Page 13 of Ridin’ Dirty

“Thanks,” she murmured.

He watched her walk away, enjoying the view and all the promise held therein.

“I’m gonna go check on your burgers,” said Maxine, laughter wrapped around her tone. She then playfully grazed her finger down the side of his bearded chin and added, “Careful. Got a little drool there.”

Nomad chuckled into his beer, sending Max into a giggling fit as she headed for the kitchen. Pistol ignored them both, too busy thinking about all the trouble he planned on getting into later with that blue-eyed beauty.

My shift ended at seven, and I left with every intention of going home to get ready for the Stallions’ party. When I arrived at my Mustang and found a single daisy tucked underneath one of my windshield wipers, I knew right away who it was from and why. On any other day, I would have considered it a warning. But given my mood, I took it as a challenge—one I intended to accept with a full face of makeup, a killer dress, and fuck me heels.

Carmy was the only person who knew daisies were my favorite flower. The dumbest, most optimistic part of me could have interpreted the small gift as a token of his birthday well wishes; but the fact that he left it for me to find at the end of my workday meant he intended it as a note of caution.

He didn’t forget the significance of the date, but the flower was a reminder—a warning to not do anything stupid in my attempts to enjoy the occasion.

A warning I felt bold enough to ignore.

That said, the dumbest, most optimistic part of me took the daisy home with me, anyway. I even put it in a glass of water before I hopped in the shower to wash away the scent of work from my skin.

Stupid. It was so stupid—but I couldn’t toss it.

I managed to shove Carmy into the back of my mind as I focused on picking an outfit for the night’s festivities.

I was sorting through my collection of dresses when my thoughts took a sharp turn, aimed at the memory of those dark green eyes staring my way. Remembering Pistol’s wink had me pulling my lower lip between my teeth in an attempt to quell my smile. He was the kind of man that made my mouth water. It had been a while since I crossed paths with a temptation of his caliber.

Big, kind of scary, tatted, hot, and rough around the edges.

He checked all the boxes and then some.

The way Max told it, he did three years behind bars for a justifiable crime. She didn’t say much more than that, but it was obvious by his reception at the diner he’d been missed. Whatever he did, it gave him a dangerous edge that made him even more appealing than that face of his.

I flipped through a couple more dresses before I found the one I wanted.

It was short.

It was tight.

It was denim.

I hadn’t worn it in a while, but tonight felt like the perfect night to don a showstopper, and I knew this would do the trick. I might have just turned thirty, and it had been a few years since I roamed a clubhouse hoping to catch the eye of a Stallion I wanted—but I knew I still had it in me. Especially in the right shoes.

It was another half hour before I stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the back of my bedroom door and admired the end result of my handiwork. I went for a bold, dark, shadowy eye with a dramatic amount of mascara, a tint of blush across my cheeks, and a rich, dark red lip. I styled my hair with a few lazy curls, giving it a bit of volume, then rustled it with my fingers, making it look messy. Sexy.

Content with my appearance from the neck up, I went to adjust my bodycon mini dress. It was sleeveless and lowcut, hugging my every curve. I yanked at the hem—not so much in an attempt to cover more of my thighs but to expose a little more of my cleavage. I didn’t have a ton, but I had enough to keep me from complaining.

I completed my outfit with a pair of pumps the same shade of red as my lipstick. The four-inch platform stiletto heel made my legs seem longer, which was always a plus. As I took in my reflection, I felt confident in a way I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time.

To hell with Carmy and his warning, I thought as I grabbed my purse and my keys. It’s my birthday, and I intend to live it the fuck up.

My apartment complex was only a few blocks from the clubhouse, but it wasn’t until I drove across Third Street that I entered Wild Stallions’ territory. Before I moved to Gillette, I wasn’t entirely read-in on the extent of the rivalry between the clubs. I knew they weren’t entirely friendly, but I didn’t know actual lines were drawn in the sand.

Since moving home, I’d been clued in on a few things.

Turned out, it wasn’t a coincidence the apartments my brother recommended were on the north side of Third Street, in Copper King territory. Annoying as it was to learn I was manipulated into the part of town where he wanted me, it was easier to stay where I was, and I never bothered moving. The way I had it figured, it would cause more trouble than it was worth to live outside of Carmy’s purview. He was a pain in the ass, but I didn’t want him lurking where he didn’t belong.

Not that Kings and Stallions didn’t find legitimate reasons to cross into each other’s territories—but being nosey wasn’t exactly an excuse. Even if he was family.

The sun was setting behind the peaks of Blue Mountain when I parked in the lot on the compound. As soon as I stepped out of my Mustang and hooked the strap of my purse over my shoulder, I heard one of the guys loitering outside whistle at me.

I knew the average woman would likely roll her eyes at such a catcall, but I wasn’t an average woman. To me, that whistle was an invitation to journey into the clubhouse with an extra dose of flare in each sway of my hips. I made sure to dress for the attention, and I was ready to unleash the wild child who’d only ever known real freedom amongst these savages in kuttes.