Lucky: The Irish MC (8 page)

Ella snorted. “That’s not true,” she said under her breath. “I’ve been in Dos Palmos all of my life. I would have heard about that, for sure.”

I grinned and shook my head. For some reason, exposing corruption always gave me a little rush. It felt good, and even though I knew I shouldn’t be talking to Ella about it, I couldn’t help it.

“Then you haven’t been paying attention, honey,” I told her. Ella didn’t turn her head. She downshifted as we coasted down the hill outside of the freight yard. I rolled the window down and let the ocean breeze wash over my face. Dos Palmos was home, no doubt about it. I still could have used a good fuck, but god, it felt so good to be home.

Ella didn’t reply. I guessed that maybe she didn’t like being called ignorant, even if that’s what she was. It wasn’t my fault that she was too busy to pay attention to the rabid corruption in her home town. With a jolt of unease, I realized that probably meant she also knew nothing about The Irish. I wondered how she’d take finding out that her new “friend” was in a motorcycle club.

“Listen, I know you don’t want to hear this, but two of the most powerful cops in Dos Palmos are gunning for me,” I told Ella with a straight face. “I can’t tell you why, but just know that it would be bad for everyone if I’m seen here now.”

Ella looked at me and I could see real fear in her face. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked softly. I could tell that she was realizing just how dangerous I was. Part of me wondered if she still felt attracted to me.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I promised. “Just drop me off at this bar, off Route 40. Can you do that? I’ll let you go if you do as I say.”

Ella twitched. “What else?” she asked in a soft voice.

“I won’t even touch you again if you don’t want me to,” I said, spreading my hands in a gesture of goodwill. “I promise. You’re gonna have to
beg
me for the slightest touch.” I winked at her and wiggled my fingers in the air. Compared to her dainty hands, they looked like pork sausages.

Ella sniffed. I could smell the fear coming off of her in waves—it was almost as strong as her arousal had been in my fantasies. She didn’t say anything, but I suddenly knew that she still wanted me. She was still scared; I was still an outlaw, but what girl didn’t want an outlaw?

I was starting to realize how different Ella was from other women. For one thing, she seemed to have no idea of how hot she really was. She was so gorgeous, and yet she acted like she thought she was ugly. I was mystified. Was it because male truckers preferred sleazy blondes with big fake tits? I didn’t get it. Even if they did prefer a type vastly different to Ella, there was no denying that she was a hot little number.

Was she gay? I cocked my head and looked at her. She didn’t look gay, and she definitely didn’t act gay. Hell, she was practically salivating over me when she first saw me step out of the crate. But women were strange birds. I wondered if being on the road for months at a time had ruined her. It wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing.

Ella gave a little sigh and pooched her lips out. I knew she wanted me, just as much as I wanted her. But why wasn’t she acting like it? Maybe she was attached. But she didn’t act like a girl with a boyfriend, and she definitely didn’t seem married. There was no jewelry, and I could tell that she’d never even thought about being someone’s wife.
Then what the hell is her deal?
I wondered as I stared at her profile in the darkness. She was obviously fairly young, she was gorgeous, she was sharp, and she was independent. It was a strange combination for someone who wasn’t aware of her own power. It was like she honestly never even considered that someone could call her attractive. I wondered if she’d had a bad relationship, maybe with someone abusive, maybe with someone who put her down all the time. I shook my head—no, that wasn’t it either. She didn’t seem abused, she was too confident for that. But still, it was the kind of confidence that comes from inner strength, not from knowing one’s own power.

Yep, she was strange all right. And goddamnit, I was going to figure out why. I had bigger fish to fry, but I couldn’t stay away from this chick. There was something about her that was positively addicting, and I was dying to figure her out.

Ella

I looked at Mickey and felt a little hiccup of desire. When Mickey saw the look on my face, he winked at me and grinned. I felt the lust turn to irritation and I scowled at him. The big idiot! Who did he think he was, offering to keep his hands off me unless I begged him! I snorted. Like I’d beg
him
for anything. God. But just looking at him was enough to make some of the lust come back, and I had to shake my head and rid myself all impure thoughts relating to Mickey.

We were just cruising out of the freight yard as real darkness was falling. Soon, Dos Palmos would be blanketed in a haze of inky, black night that felt as real and soft as velvet. I loved the nighttime air, even if I didn’t spend much time in it while I was home. Sharing the darkness with someone felt intimate, almost in the way that sleeping with them would have. When I looked at Mickey, I could barely see his profile outlined in the darkness. He’d lit one of my cigarettes and was puffing away contentedly, the orange tip glowing in the cab. I shivered as I heard him crack his knuckles—the sound was brutal, much louder than the little clicks that I’d hear when I did the same thing.

I wasn’t sure why I was helping him. To be honest, I had no real reason to be doing that. Maybe it was because he was the first guy who’d really shown any kind of interest in me in a long time, or maybe just because he was so sexy. I hated myself for being weak like this, but I figured there was nothing wrong with a drink. It was just a drink or two, what could possibly happen?

A lot, Ella.
And you’re an idiot if you don’t realize that
.

Mickey snickered at something as I drove and I snuck a glance at him. We were passing a streetlight, and I was taken back by his strong masculine jaw, his silky blond hair. I shivered when I thought about how it would feel to have his giant hands on me again. Even though I’d felt nothing but sheer terror when he touched me before, part of it had been exciting. Okay, most of it had been exciting. But I knew I shouldn’t be dwelling on that now.

I never did things like this. I never helped people. If I was being honest, it was because people never really asked me for help in the first place. But there was also something about Mickey that I didn’t see in others. Mickey was sexy, sure, but he also seemed to be very alone in the world. His friends had boxed him into a crate and left him for dead; I wondered what would have happened if I’d just unloaded the box myself and left him there. Would he have made noise? Would he have yelled for help? Would the old man at the gate have found his corpse the next morning, frozen to death? I shivered. Maybe he really was lucky that I’d come alone. Without me, he’d probably still be inside that crate. Mickey was strong, but I knew he wasn’t
that
strong. Even though he’d managed to stay with it after god knew how long he’d been locked up, I had a feeling his strength would have given up eventually. After all, I knew how strong that crate had been. There was no way he would have been able to break out all by himself.

“Where are we going?” Mickey turned to me with a lazy grin. “You takin’ me to the cops, honey?”

I didn’t answer. My lips were set in a thin line and I concentrated on the road. I was exhausted, but part of me felt wired. I also felt disgusting—I was more aware of having not showered in a few days than ever before. I wished that I’d taken the time to clean up before meeting Mickey. Yeah, I had no way of knowing what an absolute stud he’d be, but I should have made an effort to stay cleaner. I looked down at my ripped up old jeans with disgust. Starting now, I was going to make sure that I always looked presentable. Even on the road. Even at three in the morning. After all, you never knew who you were going to meet.

Dos Palmos glittered behind me like a small snow globe on the horizon. I was driving us to a bar and truck stop about twenty miles out of town. I frequented it sometimes when I was headed home and knew there was no food in the fridge. It wasn’t fancy, it was actually pretty rough, but I knew for a fact that no cops hung out there, and we’d be safe. It would likely even be pretty quiet since it was almost midnight. Mickey sighed and rolled down the window on the passenger side door. He flicked his cigarette butt outside and I watched it bounce down on the highway in a shower of orange sparks.

As we approached the truck stop, I saw that it was pretty empty. There were only a couple of other rigs, and a few cars scattered through the lot. Mickey turned to me and nodded.

“Thanks,” he said in a gruff voice. “I’d give my left nut for a beer right now.”

I rolled my eyes. Why did men always have to be so gross? “I could use a drink, too,” I told him. “But I wouldn’t be quite so desperate.”

“Hey, you haven’t been locked in a box for hours,” Mickey said with a grin. He stretched and his knuckles dragged against the ceiling of the cab. I watched his muscles flex and then relax—his biceps were bigger than my head. I felt my mouth go dry as he caught me watching and flexed his arm. “I’m strong, honey,” Mickey said. “You wanna find out just how strong?”

I sighed. “Come on, get out,” I said. “Just one drink and then I’m leaving. You’re on your own, kid.”

Mickey tousled my brown hair. I felt a jolt of electricity at his touch, but I glared up at him anyway. “Oops, sorry,” he said, jerking his hand away and giving me a guilty, sexy smile. “Forgot about the whole no-touching thing.”

We strode into the restaurant together. Instantly, everyone turned around and gazed at Mickey. The women let their gazes linger and I felt something unusual flitter through my body. I knew that I should be running scared, but I didn’t want to leave. When the women in the bar didn’t turn around, I felt a trace of something almost like possession. Glancing up at Mickey, I saw that he had his nose stuck in a menu. He was completely aware that every other female in the room was undressing him with her eyes. I drew myself up to my full height—still over a head shorter than Mickey—and strode with him over to the hostess stand.

The hostess was blonde and perky, with big fake tits and a pink lipsticked smile. She was gorgeous, but she looked like she’d had a tough life. She wasted no time in running her eyes all up and down Mickey’s hard body and I wanted to slap the grin right off her face. When she noticed me, her face fell.
That’s right, bitch,
I thought triumphantly.
He’s mine
. I gloated for a second before the implication of my thoughts sank in.
He’s not yours.
And you don’t want him, nor should you. He’s more dangerous than a box of fireworks next to a barbecue.

The blonde led us over to a table in the corner of the building. She was walking ahead of us and swaying her hips enticingly, but when I looked up at Mickey, I saw that his eyes were hungrily resting on me. The lighting in the truck stop wasn’t very kind, but it was enough to hide the dark circles under my eyes. I was grateful that at least I’d washed my face that morning, even though it had been hours. When we passed by tables full of truckers, they all nodded at Mickey and tipped the brims of their hats like they knew him. I frowned. He hadn’t even been here before! This was
my
truck stop! My frown deepened into a scowl as the blonde curtsied.

“I’ll be right back, sugar,” she said to Mickey, biting her lower lip and fluttering her mascaraed eyelashes. “Don’t you go anywhere!”

“Sure,” Mickey said. He wasn’t even looking at her and I felt another improbable surge of pride in my chest. “Thanks!”

The waitress sauntered off, swaying her hips even more obviously than before. I rolled my eyes. “Women,” I mumbled under my breath. “Do they have to be so desperate?”

Mickey laughed. He could barely fit on his side of the booth, and it looked almost comical. He wasn’t fat, but his body bulged out over the table and every time he shifted in the booth, I could feel the floor underneath of us vibrating.

The waitress practically oozed back towards the table a moment later. She was carrying two big tulip glasses full of pink liquid, with tiny umbrellas on the top. When she sat them down on our table, she smiled at Mickey.

“First round’s on the house, hon,” she said, smiling sweetly down at him. Mickey reached across the table and grabbed my hand in his. His paw was so large that my hand disappeared in his grip, and I felt an electric spark jump from his skin to mine. I blushed as I looked up at him.

But Mickey wasn’t looking at me. He was grinning at the waitress, even as he squeezed my hand and shook it in the air. “I’ve just decided,” he said in a casual, lazy voice. “I’m settling down!” The last statement was spoken with an air of drama and Mickey laughed as he said it. The feel of his skin against mine was thrilling and dangerous, and I felt my lower belly thump with arousal.

The waitress laughed and set down our menus. “I bet,” she said. “Our special today is chicken fried steak with a side of mashed potatoes and fried okra. Can I interest y’all in that?”

Mickey waved my hand in the air. “What did I say?” he said with a lazy grin. “Didn’t I just tell you that I’d settled down?”