Curvy Temptation by C.L. Cruz
Chapter 2
Willow
WhenIreachtheclunkyoldVolvo—theonlycarI’dbeenabletoaffordwhenmyexmadeoffwithourreliableHondaSUV—Iturnandgetanothergoodlookatthemanbehindme.
He’s tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome with chocolate eyes, a stern set to his mouth behind a full beard, and a broad, muscular chest. He’s wearing a black cap and a black leather vest that I think is called a cut with a patch on the front that reads “President.” Beneath it is a white t-shirt and loose jeans that do little to disguise his fit body. Tattoos snake down his right arm all the way to his wrist, doing their part to add to his dangerous flair.
I don’t know much about MCs, but this guy is clearly someone to be reckoned with. Maybe I should be afraid, but the truth is, I’m just intrigued. And really damn turned on.
“Pop the hood,” he commands.
“I’m not here about—”
“Pop the hood,” he repeats in a tone that brooks no argument. “And we’ll talk.”
I do as I’m told, watching as he lifts the hood, pulls a rag from his pocket, and proceeds to check the oil levels.
“Now, what can I help you with?” he asks.
“I need to buy a gun,” I answer, sounding more confident than I feel. I’m not a gun kind of person, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure my son and I are safe, especially now that we’re on our own.
I moved to Heathcliff a few months ago, not escaping a person so much as my past. After Max’s dad left us high and dry, I needed a fresh start. But I’d forgotten how hard a fresh start could be. As a beautician by trade, I’ve been looking for a place to work, but I can’t even afford the rent on a booth in a salon, not as someone new in town without an established clientele.
Which is why, when I found a job as the night-shift clerk at a motel that includes a place to stay and also gives me the chance to be there for my son during the day, I took it gladly. During my first week there, I approached the job with optimism. Max and I moved in and cleaned the skeezy motel room from top to bottom, making it our own place, and I dedicated myself to the work, learning the ropes quickly and diving right in.
That optimism quickly faded, though, as I got to know my new boss. Nice at first, Jeremy’s true colors have been emerging. He’s used to dealing with certain types of women that frequent the pay-by-the-hour rooms and has made the mistake of lumping me in with them. At first, when he brought me coffee in the mornings, I assumed it was a friendly gesture, but yesterday, he made some implication that I owed him in some way, and he didn’t want money as payment.
His advances are transitioning from friendly to pushy. The obvious answer would be to quit. To move out. To put distance between myself and the situation. But all of those things require money. I don’t have enough for a deposit on a new place, but I can spare a little for a gun. Something to protect Max and me until we can get out of there. Something to push back with, if it comes down to it.
The man slams the hood closed and leans against it. We make eye contact, and my knees actually go a little weak.
“Why come here?” he asks, wiping his hands on the rag but not looking away from me.
“Chastity said you would be able to help me,” I answer.
“Chastity, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, and I realize suddenly what he must think.
“I work at the Veridian Motel,” I hurry to explain. “She… comes in a lot.”
Chastity is one of the girls who uses the motel pretty frequently. Despite her profession, she and I have become unlikely friends over the last couple of weeks. I help her with her hair and makeup; she keeps an eye on Max when I need to run errands. I’ve never been one to judge people based on what they do, especially if all they’re trying to do is survive.
As he stares at me assessingly, I suddenly feel exhausted. Sagging a little, I say, “Look, I’m just trying to protect myself and my son. If you can’t help—”
“I didn’t say that,” he interrupts. Holding out his hand, he crooks his fingers at me. “Give me your keys.”
“I told you, I’m not here about the car.”
“And I heard you. But while we’re getting you squared away, I’m going to have them get you a tune-up and an oil change. On the house. You want to protect yourself and your son, you can start by making sure you don’t break down on the way back to him.”
Ugh, he’s right; I can’t even remember the last time I got the car serviced. Although I’m a little skeptical, I hand over my keys and follow him back to the shop. He tosses them to the guy I’d been talking to earlier and gives him instructions before motioning for me to follow him.
I’ve never had anything to do with a motorcycle club, so I wasn’t sure what to expect when Chastity sent me to the Raging Angels’ compound, but it’s more than I imagined. There have to be several acres, most of them surrounded by a black, iron fence that stretches as far as I can see. Other than the body shop, there’s a garage, a big clubhouse, a few other outbuildings, and even small houses and duplexes lining a dirt path. It’s hard to believe that the big city is just a few miles away.
“Where are we going?” I ask, skipping to catch up to him as I hike my purse up higher on my shoulder.
“We don’t keep a lot of our inventory on-site, but I think I have something that will work for you,” he answers, stopping at what looks like a barn and opening it with some fancy electronic lock on the door.
We step inside a narrow, windowless room. He touches a panel on the wall and fluorescent lights flicker to life along the ceiling, illuminating a glass-and-chrome counter, a huge black safe, and a wall lined with black rifles hanging on pegs. I feel wildly intimidated, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he kneels to unlock the counter.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” I start to say, but then he stands, and I see he’s holding a small, black gun about the size of my hand. “Oh, that’s not so bad.”
Smirking, he directs me to a door behind the counter. I push it open and find myself in what almost looks like a narrow hallway but that I quickly realize is a shooting range.
“Have you ever shot a gun before?” he asks.
“I’ve never even held one,” I admit.
Instead of seeming annoyed, he just nods patiently. “Let’s start with the basics then.”
So we do. He gives me safety gear to wear and then shows me everything from loading and unloading the gun, to how to handle it and how not to handle it. Then, he clips on a paper target and sends it down the range with the push of a button on the wall. It’s all very high-tech, especially considering the modest exterior.
I never thought I’d be attracted to a bad boy with a gun. Maybe because this guy isn’t a boy; he’s all man. Of course, I also never thought I’d need a gun to protect myself. Life can certainly be unpredictable. I just hope I can keep being strong enough to roll with the punches.
He watches stoically as I load the magazine, rack the gun, and point it down the range just like he showed me. I pride myself on being a quick study, but my hands are shaking; I laugh nervously, unable to steady the gun.
After a few seconds of this, he steps up behind me, pressing his tall, solid body against my back. I can feel every inch of muscle—his pecs, his abs, and if I’m not mistaken, the hard ridge of his—
“Arms up,” he says, nudging my elbows.
I clear my throat and lift my arms. His hands come around me, wrapping me in a sexy biker cocoon. He braces my elbows against his and lightly touches my hands.
“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to pull it,” he instructs me, his voice low and his breath hot on my ear. “And don’t be in a rush. Plant your feet, take a breath, set your sights…”
“And then?” I ask, feeling breathless.
“And then shoot that fucker in the head.”
Surprised, I laugh, and just like that, the tension that had been tying me in knots dissipates and I relax back into him.
“That’s it,” he says approvingly, still holding onto me. “Whenever you’re ready.”
A few seconds later, I squeeze the trigger. I jump a little as the gun discharges, but he holds me steady, and I squeeze off another shot, then another, getting the feel for it.
“Wow,” I exhale when the magazine is empty. “What a rush.” I’ve never cared about guns, but even I can admit there’s a certain feeling of power that comes with it. And it’s not about actually shooting someone so much as it is about finally having a level playing field.
He insists on getting me a small, electronic safe, too, and when I tell him I can’t afford all of this, he waves away my concerns.
“My mom left when I was a kid,” he says as he locks the gun room up behind us, my safe tucked under one arm. “So, I do what I can to support moms who care for their sons.”
My car is sitting outside of the shop, and he loads the safe into the back. When he straightens, I hold a hand out to him.
“Thanks for all your help…” I trail off, realizing I don’t even know the man’s name.
“Ranger,” he says, filling in the blank for me. He takes my hand and grips it tightly in his, pulling me close. “And you are?”
“Willow.” I notice his eyes drop to my mouth, and I lick my lips, which are suddenly very, very dry. After what I’ve been dealing with, it seems like I should be afraid of this guy, but it’s actually the opposite. As dangerous as he looks, I feel safe in his presence—safer than I’ve felt in a long time.
“Well, you’re very welcome, Willow.”
I catch sight of a clock on the wall in the garage behind him and come to my senses. Chastity is watching Max, and I promised I’d be back before her appointment tonight.
“I should go,” I tell him. “Max is waiting for me.”
He nods and opens my door. The keys are in the ignition, and I slide inside, starting the car. I notice that there’s even a little “Hughes Auto” sticker in the corner of the windshield reminding me when it’s time for my next service.
A smile pulls at my lips as I consider the odds of me coming back to get my oil changed. Not likely… unless Ranger is the one changing it. Something tells me he’d be very skilled at, ahem, changing my oil. I catch sight of him in the rearview mirror as I pull out onto the highway and sigh. The man is pure temptation and I’m suddenly in the mood to be tempted.