Biker Chicks: Volume 2 Page 10

  “Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.” I batted my eyes, projecting fake innocence.

  “I'm going to the bathroom. It'll give you a chance to escape.” He leaned back and checked the cubicle across from his, then stood up with difficulty and waved for me to join him.

  I imagine he expected me to head for the front and leave. Instead, I followed him into the bathroom. Can't blame a girl for being horny. When he saw me in the mirror, he stopped and blinked at my reflection.

  “This is the men's room.”

  “Oh? Is it?”

  He walked me back out of the room, still exasperated. “Angelfish, that was great. I really appreciate it. But I kind of have to work now.”

  “Sure,” I said with a little sigh, willing to admit defeat. “How long do you get for lunch?”

  ***

  I sat on my bike a short time later, thinking about Prescott. As much as I liked to fuck him, he obviously had this other side to him that I didn't understand. He went to a regular nine-to-five job and liked it. Dad always told me to be proud of who I am and never take any shit for not being what most people consider normal. Prescott had "normal" stamped on his forehead.

  A sleek black rice rocket pulled into the next space, the sound of its purring engine stirring me from my thoughts. The rider, a big guy in leather so new and smooth it still creaked when he moved, sat up and pulled his lid off to ogle me. With the notable lack of wear, dirt, or damage to either his armor or his bike, I pegged him as a waxer: the kind of guy who wants to be seen and thought of as a biker but would rather spend his time buffing and polishing than riding.

  “Hey, baby,” he said with a cheesy grin, “that's an interesting ride.”

  My bike still needed a paint job and tweaks before I'd consider it finished for real, so I didn't take it personally. I looked him over and guessed he'd beat Prescott's six feet by about an inch. When he unzipped his leather jacket, I got a flash of red t-shirt stretched over chiseled pecs and abs. Combined with his square jaw, precisely messy stubble, and obvious willingness, I normally would've jumped him for a casual quickie.

  Right now, he didn't impress me, though I couldn't say what about him turned me off. “Thanks. Yours is...really new.”

  “She's a beaut, isn't she?” He patted the seat. “Six months old and still perfect. Purrs like a kitten.” His eyes dropped to my chest and he gave me a gross leer he probably thought made him seem sexy. “How about you?”

  I had to give this ass credit for reminding me of the things I appreciated the most about Prescott. Like how he wasn't a smarmy dick. “How about me what? How about I tell you to go fuck yourself? Move along, poser, I've already got a bitch for the back of my bike.”

  Instead of hurling an insult and stomping away like I expected, he leaned toward me. “Oh really?” The cheese factor of his grin amped up. “I like feisty women. Can't ask for anything better than two at once.”

  This creep needed to be bitchslapped, but I had better things to do. I laughed in his face and started the engine of my bike. “Get over yourself.”

  He snared my arm as I lifted my helmet to put it on. “You're the poser,” he sneered. “All dressed up like a whore and really a prude.”

  The second this douchebag touched me, playtime ended. His steely strong grip wouldn't let me swing my helmet at him, so I cranked my body around and punched him in the balls.

  His shriek hurt my ears, but I didn't care because he let go. “Fucking bitch,” he gasped.

  “Asshole,” I spat at him. Before he could recover, I slapped my lid on and gunned the engine to get me out of there. Not looking back, I sped away from the lot and headed for open road. Riding in the sunshine would clear my head.

  For a while, I stewed with rage at that guy. Assholes like him made it harder for regular people to treat real bikers like human beings. When I made someone squeal their brakes to avoid hitting me, I stopped at a nearby gas station and took a few deep breaths. I pulled out my phone to call Combo. My big brother answered on the second ring.

  “This guy just tried to fuck with me,” I told him. With that, I had his attention and he soaked up the details.

  “I'll go do something about it,” he said when I finished. From the sound of his voice, I could tell he meant to get crazy.

  “Don't do anything stupid.”

  “Who? Me? I would never.” His smirk came through in his voice.

  “Right.” I paused, not sure if I wanted to get into the reason I'd been sitting there in the first place.

  “Is there something else? Did your boy toy do something dumb?”

  “No, he's at work.”

  “But something about him is bothering you. He do something weird this morning?”

  I sighed. The bastard knew me too well. “No, I just-- It's that-- Fuck, I don't know. I'm all clingy and shit.”

  Keys jangled on the other end of the line. “You just met him yesterday, Angelfish. He's like a new bike. You just got him, so you want to ride him a lot.”

  He had a point. On the other hand, I had an actual new bike and hadn't been obsessing over it. “Do I usually do that?” He'd know better than me.

  “Huh.” He clucked his tongue. “You know, I don't think you do. The last guy, he'd leave for the day and you'd just wave him off and get to work. Before that, there were some casual flings. Then that guy who stuck around for a few months. No, actually, I can't think of single guy you've done that with before. Sounds like he might be a keeper, then.”

  This should have made me happy. Instead, my shoulders slumped and I had no idea why. “He's got a fiancee he needs help getting rid of. She's a rich bitch and when I saw a picture of her, I thought you might like to hit that. Maybe loosen her up. She's so tight she called the cops when he didn't go home last night.”

  “Ouch. Gimme her address and I'll see what I can do.”

  “Prescott's going to need his stuff from their house, too.”

  “Sure. Gimme his phone number and I'll get a list from him.”

  I passed him the number and hung up, wondering if I'd done the right thing. Telling Combo about that asshole biker kind of made me feel like I didn't think I could handle stuff like that myself. But I had. The impulse must have been about keeping the next woman he harassed from having to put up with that shit. That sounded good in my head, so I left it there.

  Putting Combo together with Prescott felt like a wholly different issue. It had been my original idea to send Combo over so Prescott wouldn't have to deal with Bridget. Now that I'd done it, though, I wondered if I'd decided to let my big brother handle all my problems. Dad always told us to take care of each other, but he didn't mean like this. Or maybe he did.

  All this thinking made my head hurt. I put my lid back on and rode out of town. After running through a sweet set of twisties, I reached the spot I'd rescued Prescott from. I hadn't intended to wind up there. Though I couldn't say why, I pulled over. Marks in the dirt showed where Combo had brought the tow truck out and loaded up Prescott's broken-down sports car.

  I'd met him by pure chance. Now I had these thoughts about keeping him for the long ride. People always said opposites attract, but never that they work together well beyond the initial attraction. Prescott had already climbed in and gotten under my skin and he was about as opposite to me as a person could get. I didn't understand how or why, and sure as shit had no idea what to do about it.

  "I gotta stop thinking so hard," I told the road and gunned the engine. For over an hour, I rode with no destination in mind and didn't realize where I'd gone until I pulled in front of the building with Prescott's office.

  "Goddammnit." Of course I ended up here, because of course I'd become that pathetic. Scowling, I rode away to check out the aftermath of whatever Combo had done to that asshole at the gym.

  The sight confused me at first. I pulled up and stopped on the side of the road next to the parking lot, staring at two motorcycle wheels hanging from the top of a nearby streetlight. The front d
rivetrain and handlebars dangled from the street sign on the corner, swaying in the breeze. When I looked around more, I spied the engine and gas tank on the roof of the gym, in plain sight. No one could accuse Combo--who had to be responsible for this--of leaving something dangerous where an idiot could blow himself up.

  Laughing out loud, I gunned the engine and shot away. If I stuck around, that asshat would probably walk out and blame me for the mess. But damn, I would have loved to see the look on his face. It would be priceless.

  Still grinning, I rode past a bank sign displaying the time and saw I had over an hour to wait for Prescott's lunch break. I considered going there and harassing him early. Given his reaction before, I doubted I'd get to fuck him in the closet. The elevator had potential. Pondering possibilities, I rode to his building, parked in the garage there, and wandered around.

  Half an hour later, Combo called me. I'd just found the perfect spot to screw around in the basement. Prescott wouldn't get to eat, of course. Correction: he wouldn't get to eat any food.

  "Watch out," Combo said without a greeting. "Bridget jumped out of my truck while I was stopped at a red light. She hopped into a cab and I'm following it. I dunno where she's going, but I'll bet she's aiming for Prescott."

  I suddenly wanted to spit rivets. "Why'd you take her for a drive?"

  "Because I'm not a rapist or kidnapper."

  "Fine." I held the phone away so I could growl at the air instead of him. Gritting my teeth, I said, "Thanks." Not wanting to hear anything else he had to say, I hung up on him.

  Bridget wouldn't know me. I could walk right out the front door and leave Prescott to fight his own battles. If he wanted freedom, he'd have to learn to fight for it. Except I knew he'd fail. His decision to defy her was too new and strange. Even here, where he seemed most comfortable, I doubted he'd be able to muster more than half a minute of true rebellion without me there to anchor him.

  I swore heatedly and considered my options. I'd seen a picture of her. She had no idea I existed. The parking garage connected to the second floor. I hurried out to ride the elevator up to Prescott's floor and walked up to Vickie.

  "Hello," Vickie said politely. "It was...Angela, right?"

  "Close enough." I flashed her my most pleasant, charming smile. "Listen, Bridget is on her way here. Can you stall her here while I talk to Prescott?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry." She seemed genuinely sorry. "You can't go in unescorted."

  "Are you going to stop me?"

  "Oh. No. I'd call Security."

  Shit, I didn't need to get in trouble with the local goon squad. "Then can you call Prescott for me?"

  "Sure. Just a minute." She turned to her computer and typed. I heard a small ding noise. "He'll be up in a minute."

  If the Ice Queen wasn't on her way, I would've found that choice of words funny. I leaned against the desk and watched the bank of elevators. The lighted number displays showed them moving up and down. One hit this floor and pinged. Faux gold doors opened and out stepped the gorgeous blonde from Prescott's cube photo.

  She'd tied her hair up in a ponytail and wore tiny diamond earrings, understated makeup, and a light blue sheath dress with matching shoes. Maybe she expected Prescott to take her to a fancy restaurant after disappearing for the night.

  Bridget noticed me, looked me over, and lifted her nose in the air. I may have scowled at her without thinking about it. She waved with a giant, fake smile for the receptionist. "Hi Vickie! Can you call Prescott for me?"

  "No," I said, sliding between them. "She can't."

  Bridget's lip curled. "Who are you?"

  "Someone not to fuck with."

  "Ugh. Vickie, be a dear and call Security to deal with...this." Before I could say anything, she squealed and dashed around me to ambush Prescott.

  Prescott stopped, stared, and went white. His arms moved mechanically to hug Bridget. When he looked at me, I tried to tell him without words that I hadn't known about her when I asked for him. He gulped and said nothing.

  "Preskie, I was so worried! Why didn't you call or come home? This barbarian tow truck driver came and said awful things. He even tried to kidnap me!" Bridget pulled away and grabbed his hand. "Come on, take me to lunch and I'll tell you everything." She grabbed his hand and dragged him past me.

  The most perverse part of me still wanted to let Prescott twist in the wind and deal with his own problems. He was a big boy. But the rest of me wanted to keep fucking him without this bitch sullying my new property any more than she already had. When I finished with him, she could try to get him back. Until then, I claimed him and his cock for the United States of Angelfish.

  I stuck my combat boot out. Bridget tripped, squeaked, and stumbled. She might not have fallen except Prescott bent over rather than holding her up. Hitting the tile floor with a grunt, she let go of Prescott's wrist to get to her hands and knees.

  "Oops," I said.

  "I...um," Prescott stammered.

  I stepped in front of him to give him a chance to breathe. Crossing my arms, I glared down at her. At least I hadn't heard Vickie call Security, though she might have had a way to silently message them like she had with Prescott.

  Bridget rose to her feet in her shiny heels like some cartoon supervillain. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

  "I'm the official messenger of fuck you."

  She grimaced in distaste, probably at my crudeness. Her delicate, shell pink ears probably never had to suffer being assaulted by anything less than fearful politeness. "Prescott, what's going on?"

  Behind me, Prescott put a shaking hand on my shoulder. "This is...um. I..." He gulped so hard I thought he might hurt himself.

  Deciding to rescue my damsel, I jabbed a finger at her. "Look, bitch. This fine piece of ass is mine to fuck now. Prescott is done taking orders from you."

  Bridget put a hand to her chest and took a step back. She looked like she might faint, but it seemed pretty fake to me. Prescott fidgeted behind me, probably struggling with the urge to go to Bridget's aid.

  "I beg your pardon?" Her voice came out breathy and shocked.

  "I accept begging, but you don't get my pardon."

  Her hand whipped out and she slapped me so fast I didn't see it coming. "How dare you?"

  Rubbing my jaw, I turned my head to face her again. If she wanted to play that way, I could play that way. The elevator dinged as I slugged her across the jaw. For good measure, I grabbed her ponytail, punched my knee into her gut, and tossed her to the floor. When I looked up, I saw a muscle-bound black guy in a Security uniform walking through the glass doors or I would've kicked her too.

  Fortunately, the guard grabbed his nightstick and not his gun. "Everybody calm down."

  Vickie stood with her mouth hanging open. Prescott blinked rapidly. Bridget whimpered on the floor.

  I gave the guard a mirthless smile. "Hi there. Just a little domestic dispute. Sorry it happened here, but you can never tell where tight-ass bitches will snap and mess with the wrong person. Vickie, who got physical first?"

  "She did!" Bridget wailed from the floor, pointing at me. "This crude--"

  Vickie gulped. "That's a lie." Her gaze flicked from Bridget to me to Prescott to the guard. "She did." She pointed at Bridget. "She hit this woman first. It's all on video if you want to see it."

  "You are so fired," Bridget growled from the floor. "You will never find another job, ever again."

  "Shut up," I snapped. "Vickie, if you ever need a new job, come by the garage and we'll take care of you."

  "Wait a minute." Prescott had finally found his voice. I cheered on the inside even though I could feel him shaking all over. "You don't get to have people fired just because...because I'm dumping you."

  I wanted to tear his clothes off and fuck him right now for growing a pair and saying it out loud.

  "Prescott, sweetie, what are you talking about?"

  The guard slipped his nightstick into its holster on his belt. "Look, folks, if you want to have this fig
ht, take it elsewhere. Inside this building, you're my problem. Outside, you can do whatever you want to each other."

  Glancing to the side, I noticed we had an audience. "It's lunch time anyway, right?"

  "Um, yeah. Just a minute." Prescott left me to go talk to the onlookers, which probably included his boss.

  "Prescott?" Bridget mewled.

  The guard gave me a stern look. I figured he wanted to ask me not to slug her again without having to say it out loud. In his position, that seemed about the nicest thing he could do and I respected him for it. Tucking my hands into my back pockets, I nodded to him.

  "Suck it up, Buttercup." I stayed a few feet away from Bridget in case she decided to try anything. "He's not your slave anymore."

  "Miss, I think you need to go."

  When I checked the guard, intending to let him know I'd go quietly, I saw he'd directed that at Bridget and not me. The bitch on the floor turned on the waterworks, wailing like her puppy died. Prescott hurried to her side. I flung an arm out to stop him before he could kneel at the Ice Queen altar. I saw he had my dad's jacket and helmet, which meant he was ready to go.

  Reaching up, I waved in front of his face. He blinked and refocused on me. Then he smiled. It took a monumental amount of willpower not to jump him. I distracted myself by nudging him toward the elevator. Turning his back on Bridget, he draped an arm over my shoulders. The glass doors parted for us and Bridget turned to shrieking.

  "I made you! You'll never get anywhere without me! Wait 'til your mother hears about this!"

  Prescott paused and turned, and I worried he might be reconsidering based upon how much shit he'd unleashed. He took a deep breath. His whole body shivered with tension. "I'd like the engagement ring back."

  Bridget, now sitting in a heap, froze in mid-screech and stared at him. "What?"

  He let go of me and squared his shoulders. "I'm not going to marry you. Give me the diamond on your finger."

  Her mouth went slack and she blinked slowly. She brushed hair from her face, her ponytail now so loose it barely held together. For a moment, I thought she would shriek again, but she laughed. It sounded hysterical. "Of course you're going to marry me. Don't be ridiculous."