Within seconds, he had his sled started, had her gently pushed out of the way, and sped off.
Lyric’s feet remained frozen in place untilshe could no longer see the rear lights of his Harley or hear the deep rumble of the exhaust.
Only then did she head home.
Not five minutes into that drive, she glanced in the rearview mirror to see a lone motorcycle following her.
Once she hit the gated compound, the sled kept going. While she waited for the gate to open, she got a glimpse of the biker as he passed.
Rage had escorted her home.
Chapter Sixteen
He could’ve hadher again that night. She’d been offering herself up.
But again, Rage had to remind himself that Lyric wasn’t a woman to be used. She needed to be respected and cherished.
And that was not how he normally fucked.
He wasn’t interested in all the “after shit” some women wanted to do. The cuddling, the pillow talk, even sharing breakfast the next morning.
Fuck no.
An elbow to the ribs had him snapping back to the present.
“Yo,” Rooster crowed.
“What?”
“Bogey at ten o’clock.”
Bogey? Did the club’s assistant manager think they were starring in a goddamnTop Gunmovie?
Rage glanced over in the direction Rooster jerked his head.
“He look like a biker?”
Rage studied the long-haired, bearded man sitting on the other side of the stage wearing clunky silver rings with numerous tattoos visible.
His first instinct would be to say, yeah, it was a biker, and normally he wouldn’t care who came into Heaven’s Angels, as long as they weren’t wearing colors, didn’t harass the women, and paid their bar tab. The only colors allowed in the club were the DAMC’s.
They wanted everyone who entered through those doors to know who owned and ran the joint. In a way, it was a warning.
But any other MC? No. They didn’t even allow the Knights or the Fury to wear their cuts if they decided to come in and enjoy the entertainment.
So, yeah, the guy could be a biker, but unless they saw something that clearly identified him, he wouldn’t assume.
“You hear him mention a club or anything?” Rage asked the older DAMC member.
“Nah. Somethin’ ‘bout him just caught my attention. Wanna make sure he ain’t a Soul scopin’ out the place.”
Rage’s gaze sliced from Rooster to the man with his eyes glued to an upside down Cinnamon using a knee hooked around the pole to swing around it, her huge tits almost clobbering herself in the face.
Those jugs would be perfect for titty-fucking, but the fuck if Rage was doing that shit with one of his employees. He already had enough issues with those crazy bitches and sticking his dick in one of them would make it so much fucking worse. He could just see the other girls accusing him of favoritism and bullshit like that. Strippers loved drama. If there wasn’t any, they’d make shit up just to start some.
No fucking thanks.
“Yeah. Need to stay vigilant ’til we get that problem solved.” The problem being both the Twisted Souls and the Russos.