The girl liked to party.
This wasn’t surprising. She was nineteen. When he was nineteen, he’d liked to party too. Fuck, he was twenty-four and he still liked to party in a way he knew he’d never quit.
But he wasn’t Tabby Allen.
He was a biker who worked in a garage and auto supply store, oftentimes raised hell and kicked ass when needed.
She was studying to be a freaking nurse with her dad footing that bill, so she needed to calm her ass down.
This didn’t even get into the fact that it wasn’t a new thing she liked to party and take a walk on the wild side. Three years ago, on his first Tabby Callout, she’d been sixteen and her twenty-three-year-old boyfriend had roughed her up because she wouldn’t put out. That was the situation where Cherry nearly got her head caved in with a baseball bat, and it happened right in front of Shy. It was a miracle of quick reflexes that didn’t end in disaster. Shy liked Cherry, everyone did, the woman was the shit; funny, pretty, sexy, smart, strong, and good for Tack in every way she could be.
If you could pick the perfect old lady, Tyra “Cherry” Allen would be it. She had sass but with class, dressed great, didn’t let Tack roll all over her but did it in a way she didn’t bust his balls. She was hilarious. She was sweet. She was a member of a biker family while still holding on to the woman she always was. And, honest to Christ, he’d never seen a man laugh and smile as often as Kane Allen. He had a good life, and it wasn’t lost on a single member of the Club that Cherry made it that way.
So, during Tabby’s first callout, it would have sucked if Cherry was made a vegetable or worse because of Tab’s shit. Not to mention, if Shy had to explain why he was at Cherry’s back, watching her head get caved in with a bat, instead of taking the lead and protecting her from that eventuality, Tack was so into his old lady it was highly likely Shy would no longer be breathing.
How the f**k Tabby hadn’t learned her lesson after that mess, he had no clue, and as he drove it came crystal that she needed to get one.
And he was so pissed, he decided he was going to be the one to give it to her.
Tonight.
Shy pulled up outside the house and he wasn’t surprised at what he saw.
He knew that scene, lived it until he found the brotherhood.
In high school and out of it, the other kids had attached him to the “stoner” crowd, the “hoods,” even though his affiliation with them was loose. He didn’t connect with anyone in high school or after it, not in any real way, but that didn’t mean he didn’t find an escape. A place to drink beer and find a bitch so he could get laid. So he’d been in many houses just like this with cars and bikes outside just like the ones he saw now.
He still lived that scene but it was better.
It was family.
He saw a couple of bikes parked outside the fully lit and heaving house, and they pissed him off even more than he was already pissed. The bikes were older, the kids inside didn’t have enough money for better, but still, they didn’t take care of them.
If you had a Harley, you took care of it. You treated it like a woman, lots of attention, lots of TLC. No excuses. If you didn’t do that, you didn’t deserve to own it.
There were also a couple of new souped-up muscle cars, which meant whoever owned them put every nickel into keeping up the cool.
But there were more junkers and classic cars, the latter in the middle of restoration, all of it loving. Whoever owned them was taking their time, doing it right, saving up and taking care of their baby before they moved onto the next project in line to make their Mustang, Nova, Charger, GTO, or whatever cherry.
Those cars meant that not everyone in that house was a loser.
At least that was something.
Shy angled out of the truck and moved toward the house. Once in, he shifted through the bodies, ignoring looks from the girls and chin lifts from the guys. He was on a mission and wanted it done.
It didn’t take long to find her. She was in the living room sitting on a couch, a cup of beer in her hand, her head turned away from him, her pretty profile transformed with laughter.
When he saw her it happened like it always happened. He didn’t know why he hadn’t learned, why he didn’t brace. He always expected he’d get over it, get used to it but he didn’t.
Seeing her hit him in the chest, the burn in his gut moving up to flame in his lungs, compressing them, making it suddenly hard to catch a breath.
He didn’t get this.
She was pretty. Jesus, she was pretty. All that thick, dark hair and those sapphire blue eyes, her curvy, petite body, perfect, golden skin still tanned from the summer. Any guy, even if they didn’t get into short women with dark hair, could see she was pretty.
It was more and he knew that too, had been around her enough to see it and often. Her face was expressive, she was quick to smile and laugh. She was animated. She was just one of those chicks it was good to be around.
She could get pissed off. She could get feisty.
Most of the time, though, she was in a good mood, but her good moods were the kinds of good moods that filled a room. Even if you were having a shit day, if Tabby Allen wandered into the common room of the Compound wearing a smile, some of that shit would wear off and your day would get better.
But she was his brother’s daughter and that was reason number one not to go there. Further, she was too young and too immature. She did stupid shit, like her being with this crowd, drinking beer underage and laughing rather than home studying or hanging with kids from college. So regardless that she was f**king pretty, had a sweet little body, and could light up a room with her mood, he was never going there, but even if he could, he wouldn’t, because she was flat-out trouble.
And yet every time he saw her, it somehow rocked him.
He ignored this feeling that he didn’t want and didn’t understand, and his mouth tightened when he saw how she was dressed. Tight skirt, short. Tight top, cle**age. Lots of leg on show even if she wasn’t all that tall. Nice leg. Shapely leg. Fucking great leg.
Shit.
And f**k-me high-heeled sandals that even if she was too young and his brother’s daughter, the sight of them Shy still felt in his dick.
Damn.
He ignored this too and moved through the room, eyes on her, determined.
She must have felt his approach because she turned her head, looked up, and that burn didn’t lessen at all when her unbelievable blue eyes ringed with long, dark lashes hit his.
He was not surprised when her smile faded, the animation left her face and she snapped, “You have got to be shitting me.”