There were not many sentences there but, regardless, there was a good deal to go over.

“I’m not your old lady,” I declared.

He grinned and asked, “You aren’t?”

“No,” I stated firmly.

“In my tee, in my bed, after a night where my condom stash got lighter by three, lady. Beg to differ,” he replied.

“So that’s what it takes? A tee and sex?” I queried, my brows going up.

“No,” he answered, his voice going deeper, his thumb stroking sweet along my jaw. “Now, honey, since it’s time you got to know me, you’re gonna get to know me.”

Oh dear.

Before I could protest, he kept going.

“Got rules for the women I take to my bed. No sleep. Don’t ever wake up to a woman. It sends the wrong message. Really no fuckin’ tee. Bitches claim tees. I don’t need to be clothing half of Denver.”

“Is that how many,” I hesitated before saying with emphasis, “bitches you’ve had? Half of Denver?”

“Do you care?” he fired back instantly.

“No,” I lied.

“Liar.” He called me on it.

I shut my mouth.

He grinned but opened his. “You, babe, can have my tee.”

I rolled my eyes.

When I rolled them back he wasn’t grinning. He was smiling.

“You, it’s about bedroom eyes. Fuckin’ great hair. Long legs. A tight, sweet pussy that gets so fuckin’ wet, swear to Christ, every time I have it, don’t know whether to bury my face or my dick in it. Your perfume on my sheets. The way you look at me when I tuck you in bed, like I gave you diamonds, something precious, something you wanna keep safe, something you want forever. Woman like you could get diamonds just crookin’ her finger, so a woman like you shouldn’t find a man tuckin’ you in bed precious. But you do. It’s also about you tellin’ me you won’t take it there with me but, I kiss you, you ignite. Some men like a game. Others like a challenge.” His smile got wider. “You found a man who likes a challenge.”

“Great,” I muttered and his grin didn’t waver.

He also wasn’t done.

“It’s also about you tellin’ me you miss me and, lady,” he said swiftly when I opened my mouth to speak, “don’t deny it. You said it. You meant it. You’ll learn you can’t bullshit me, but, I’ll just say in case it sinks in early, you can’t bullshit me. All that might not be enough for another brother, but babe,” he gave a light shrug, “it’s enough for me.”

“That’s insane,” I told him.

“Lanie, I’m a member of a motorcycle club. Used to people out there in the other world thinkin’ I got a screw loose. Also don’t give a shit they think that way.”

He gave it to me, my opening, so I jumped on it. “So you don’t give a shit I think that way?”

He grinned again. “Honestly? No. Not now. You aren’t thinkin’ straight so you think that way with your head as messed up as it is?” He shook his head. “I don’t give a shit you think that way.”

“My head isn’t messed up,” I announced and his grin got bigger and, that close, in the morning, sexier.

Gah!

“Babe.”

That was all he said.

Time to move on.

“It’s my understanding that old ladies hold a slightly elevated role in your world. Not that high, since your structure includes the brotherhood up top, bikes under that, living and riding free under that and, possibly, old ladies, if one was lucky, under that,” I stated. “Women in your world have to work to that position, something I haven’t done nor do I intend to do. You and I are fuck buddies. Or we were.”

His brows went up. “Were?”

“This ends this morning,” I declared to which, immediately, he threw his handsome, stubble-jawed head back and burst out laughing so hard it shook me and the bed.

“Do you find something amusing?” I asked irately through his laughter.

Also through his laughter he focused on me and spoke. “Yeah, honey. The clue is me laughing.”

I glared and decided I was done with our talk. Therefore I lifted my hands to his shoulders and shoved.

This had no effect except that he dropped his head, buried his face in my neck and kept laughing there.

I glared at the ceiling, trying not to process how nice that felt.

His hilarity muted to chuckling so I decided it was time to speak again.

“Get off me, Hopper. I’m getting a taxi to my car and going home.”

He lifted his head, smiled down at me, then shook that head. “No you aren’t. We’re gonna talk, get things straight, then we’re gonna fuck, then I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“Those may be your plans for this morning but they aren’t mine.”

“They’re yours.”

I didn’t say anything mostly because the back and forth of me saying something and Hop disagreeing was both frustrating and irritating and I wasn’t doing it again.

The problem with that was, unable to contradict him, I couldn’t do what I wanted to do since I also couldn’t shift him off me.

“Hopper, get off,” I ordered.

“No.”

“Off.”

“Babe, no.”

There we were again, the back and forth.

Frustrating and annoying.

I shoved hard at his shoulders and grunted, “Off!”

He pressed into me, his face got close and I stilled because suddenly he looked serious.

“You’re Cherry’s so you’ve been let in, babe, but do not think for one fuckin’ second observing the Club lets you in the know about what goes on in a brother’s head, his home or his bed. Any of us,” he started.

The way he said this made me hold my breath.

“That said,” he went on, “that shit you spouted about what you understand about a brother’s woman is more proof your head is totally fucked up, because part of that is selective and the rest of it is twisted and you know it.”

I hated to admit it but he had a point.

He went on to force his point home.

“You cannot lie under me after watching Tack with Cherry for eight goddamned years and tell me his brothers, his bike, and livin’ free means more to him than his wife and, I’ll add, his fuckin’ kids. That, you know completely, you witness it, you feel it. That’s your girl. You know what she’s got. Seen you cacklin’ with Sheila, who’s sweet as sugar, but that don’t mean she’d take shit from any man. She gets it good from Dog, you know it, so you know that bullshit that came outta your mouth doesn’t hold true with Dog, either. Seen you also sit close with Brick, seein’ to him when one of his bitches cuts him, so you know he’s got shit taste, but when he lets them in, he opens up so they can dig deep.”

All of this was true too.

Very true.

Hop continued, “Other Clubs might be about the brothers, the bikes, the carousing. You look at our leader, you know exactly what this Club is about. So do not lie there and tell me you know differently.”

Obviously, I’d struck a nerve and, unfortunately, he was right, I was wrong, very wrong, and worse, I felt terrible about it.

So terrible, I couldn’t let it stand. It was only fair that I admit I was wrong.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he replied.

“Well, I’m sorry I said that since you’re right. I know it’s not true,” I told him. “Not with Chaos.”

“Was gonna let it lie, seein’ as your head’s fucked up, but you keep fightin’ me, had to point it out,” Hop returned.

Okay, I was beginning to feel less terrible and more annoyed.

“I’d like to request that you stop telling me my head’s fucked up.”

“Let me help you get it straight, I’ll quit tellin’ you that shit,” he retorted.

I clenched my teeth.

Then I unclenched them to say, “Hop, I keep telling you that isn’t going to happen.”

“And Lanie, clue in, I’m not not gonna let it happen.”

My heart started beating hard and I brought us full circle.

“Who’s Benito?” I asked.

“Told you, you know as much as you’re gonna know about Benito.”

“Who’s Benito?” I repeated.

“Babe—”

“Who’s Benito?”

“Lanie—”

“Who’s Benito?”

His brows drew together. “Goddamn it, lady—”

All of a sudden loud and shrill, I shrieked in his face, “Who’s Benito?”

Hop went perfectly still on top of me but his eyes grew intent, watchful, concerned as his fingers flexed into my jaw.

“Who’s Benito, Hop?” I asked.

“Baby, please, breathe deep, calm down and let’s be quiet a few seconds. You calm down, I’ll get us some coffee and we’ll talk.”

“Answer my question,” I demanded.

“Lanie—”

“God!” I shouted. Unable to roll him off, I scooched up, shoved out and, miracle of miracles, found myself free so I scrambled across the bed.

Hop reached for me but stopped when I did, on my knees in his bed a few feet away from him. Without hesitation, my hands went to his tee and yanked up. I tossed it aside so in his bed he saw nothing but me in a pair of teeny-weeny, black lace panties.

I didn’t hesitate to reach out and grab his wrist, pulling it to me and flattening his hand to the scar under my breast.

I leaned in and reminded him, “I had a man, Hop, who did dangerous stuff and didn’t tell me.”

Realization dawned clear in his features. He adjusted, coming to his knees, his eyes glued to me. They were pained, troubled, disturbed, and I noted this as he whispered, “Lady.”

I jerked his hand down to the mutilated skin on my belly.

“Wanna guess how big I am on letting any man in my life and then wanna guess again how big I am on letting in a man who lives dangerously?” I shook my head and didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Don’t bother. I’ll tell you.” I pressed his hand into my flesh. “It is not gonna happen.”

He shifted closer, his free hand moving to my hip and around. I felt his body heat as he gently pulled my chest toward his and his chin dipped down to keep hold of my eyes.

“I don’t live dangerously, Lanie,” he said softly.

“Who’s Benito?” I repeated yet again.

His mouth shut and his jaw clenched.

I closed my eyes and turned my head away.

He forced his hand out of my hold and brought it up to wrap around my jaw, forcing me to face him so he could again capture my eyes.

When he accomplished this task, he said quietly, “I would never let anything hurt you.”

My reply was not quiet. “I don’t believe you.”

“Give me the chance to prove it to you,” he requested.

“No,” I answered. His hand slid from my jaw, up and back so his fingers sifted in my hair even as his face dipped super close, his eyes scanning my features before locking to mine.

“Lanie, baby, I can see what you can’t. This shit is eating you alive.”

“Good. At least that shit is company,” I snapped and watched him wince.

He recovered and stated, “You gotta get rid of it. Let me in. Let me help you get rid of it.”

“Not a chance.”

His hand slid back into my hair, fisting gently, and I knew what that meant.

He was not going to let me move. He was not going to release my eyes.

I would understand why when he admitted, “Last night, you didn’t hear me.”

This came out of the blue, surprising me, so I asked, “What?”

“I know the story. Fuck, babe, everyone does.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You put yourself in front of him. Boy that drilled holes in you, that the cops found, thought he could lessen his sentence by sayin’ you weren’t the target. He didn’t go there to hurt you. Wasn’t gonna touch you. Certainly not pump rounds into you. Says, first, you threw yourself in front of Belova and then, second, Belova used you as a shield.”

At his words, I jerked violently in his arms.

This got me on my back with him on me, his hand still in my hair, his eyes still imprisoning mine.

“Not that that shit is ever fuckin’ gonna go down again, but luck turns sour. If it does, no way, babe. No way would you be my shield.”

“Get off me,” I hissed.

“No way would I let you put yourself in the path of a bullet for me.”

“Get off me!” I snapped.

“No way I’d let you put yourself in the path of anything for me.”

“Get… off!”

He didn’t get off.

He kept right on talking.

“That’s the point I’m tryin’ to make. If you don’t know shit, you don’t feel shit. You breathe easy if you take a chance on me. What I do, I do. What the Club does, it does. You’ll learn to trust me, the brothers, Tack. I don’t use you as a shield. I am the goddamn shield, and I’m not talkin’ about bullets because shit like that does not touch old ladies. Ever. I’m talkin’ about assholes with monster trucks. I’m talkin’ about Club business, life, every second you live, every breath you take. You take a chance on me, your biggest worry is your 7Up fizzing over.”