to know it had happened had turned back to do the same.
It wasn’t pure altruism, of course. It was that—the code—but it was also a benefit to them. Bikers, especially patches, knew their reputation. Many of them earned that reputation. But when there was an opportunity to do good, to give aid, they took it. Goodwill among their neighbors made room to get work done.
But offering this woman a ride home, when she’d had plenty of other options, like the EMT who hadn’t been able to keeps his damn eyes off her…he wasn’t sure why he’d done it.
He’d watched her a little, throughout the night, as she’d helped the EMT crews and firefighters. After a while, as enough units finally arrived, uniforms had pushed volunteering civilians and patches off the scene, but this woman was a nurse, and she was folded into their work.
She was hurting, but she’d gone on helping people, keeping them focused on her and away from the death around them, getting them calm and talking normally. Rad had found her fascinating.
She was a pretty thing, too. Bright blonde hair cut short, big eyes and long lashes, lush lips around a wide, gleaming smile. The light hadn’t been good enough to know the color of those big eyes, but they weren’t dark. Green or blue, something like that.
The armored jacket hid any details about her top, but her leather riding pants wrapped that gorgeous ass up like a gift.
Turning onto Vincent Avenue, feeling Willa’s body lean with his, Rad chuckled to himself. Yeah, he was an *. Elbow deep in blood and body parts, he’d still managed to spend a minute or two checking a chick out.
Frankly, though, he’d needed that respite. Rad was used to blood, had spilled more than his share of it, and he’d made a mountain of gore in the nearly twenty years he’d been wearing a Bulls patch. But a scene like tonight’s, with innocents—including women and children, the elderly—dying and hurt, that was a different thing entirely. A scene like that stayed with a man, if he had any heart or soul at all.
He was hoping that Delaney wanted an early meet the next morning because he wanted to hunt down the road-rager who’d started that conflagration and then bolted away. Rad would relish the opportunity to chain that * down in the basement and spend some time getting to know his inner workings.
That was Rad’s job in the Brazen Bulls. As SAA, he was first line of defense for his president and his club. But defense was proactive as well as reactive. He’d made his rep, earned his Tested and True flash, because he was the man who got to know what people didn’t want known. The man who put the insides on the outside.
Three blocks down, coming up on Elm Street, Rad slowed. Willa pointed up and to the left, at a cute little bungalow atop a gentle rise, right on the corner. He goosed the throttle and swung around, pulling up at the curb, then dropped his feet to the pavement and held out his arm to help her dismount.
She eased herself off, favoring her right leg, and took off her helmet. Her hair was badly mussed and her eyes were tired; it made her look young, like a little girl who’d been woken from a nap. Cute as f*ck.
“Thanks for the ride.”
He nodded. “You take care of that leg, now. Get some rest. Call the number on my card in the morning, and somebody at the shop’ll update you on your bike.”
“Not you?”
“Maybe me. Maybe not. Don’t know what tomorrow holds for me.”
She nodded, and then the scene froze. Willa stood on the grassy sward between the curb and the sidewalk, her helmet under her arm. Rad sat astride his bike, his boots on the street, the engine idling under him.
There was a short set of steps up from the sidewalk to her front walk, and another set up to her porch. He didn’t want to pull off until he saw her and her bum leg get up those steps. But she wasn’t moving. Or talking. Just standing there, looking like she had a big decision to make and was not up to the task.
“You need help up to your door, darlin’?”
Her eyes narrowed, and she studied him. Curious about what was going on in that blonde head, he withstood the scrutiny, cocking his brow up to show his bemusement.
Finally, she spoke. “I…you want to come in for a beer? After everything tonight, I guess I’m not ready to be alone with my brain just yet.”
Two equal and conflicting impulses yanked around inside Rad: the first was excitement. This chick was hot and interesting, and he had some adrenaline to burn off. Hell yeah, he’d like to come in ‘for a beer.’
But the second was caution. He remembered Kay Ann’s little snit earlier in the day. There was some kind of weird juju that happened when you banged a woman in her own house. He looked up at the little bungalow; the light on the wraparound porch glowed warmly.
He bet the house in the Hansel and Gretel story had a friendly little porch light, too.
“Rad?”