Read Online Stone Cold (An Iron Tornadoes MC Romance) by Olivia Rigal - Free Book Online
Authors: Olivia Rigal
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feet.
"Get your sweet butt over here," he says, patting the saddle behind him and putting on his own helmet, which had been resting on the handlebar of his ride.
I roll my eyes but climb on behind him. When I'm settled, I sit as straight up as I can and grab on to the backrest. He turns his head and laughs. "Seriously, babe?"
It takes me about five seconds before I give up on the uncomfortable position. I let go of the metal bars of the backrest and wrap myself against him. Right away, one of his hands comes to rest on mine for a second, and strangely, this simple gesture makes my heart flutter. The Brian I know, the one who's always taken care of me, is still somewhere in there. I rest my head against his back and close my eyes. Who cares where we're going? The instant is delicious.
But when we stop and I open my eyes, I become aware that I should know better.
We're in land, in the middle of nowhere, next to the club's main house. I've never been here before but I know. The property must have been a farm to begin with. There's a main house, a very wide A-frame, and then a few other buildings that must have been barns and stables. The doors of one of the largest buildings are open, and it looks like it's been turned into a motorcycle repair shop. We've stopped a few feet away from the house on a patch of concrete, which must have been poured to create a solid surface for parking.
There are a few tables outside. About a dozen men, all sporting the club colors, are sitting or standing around the tables. They're having what seems to be a serious conversation. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or worried by the fact that reality doesn't match the fiction in my head. I would have sworn it would be like a permanent frat house orgy, but I'm the only female in sight.
"We're going to my crib," Brian says. "You stay silent till we get there." His tone doesn't leave room for discussion, and frankly, I'm so out of my comfort zone again that I'm at loss for words. I just nod.
As we get closer to the table, the guys interrupt their conversation.
"Hey, Ice, you've got luscious fresh meat!"
"Mind your manners, Lobster," Brian barks at him.
"Why? You're not gonna share that one? Come on, there’s enough of her for two!" Lobster's a chubby guy with red hair and tons of freckles. I'm not sure how tall he is since he's sitting at the table, but he's a beefy type of man. He's the sort of person who makes me understand why eighteenth-century doctors came up with bleeding as medical treatment—when I see people as crimson as he is, I feel this insane urge to prick them with a needle just to see what would happen.
"But if you don’t want to share, that’s fine with me. We could take turns. Maybe she would like to come visit me after you're done with her," he says to Brian, and then he looks at me and asks, "Hey, sweet butt, wanna know why they call me Lobster?"
I glance in Brian's direction, and with a very slight tilt of the head, he lets me know that I'm not allowed to answer, so I just shake my head.
"Because the sweetest and most impressive part of me is my tail," he says, and then he guffaws. The men sitting at the table laugh as well, but I have the feeling they're also laughing at him, and one of them looks almost embarrassed.
Brian keeps on going, pulling me behind him. "See you later, brothers," he says as we enter the house.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The main room looks like a bar with one very large table and a few small ones, but before I can take a good look around, we start climbing one flight of stairs and then another. We walk down a short hall with half a dozen doors, and Brian opens the last one. He gestures for me to go in and then follows.
We're in his bedroom. I can tell because it smells like him. The furniture is nondescript: a dresser, a table, a chair, and a bed. Everything is cluttered with clothes and papers. That's not a surprise—chaos had always been Brian's natural habitat when he was younger. I guess
"Get your sweet butt over here," he says, patting the saddle behind him and putting on his own helmet, which had been resting on the handlebar of his ride.
I roll my eyes but climb on behind him. When I'm settled, I sit as straight up as I can and grab on to the backrest. He turns his head and laughs. "Seriously, babe?"
It takes me about five seconds before I give up on the uncomfortable position. I let go of the metal bars of the backrest and wrap myself against him. Right away, one of his hands comes to rest on mine for a second, and strangely, this simple gesture makes my heart flutter. The Brian I know, the one who's always taken care of me, is still somewhere in there. I rest my head against his back and close my eyes. Who cares where we're going? The instant is delicious.
But when we stop and I open my eyes, I become aware that I should know better.
We're in land, in the middle of nowhere, next to the club's main house. I've never been here before but I know. The property must have been a farm to begin with. There's a main house, a very wide A-frame, and then a few other buildings that must have been barns and stables. The doors of one of the largest buildings are open, and it looks like it's been turned into a motorcycle repair shop. We've stopped a few feet away from the house on a patch of concrete, which must have been poured to create a solid surface for parking.
There are a few tables outside. About a dozen men, all sporting the club colors, are sitting or standing around the tables. They're having what seems to be a serious conversation. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or worried by the fact that reality doesn't match the fiction in my head. I would have sworn it would be like a permanent frat house orgy, but I'm the only female in sight.
"We're going to my crib," Brian says. "You stay silent till we get there." His tone doesn't leave room for discussion, and frankly, I'm so out of my comfort zone again that I'm at loss for words. I just nod.
As we get closer to the table, the guys interrupt their conversation.
"Hey, Ice, you've got luscious fresh meat!"
"Mind your manners, Lobster," Brian barks at him.
"Why? You're not gonna share that one? Come on, there’s enough of her for two!" Lobster's a chubby guy with red hair and tons of freckles. I'm not sure how tall he is since he's sitting at the table, but he's a beefy type of man. He's the sort of person who makes me understand why eighteenth-century doctors came up with bleeding as medical treatment—when I see people as crimson as he is, I feel this insane urge to prick them with a needle just to see what would happen.
"But if you don’t want to share, that’s fine with me. We could take turns. Maybe she would like to come visit me after you're done with her," he says to Brian, and then he looks at me and asks, "Hey, sweet butt, wanna know why they call me Lobster?"
I glance in Brian's direction, and with a very slight tilt of the head, he lets me know that I'm not allowed to answer, so I just shake my head.
"Because the sweetest and most impressive part of me is my tail," he says, and then he guffaws. The men sitting at the table laugh as well, but I have the feeling they're also laughing at him, and one of them looks almost embarrassed.
Brian keeps on going, pulling me behind him. "See you later, brothers," he says as we enter the house.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The main room looks like a bar with one very large table and a few small ones, but before I can take a good look around, we start climbing one flight of stairs and then another. We walk down a short hall with half a dozen doors, and Brian opens the last one. He gestures for me to go in and then follows.
We're in his bedroom. I can tell because it smells like him. The furniture is nondescript: a dresser, a table, a chair, and a bed. Everything is cluttered with clothes and papers. That's not a surprise—chaos had always been Brian's natural habitat when he was younger. I guess
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