Free Bikers Don't Use Brakes (Hellbirds Motorcycle Club) by Adrienne Shaw Page A

“S’alright, Big D. We was just aiming to see if the little lady needed help.” He looked over at his clean-shaven companion who bobbed his head and kept his red-rimmed eyes on the biker.
     
    The tall man tilted his helmet in the direction of the pickup, and the other two men scrambled back to the vehicle and sent dust flying when they pulled back out on the highway.  Before she could decide if she was in a better position or not, the biker turned towards Sonya and removed his helmet.
     
    Better. Definitely better, she decided. Chestnuts. His eyes were the exact color and glowed with the same sheen as the chestnuts she used to collect in her grandparents’ backyard when she was a kid. Unbelievably, his hair was the exact same chestnut shade. It waved to just below where his collar would be, if he were wearing a collar. Or a shirt under his vest. She could feel her face flush when she realized she couldn’t take her eyes off the strong planes of his tanned face. He had a small silver scar below his left eye. Tilting his head, he offered a crooked little smile that seemed to power her window down on its own.
     
    “Didn’t think those boys were the right ones to give you a hand,” he said in a voice that sped her heart up. “Out of gas?”
     
    Sonya moved her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Wincing, she shook her head.
     
    He leaned closer and looked into her eyes. “So what seems to be the problem?”
     
    She cleared her throat and managed to stutter, “It just slowed all …all by itself and … and, everything stopped uh, working … you don’t have to …I can just call …”
     
    He flashed that lopsided grin again and then said, “How about if I have a look under the hood? Could just be a loose connection.”
     
    Sonya nodded and watched him. He had a barbed wire tattoo circling one sculpted bicep. He reached the front of the car and looked up, catching her eyes on him. His expectant gaze mesmerized her. He made a motion with his arm and said, “Could you pop the hood, maybe?”
     
    Red-faced now, she scanned the buttons on the dash, running her hand over them frantically. Which one? She had never had occasion to need it before. The man the others had called Big D, and she wasn’t even going to speculate about the meaning of that, shook his head and called, “In the glove box.”
     
    She found the yellow hood release and tidied her sable brown hair into a neater configuration while the man was hidden in the depths of the non-operating engine. She turned the key when he asked and was secretly relieved when her car still wouldn’t go. She wasn’t ready to drive away from this heady encounter just yet.
     
    Still, when he offered to go into town for a tow truck, she declined his suggestion that she get a lift on the back of his motorcycle. She wasn’t sure if she was afraid of him or of her own reaction to him. She had never ridden on a motorcycle, and the thought of wrapping her arms around him and holding on filled her with both terror and longing.
     
    Once he was out of sight, Sonya shook her head and told herself to get a grip. Likely the man was a criminal with a harem of waiting women. After the messy breakup with Jimmy six months ago, she had vowed to remain unattached for the foreseeable future, and she wasn’t going to let a chance encounter with a gorgeous man alter her outlook. Though the package was wrapped very nicely indeed.
     
    She pulled a wet wipe from her bag and freshened her face, neck, cleavage, and underarms. Reapplying her makeup, she decided against letting her hair down in this heat. She told herself she was just attempting to look presentable for when she got into the town. And, she reminded herself, there was still the question of getting her car repaired and making it to Albuquerque. She promised herself she would present a professional demeanor.
     
    She couldn’t control her flush of pleasure when the tow truck pulled up and the chestnut-haired hunk got