Free STRIKE: Storm Runners Motorcycle Club 2 (SRMC) by Lauren Devane

skirt was fixed,” Grace said. “To finish the speech.”
    “You’re kidding.” Tom signed the receipt and stood, walking around to pull back Grace’s chair, surprising himself. She stood and they walked out of the restaurant together.
    The night was already cloudy, morose, like a fog would be rolling in soon enough and would steal all the happiness he’d gathered from the hours in her presence.
    “I had some stuff come up.” She looked over at him, eyes wide. He couldn’t believe he’d offered another excuse that he knew was just that—an excuse. Tom spent those days curled up at the bottom of several large bottles.
    “You don’t have to explain.”
    “I know, but I want you to understand.”
    “Tom, I know what this is.” No, you don’t . “We’re temporary and I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I’m here with you. But where could this go?”
    “Why do you think it has to stop here?”
    “We aren’t forever kind of people.” That sparked his temper and he pressed his teeth together to keep from snapping at her. He knew where she worked and where her apartment was. Temporary things Dakota could change in a heartbeat, if she desired.
    She studied him with those eyes like liquid gold and not knowing who she was ate at him in a deep, dark place.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Why does it matter so much?” She stepped forward, rose to her toes, and bit his bottom lip, letting her lips graze it as it slid out from her teeth while she met his eyes. “It’s just a name.”
    “Because I want to know you better.”
    “You even said this isn’t anything real.” Her lips pressed to his again. His cock went rigid in his pants, which just pissed him off more. She was distracting him—the way he’d done to every woman ever to spread over his sheets—and for once he didn’t want that.
    “It’s not.” It is . “But I want your name.”
    “You don’t get my name.” Grace shrugged and stepped back, her eyes closing like steel doors, heavy and finite.
    “It’s just a name? Why won’t you tell me? Or what, am I just another client to you?” He tried to keep his stupid goddamn mouth closed, but it was like he couldn’t stop. “Just waiting for me to slide a few dollars on the nightstand?”
    “Fuck you, then,” Dakota said. “Get out of here.”
    “Dakota…”
    “No,” she said, raising her hand. “You’re not going to stand here and demean me because I won’t give you what you want. How does that make you better than anyone else at Ladies Night?”
    “I didn’t mean…”
    “You still said it. Just go.”
    “Let me take you home.”
    “Not if you were the last man in the world.” When he stood, unmoving, she pointed at the restaurant behind them. “I’ll go inside and call a cab, but I’m not going anywhere with someone like you.”
    “Fuck this.” Tom glowered at her, then stalked to his bike. “I don’t need this shit. I’m gone.”
    He could feel her glare burning into his back as he mounted the bike, started the engine and sped out so fast that gravel sprayed behind him. But he didn’t slow down or look back.

CHAPTER 11
     
    H e left pissed, with a head full of steam. But an hour later, he turned the bike around and headed back in the direction of the Ladies Night. With all the shit Butch and his minions were pulling in Detroit, he wasn’t going to leave Dakota unprotected. A few nights off the search weren’t the end of the world.
    Even if she didn’t want to see him again.
    “I thought I’d seen the last of you.” Dakota stood there holding a tray of drinks.
    “You waitress now?”
    “I told you that I didn’t want to see you.”
    “I was an asshole,” Tom said, putting up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry. You said this was nothing and it’s not nothing. Not to me. I…I like you and I hate not knowing who you really are.”
    It was like the words were a physical blow. She didn’t move, didn’t unbalance the heavy tray of drinks,