Page 88 of Misguided
I cover my smirk with a loose fist, enjoying this way too much. Bringing her along was the best gamble ever—period.
“You’ve just proven my point,” Mel counters. “You said you have no idea what the property girls—by the way, that’s what they’re called, not biker cunts—wear. So you’ve just cemented that you had no grounds to assume that I was one simply by the fact I’m A, female, and B, standing beside your son’s bike.”
“You finished?”
“Are you?” she snaps with a quick tuck of her chin, eyebrows raised.
As much as I’d love to pull up a lawn chair and see where this goes, we’ve pretty much solidified the asshole’s resolve not to let us in.
“Come on.” I rest my hand on Mel’s bicep. “We’ll sort something else out.”
She sighs, her lips pressed in a thin line as she looks between Rollan and myself. “Fine.” She turns and heads for the bike, but not without tossing back over her shoulder, “I should have left him to choke you.”
“Pretty sure that’s more your thing,” Rollan quips as I step off the stoop to join Mel.
She spins on the spot and lunges for him, yet I manage to catch her around the waist and haul her kicking and cursing, back down the path to the bike. “Not today, babe.” Not if I want this “dead” girl to stay off the local PD’s radar.
“Don’t know about you,” I say to Mel as I set her down. “But I could use a drink.”
“Amen to that.” She climbs on after me, still staring down the asshole like an angry mutt sizing a smug cat on the wrong side of the fence. “I don’t know how you can let him talk to you like that.”
“Habit,” I reply before starting the bike and pulling away from the curb.
How could I ever think this girl and I were too different for a relationship to work? How much more perfect could she get when she not only tears strips off the old man, calling him out on his bullshit, but lifts that inked hand high and gives the asshole a one fingered salute as we leave.
A year in solitude has done nothing to dampen this woman’s spirit. She might have been unsure and out of sorts when she first got back, but as the weeks have gone by she’s simply gone from strength to strength.
She’s every bit the born leader she professes not to be.
A warrior’s heart packed into one spitfire of a package.
Perfection.