Biker Chick Campout (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Read Online Free PDF

headshake , she drew a breath, and then told him, “It’s
one hell of a story. You should ask him about it sometime. How he
came by his name, granted by his president on the day he first wore
his own prospect patch.” Lifting up her other hand, she held finger
and thumb a hairsbreadth apart. “I factor into it in a small way, muy poco , very small . Tiny.” She drew a breath that audibly
shivered from her nerves, every word she spoke dancing along the
borders of pain. How far do I let him in? “Everything
happened so long ago, it seems nearly a dream sometimes. A
nightmare, but so long ago I pray the edges are all worn and can no
longer hurt me.”
     
    He made a noise and tugged at her hand until
she turned to look at him, waiting for the questions she knew would
come. “You know Slate well?” he asked, and she nodded.
    “He saved me,” she whispered,
the simple words saying so much, the weight of gratitude in her
heart expressed aloud .
    They sat in silence for a minute, his thumb
slowly stroking back and forth across her
knuckles , then with words slow and cautious Hurley asked,
“From what?”
    Reminding herself she didn’t
know him, she shifted sideways and tugged, gently pulling her hand
from his grasp, needing some separation. As she spoke, she fell
into the formal cadence of one to whom English was a second
language, reverting to the lessons of her youth, learned before she
knew betrayal. Before fear and pain became constant
companions. “From the time I was small, my father and uncle
disagreed on many things about me. Over the years, their arguments
escalated, raging out of control. Swirling around the family until
I wound up in a dangerous place, surrounded by dangerous men.”
    She took a deep breath, dancing around the
edges of truth. “Men who were there for business, of which I was a
part. Before he met Mason, before he knew of the
Rebels, Slate,” —she smiled, watching as Hurley’s gaze grew more
intent, eyes dipping to her lips, then back to her eyes— “who I
still call Uncle Andy” —Hurley’s eyes widened in surprise— “rode to
the rescue of a frightened and impressionable young Mexican girl,
one forced too quickly into adulthood.
    “ That is how I am connected to
these women” — as she spoke she folded her
hands in her lap, knowing her words sounded stilted, aloof.
Distant, as if the things she endured had happened to another, that
distance was something this story always demanded from her—
“because while my association with the Rebels may have started with
Slate, it continues through my friendship with his woman, Ruby,”
—she paused a moment— “and with Mason.” Mela shook her head, so
many things left unspoken even with everything she’d said. “Mason and my father have partnered together often in the past few
years, and I hold a Rebel challenge coin, giving me free passage
into or through any territory your club claims.”
    Digging into the front pocket of her jeans,
she pulled out a coin. Just larger than a silver dollar, it was heavy and hot, the metal warm from resting so
near her skin. Handing it to him, she watched as Hurley turned it
back and forth, examining both sides of the thick disc, then Mela held out her hand to retrieve it.
He placed it in her palm, his fingers trailing along hers in a sensual motion.
    “ Tell me how you came to be
here?” Unnerved by his silence, affected by his touch, she had to
firm her voice as she asked the question, pushing the treasured
Rebel token back into her pocket. She wasn’t sure if she would
receive a real answer because some men came to a club through paths
they preferred not to disclose. Hurley is not one of
those men , she thought, as he spoke.
    “Mom left Dad and me when I was about five,” he began. “My dad’s best friend was a
Rebel. Well, he didn’t start out a Rebel, but the president of
their club folded it in years ago, so he got grandfathered in. Dad
and Diablo, his friend, and Winger, the