Free HARD: MC Romance (FF MC Romance Book 1) by Scott Hildreth Page A

time. “Fucking idiots!” he shouted.
    He picked up Whip’s knife, and then took Panda’s pistol.
    I had no idea what type of military training Nicholas Navarro received, but whatever it was allowed him to singlehandedly pulverize two bikers in a matter of seconds. And, in doing so, he looked like a stunt man in a choreographed scene from an action-adventure movie.
    I was scared, excited, and turned on at the same time.
    Using Whip’s knife, he carefully cut the patch from the back of each man’s vest. After folding the patches up, he walked to the bar, then quickly returned.
    He bent down and grabbed Whips ankles. “If that dumb fuck tries to get up, shoot him,” he said over his shoulder.
    “Will do, Nick,” the bartender responded.
    He dragged Whip through the door and into the parking lot.
    In a few seconds, he returned and then dragged Panda outside.
    He walked back in, and looked toward the bar. “Sorry about the burgers, Pete.”
    “No problem, Nick.”
    He turned toward me. “Come on,” he said dryly. “We need to get.”
    I grabbed my purse. “Okay.”
    My heart was racing and my mind was trying to make sense of everything that had happened. I wanted to ask so many questions, but realized the time had come for me to become more of a silent witness and less of an enthusiastic reporter.
    Once we stepped into the parking lot, Navarro rushed to the semi-conscious men and planted the heel of his boot against their respective heads one more time.
    Through his teeth he said his goodbyes. “Cocksuckers.”
    Silently, he started the motorcycle, put on his helmet, and turned to check on me.
    “Hold on tight,” he warned.
    I nodded. “Okay.”
    “I’ve got to go see someone, and I don’t have time to take you back.”
    “Okay.”
    “We’re still off the record,” he said. “Understand?”
    “Fully,” I responded.
    Since I was a little girl, I’d always liked to collect facts and tell stories. A journalist was all I ever expected I would be. As sat in the parking lot with two half-dead bikers on the asphalt beside us, I was no longer a journalist working as a reporter for the newspaper.
    I was an accomplice to aggravated battery.
    I gripped Navarro’s waist in my hands and waited. He revved the motor and released the clutch. The motorcycle sped out of the parking lot and into the street.
    For that moment – and the moments that followed during that hot spring afternoon – I learned many things about Navarro.
    And about myself.

 
     
     
     
    TEN
    Nick
    One of the tell-tale signs of a promising prospect is his ability to realize when it’s time to listen and when it’s time to speak. A man who fully understands the difference without being told possesses a certain quality that evokes trust in the men who he exposes himself to.
    Every passing moment of Peyton’s silence pushed me closer to viewing her as a very intriguing woman, and not simply as the reporter who happened into the bar on that Friday afternoon.
    We stood by the workbench in the shop while Peyton sat on my motorcycle in the parking lot. With my eyes constantly searching the road in front of the shop through the open garage doors, I conveyed my concerns.
    “As far as I’m concerned we need to go to war with these pricks.”
    Pee Bee nodded. “I agree, Boss. If those two fucks came into Pete’s bar, they were looking for what they got. That place is off-limits. Plenty of neutral places they could have caught up to you at, but they didn’t. They were asking for it.”
    “Agreed.”
    “You sure you’re ready for this?”
    “Ready? If I’m breathing, I’m ready to fight. Don’t forget that.”
    “Just askin’, Crip. Just askin’.”
    “I’ll call an emergency meeting,” I said. “Let the fellas know to watch their backs. This could get real god damned ugly real god damned quick.”
    “What about the girl?”
    I turned around and shot him a glare. “What about her?”
    “Well, we got to do something with her. She