Harm's Way: Riot MC Biloxi by Karen Renee (best e book reader .TXT) 📕

the morning is get your ass a helmet. Jesus! You’re lucky you haven’t been arrested.”

My informing him that helmets weren’t required in Florida didn’t impress him at all. He wasn’t acting brotherly at this juncture, he was acting downright fatherly, and that wasn’t something to which I was accustomed.

He ignored my silence. “You’re goin’ in my room and you’re taking the bed on the left.”

“There’s more than one bed in there?”

He glared at me and unlocked the door.

I stepped inside and he tossed my bag on the bed closing the door behind him.

“Yeah, Steph. There are two beds, but one john and I recall how much you like to primp in the mornings. I don’t care what you’re doin’, if I have to take a crap, I’m tossing your ass out.”

I rolled my eyes. “That was Susan, not me and she was fourteen at the time, so what else would you expect?”

“Whatever. I’ll be back in the morning. Stay out of the common room, if you know what’s good for ya.”

Brute had taken me to his room through a back entrance, so I didn’t see the common room, but I certainly heard the commotion coming from that vicinity. Normally I would be like Alice in Wonderland ready to find out what the fuss was about, but from the few stories I’d heard from Turk, I knew better.

Besides, I hadn’t slept in a queen-size bed in close to a month. The idea of stretching out and not having my ankle hanging off the bed sounded like heaven. So, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed.

Har

SUNDAY MORNING, HAR watched Cynic, their Sergeant-at-Arms, walk into the clubhouse carrying a pink helmet with the Harley logo in white on the side. The moment he saw him, Brute burst into uncontrollable laughter.

None of it made any sense.

“Why are you carrying in your ex-wife’s helmet, man?” Har asked.

He tipped his head at Brute. “This asshole wanted me to bring it by. Why the hell it’s so funny, I don’t know. Seein’ as she’s my ex-wife and I’m not putting another snatch on the back of my bike, I had no problem giving the damn thing to him.”

Cynic eyed Brute for a long time. “Why is this so fuckin’ funny? You know Jessie loved everything pink.”

Swiping under his eyes, Brute got himself together. “Sorry, I need it for my little stepsister, and she won’t be happy about it.”

Har thought back to Friday night. Sure enough, Stephie hadn’t been wearing a helmet. And he was reminded of the many times he considered moving to Florida. One of the most appealing reasons being the fact he wouldn’t have to don a fucking brain bucket every time he straddled his bike.

The thud of the helmet hitting the bar where they sat pulled him from his thoughts. “Don’t you need to take that out to your bike?”

Brute grinned. “Nope. Stephie’s sleeping in my room. I’ll give it to her before she gets her first cup of java.”

“You are mean, brother,” Cynic said on a chuckle, before he ambled to the kitchen.

In the lowest voice he could muster, Har asked, “What the fuck is she doing in your room?”

“She’s sleeping as far as I know. In my spare bed, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Anybody else, Har wouldn’t put up with such bullshit, but with Brute he knew it was harmless. Though, his MC brother was right. His knickers were in a twist, and they shouldn’t be.

He exhaled slow and quiet. “Why is she here, though?”

Brute tipped his chin up. “Oh, yeah. Well, I found where she lives, and it is a hovel, man.”

“It is not a hovel,” Stephie said.

Not even looking at her, he knew she spoke from behind clenched teeth. Har spun on his barstool and fought closing his eyes. She looked even better standing in the middle of the common room than she had at a poker table. Her dark hair was disheveled like she just got out of bed, her lips almost pouty with her irritation, and her pajamas were threadbare, leaving little to his imagination.

He glanced around the room and saw the other brothers were taking note of her too.

Brute sighed. “Whatever, Steph. It’s a dump, and my guess is that ceiling probably fell in last night.”

Her eyes narrowed on Brute. “I’ll be sure to let you know right after I tell the landlord. Now, where do you keep your soap? Somehow, I forgot mine.”

“Should be some under the cabinet,” Brute pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the helmet. “That’s for you, by the way. I’m thinking you’ll look pretty in pink.”

Those lips pressed together and Har knew she was biting back a retort. She shook her head, turned on her heel, and walked away.

Before he knew what he was doing, Har grabbed the helmet and followed her.

Chapter 4It's a Slum

Stephanie

I STORMED OUT OF THE common room, but found myself stopped short two feet from Brute’s door by a muscular arm wrapped around my waist. When I looked down, I expected to see Brute’s thick forearm with the barbed-wire tattoo snaking around his arm. Instead, I saw a forearm covered with sandy-blond hairs and the edge of a tattoo which made my breath catch.

His hand at my waist turned me around, and Har stared at me with expectant eyes. I let the silence stretch between us and his lips tipped up.

He held up the helmet. “Think you forgot something, there, Stephanie.”

My eyes locked with his. I cocked a brow. “I’ll buy my own helmet, thanks. Don’t know why you or Brute has that, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t need a cast-off helmet.”

A strange light hit his green eyes before he smiled.

Good.

Grief.

Goatees weren’t typically my thing, but something about that gleaming smile made me love the fact he had a goatee. It was like one enhanced the other, a simply magnificent combination on him.

His smooth voice interrupted my deliberations. “Is it ’cause it’s pink?”

“What?” I