Dirty Girl (Going All the Way #2) - Jenika Snow Page 0,2

took the winding backroads of Steel Corner, and although he should be focusing on the road, all he could think about was Naggie looking fine as hell back at the shop. He wasn’t ashamed to say just looking at her in that tank top that showed off her arms that were covered in ink, tattoos that were of flowers, skulls, and even birds thrown in the mix, gave him a hard-on that rivaled all others.

She was small, in stature and age compared to him, but she was hot as fuck. The problem was he knew she had a guy, had even asked Cadeon about her. But Booshie didn’t mess with taken women, because even if he could take on any guy if he really wanted something—and he really wanted Naggie—he wasn’t about to go there.

She wasn’t even what he normally went for, not with her pixie-cut blonde hair, thin frame, tattoos, and even the eyebrow piercing, but there was something about her that got his engine going. The bad thing was he had even jerked off to her. It was wrong and dirty on every damn level.

He had been seeing more of her due to Cadeon being with Stella and working more out of his shop, and Booshie had gotten this fixation on Naggie. Hell, he had even wanted her to give him some ink just so he could look at her more and talk to her. But he wasn’t a bastard, despite his club’s name, and would never overstep his bounds. Naggie seemed like a wild child with a fierce temper, but she was also honest and decent.

Booshie pulled into the driveway of the Vicious Bastards’ clubhouse. There were a few members hanging around right outside the front door. Little had one of the club pussy girls hanging off his arm, and Ranger, one of the original Vicious Bastards, was leaning against the brick wall smoking a cigar. Scars, the president of their MC, was on his cell a few feet away, and just by the way he paced, Booshie knew he was pissed.

He cut the engine, climbed off his bike, and removed his helmet. Tilting his chin in greeting toward Tank, the sergeant at arms and whose reputation matched his nickname, Booshie moved toward the rest of the guys. He kept his eyes on Scars, trying to gauge his president’s emotions. Shit was obviously going down, especially when he heard Scars raise his voice and throw out some choice words.

Little whistled out low when Booshie stopped in front of them. They were all now watching Scars, and when the president got off the phone and headed their way, there was a draft that followed in his wake.

“Hey, what’s up?” Booshie asked while getting a cigarette out of his cut. He really needed to quit smoking, but it was hard when everyone around him did it, and when the nicotine helped to calm him when he was feeling especially homicidal. Not literally, of course, but close enough when shit went down, or if he was sitting around bullshitting with the guys.

“That motherfucker over at O’Henry’s is trying to get out of paying their weekly dues. John said he doesn’t need our protection any longer, and that some other pricks are taking over that area.”

Booshie lit the end of the cigarette and inhaled deeply. “John doesn’t have anyone else, and there aren’t any other dumb assholes who would dare come onto our territory and try to collect on shit that isn’t theirs.”

“Yeah, John just knows those punk-ass bitches who started shit with him, and the ones we have been keeping in check have moved on and therefore aren’t a threat to his douche bar,” Tank said, but the hard tone in the biker’s voice was filled with menace.

Booshie thought about what Scars said and then looked at Little and Tank. “You want us to go over there and give him a little heart-to-heart?” He grinned around his smoke, and Little and Tank grunted in amusement beside him.

Scars sighed and turned to the side. It was still early enough in the day that the sun hadn’t set yet, and when the light slashed across the side of Scars’s face, his scar became even more prominent. It might have been twenty-plus years since he had gotten that scar, but the reasoning on how it happened and what he lost was still as fresh and painful as if it happened yesterday.

Scars might have been the one to bear the mark, but they were