Flame eBook

Could you love a man surrounded by danger?



Gigi Gallo’s childhood was filled with the roar of a motorcycle and the hum of a tattoo gun. Fresh out of college, she’s about to start working at her family’s tattoo studio — Inked. But when she showed up the first day, she never expected to run into someone tall, dark, and totally sexy from her not-so-innocent past.



Pike Moore is a bossy biker with a cocky attitude and an even bigger ego. He came to Inked to start over. New town. New job. New roots. None of that included coming face-to-face with the hot chick who spent a week in his bed before she vanished without a trace.



But when Pike’s dark family history catches up with him, can he stop Gigi from being caught in the crossfire?

• Protective Alpha Heroes
• Troubled Past
• Found Family
• Women in Peril
• Redemption
• Opposites Attract
• Family Saga

“He wants you.” Tamara, my cousin, elbows me in the ribs while she gawks at a guy across the bar. “And he’s hot.”

I glance in his direction and look away quickly when our eyes meet.

Holy crap.

The guy isn’t just hot, he’s Freaking Fine with capital Fs.

But the last thing I need is more complication in my life, especially after what happened with Erik.

I tear my gaze away from him and roll my eyes at my cousin. “I’m not here for a guy, Tam. I’m here to be with my girls, not some…”

“Hot biker?” She finishes my statement and shoots me a smug grin.

“He’s not that hot.” I throw the thin red straw from my drink in her direction, hoping she’ll change the subject.

I’m completely lying, of course.

He’s not a pretty boy…although he is handsome. He’s a little rough around the edges and probably couldn’t pull off the corporate look to save his life, but that doesn’t make him any less attractive. There’s no way a guy like him rides his bike on the weekends and sits in a cubicle all day to pay the bills.

He lives the life.
He’s all in.

Deep in the biker world. This isn’t a getaway weekend to cut loose for a few days. Nope. This life is part of his core.

On a hotness scale of one to ten, he’s totally a twenty. But he’s a little scary too.

I’ve known plenty of bikers in my short twenty years walking this earth. Growing up with a biker dad who had biker friends, I’ve been around guys like the hottie my entire life. And since I worked at my family’s tattoo shop Inked during my summers, my circle of bikers grew, but they were all good guys…at least in their own messed-up ways.

Mallory lifts the glass in front of her lips and stares over the rim at me. “You know how to get over a jerk like Erik?”

I shake my head. “Don’t say it,” I warn her.

She slams back her drink and winces before the liquid has even slid down her throat. “Tequila is no joke,” she grits out and coughs into her hand until tears form in her eyes.

“I told you,” Mary, her identical twin sister, says and shakes her head in judgment. “You never listen.”

“I’m fine. Anyway, what was I saying?” Mallory pauses as she slides the empty glass across the table. “Ah. I was telling you how to get over Erik.” Her lips tip up. “Get lost in someone else.”

Ugh.

That’s totally Mallory, but not Mary. They are like night and day. One’s a wild child, and the other is a bookworm.

Tamara nudges another drink in my direction. “Maybe you just need a little liquid courage to go talk to Flame.”

I raise an eyebrow, glaring at my not-so-innocent cousin. “Flame?”

“Well…” She glances in his direction again and shrugs. “He’s hot, so Flame just works. Like, he’s so hot, you’ll get burned.” She laughs, finding herself funny even if no one else at the table does.

I tap my finger against the table, staring at her in disbelief. “You know what happens when I drink, Tamara?”

Her smug smirk grows bigger. “I do, and I’m counting on it.” She waggles her eyebrows.

Oh boy.

Tamara is supposed to be my voice of reason on this trip. We lied to our parents about spring break. We told them we were staying on campus to catch up on homework and to study for final exams. They would have a fit if they knew we were in Daytona, especially during Bike Week.

I tip my head back, letting the liquid slide to the back of my mouth before it makes its way down my throat. My eyes tear up immediately.

The two shots I’ve already downed along with the beer I’ve been nursing are starting to work their magic. Between Mallory’s annoying words, the hot guy across the bar, and the alcohol running through my veins, I’m ready itching to move.

I curl my fingers around the glass, and I know I’m going to regret everything about tonight when I open my eyes tomorrow. But right now, I don’t care.

I’m over the conversation, and I’m totally over Mallory.

“Shut up, Mal. I’ve been around men like him my entire life. I didn’t grow up like you, in a mansion surrounded by overprivileged jerks. A hot biker guy like that doesn’t scare me.”

“Put up or shut up, sweetie.” Mallory grins, thinking she’s proved her point because she’s always the unpredictable one in the group, while Mary and I play everything safe.

The chair scrapes against the floor and my knees wobble as I stand, but I can’t stop now. If I falter in any way, I’ll never hear the end of it from Mallory. The last thing I want to give her is more ammunition.

I lift the glass to my lips, pouring it down my throat and barely wincing this time because it’s already working its magic. “Don’t wait up for me tonight.”

Tamara’s hand is on my wrist before I have a chance to storm away in dramatic fashion. “Do you think this is smart?” She stares up at me with wide eyes. “Don’t listen to her, Gigi, and she’s trying to get under your skin.”

I pull my arm away, feeling surer than ever that this is, in fact, the right thing to do. I’m going to prove them all wrong.

I can be wild.
I can be reckless.

I know how to have fun, and I can most certainly talk to a hot biker guy without turning into a mumbling idiot.

“I’ll be fine, Tam. I won’t be back at the hotel room before the sun rises.”

“Gigi, don’t do this,” Tamara begs, reaching for my hand again and missing.

“One second.” I take another step backward.

Mallory’s grinning with her arms crossed while Tamara and Mary both look horrified.

I turn my back to them and make my way through the crowded bar. My eyes lock with the handsome stranger’s, and all rational thought and any reason to stop what’s about to happen go right out the window.

The way his lips curve at the side, exposing just a hint of white teeth renders me a little stupid, and I almost trip over my own two feet, but I somehow stay upright.

Reaching into my back pocket, I grab my phone and unlock the screen as I take the final steps to him.

“Hey.” I try to sound upbeat and excited instead of terrified. “What’s your number, handsome?” I lift my phone, moving my gaze from his face to the phone and back to him.

The corner of his mouth ticks, and I ready myself for a barrage of questions, but they don’t come. “Hey, darlin’,” he says smoothly. His voice is like velvet sliding over my skin, deep and gravelly.

I stand there, unable to move, staring at his mouth, surrounded by that killer beard.

“Name’s Pike.” He tips his head back, tilting it a little to the side as his gaze sweeps over me.

I open my mouth and close it because, for a moment, I can’t think of a thing to say. I can’t stop staring at him and all thoughts, rational or not, just seem to vanish. I don’t know how many seconds I stand like this, staring at him while he stares at me, but it’s more than a few and entirely too long.

“Gigi,” I finally mutter, unable to say more than a few syllables. I can’t seem to stop staring in his eyes. They’re beautiful, but I can’t tell if they’re blue or green in the dim lighting of the bar.

“Still want my number?” he asks, moving his hand across his face and partially covering his mouth to hide the smile he’s sporting.

I nod because somehow, I’m still mute.

Way to go, Gigi.

Pike gives me a chin lift, and I raise my phone before he rattles off a set of numbers…his numbers.

“Be right back.” I smile, or at least, I think I do. With all the alcohol, it could very well be a grimace.

Thankfully, Pike doesn’t ask me anything. He just dips his head, those full lips still quirked before I turn my back to him and hustle away as quickly as possible.

My eyes are wide as I stalk back toward the table where Tamara, Mary, and Mallory are all sitting, staring at me in complete disbelief.

“Tam, take down his number. If I disappear, you know where to start.”

“Don’t do this,” she pleads and covers her face with her hands.

“Just take down his number.”

“Don’t listen to Mallory, Gigi,” Mary tells me, but I shake my head.

“You want his number or not?” I stare at my cousin, ignoring the other two. “This is happening, so you can either have my back or not, Tam.”

“If you disappear,” Tamara says as she fishes her phone out of her purse, “I might as well never go home, because my daddy and your daddy will never forgive me.”

I tap my foot. “Just open your contacts and type, Tam. I don’t need a lecture.”

She snaps her mouth shut and nods. Her fingers move fast as I read his number off the screen.

“His name is Pike.”

“Of course it is,” she mutters into her phone screen. “I still think—”

“Don’t,” I snap as I jam my phone into my jeans pocket while she stares at me with her mouth hanging open. “I’ll be fine. You have his name and number. He’s not going to hurt me. I mean, look at him.” I look over my shoulder, catching those beautiful eyes again.

“I’m looking, and he’s fine,” Mallory adds like any of us care about her opinion.

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling like I haven’t had a drop of liquid in my mouth for days. “Don’t wait up for me. I’ll see you when I see you.” I turn on my heel and head toward Pike.

“Gigi,” Tamara yells out, barely audible above the music and chatter of the people around me.

I don’t stop, though. I walk straight up to Pike, taking in his vintage T-shirt, torn jeans, road-worn black biker boots, spectacular beard, and sparkling eyes and say, “Wanna get out of here?”

He pulls the bottle back from his lips, eyes sweeping up my body before his lips curve again. “Thought you’d never ask.”

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“I’m so sorry, I…” The little bird in the yoga pants is already being checked out. There is a hot dog on the counter along with some other snacks, and Mr. Green Glitter Eye Shadow is shaking his head.

“Lady, card’s declined. Won’t go through. I ran it three times.” He drops the piece of plastic on the counter. “You got cash?”

I stand a respectful distance behind her, trying not to look at her bottom in those yoga pants. I look anywhere but down, aiming for her sunshine hair and the sleeveless tank that reveals trim, almost muscular arms.

She’s telling the attendant her card worked fine when she paid for gas outside at the pump. “Could you try it again? Please?” she asks, her voice proud, but the exhaustion of defeat sneaks through.

The kid huffs a sigh, but he picks up the card and runs it again. After a second, he raises his brows. “Okay? Satisfied?” he asks. He hands it back to her. “Won’t go through. I’m sorry, all right? It’s shitty, but this isn’t our fault. You gotta pay cash or…”

My eyes trace what look like finger-shaped bruises on the backs of her upper arms. The marks aren’t faint, but they are starting to heal. They look recent enough that I’m sure that somebody gripped her and shook her not that long ago.

She drops her head in her hands.

I stare past her to the shit she has piled on the counter. A hot dog loaded with ketchup. Two bags of chips. One water, one juice. I pull out my money clip and peel off a fifty. “Here’s your cash,” I say to the attendant, reaching past her.

The woman faces me, her expression unreadable.

“Better not to use the card readers at the pump,” I say. I’m trying to save her pride here, and by the looks on everyone’s faces, we all know it. “You know those things all have skimmers on them,” I explain.

“Skimmers?” she echoes, like she has no clue.

“Scammers steal card numbers from gas pumps all the time,” I say. I point to her card, which she’s now clutching tight in her hand. “Maybe check with your bank, maybe there’s been some kind of fraud. There’s usually a reason why these things don’t work when they should.”

The attendant holds up a hand with the change, looking unsure who to give it to.

“That’s his,” she says quietly. She blinks at me, but she doesn’t say thanks or anything.

I pay for my water and teas with the change and nod to the gas station dude. “Thanks, man,” I say and grab my stuff.

“Need a bag for that?” the kid asks.

“Not me,” I say. I instinctively breathe deeply, hoping to catch a hint of that sugar-cookie fragrance before I head toward the door.

“Wait!”

I stop at my bike and face the woman calling after me.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says. She’s got the hot dog in one hand and her snacks in one of those cheap white plastic sacks imprinted with the words Thank You. The words repeat over and over in a pattern that seems excessively enthusiastic given the fact that the bags hold crappy gas-station chips.

I slide my sunglasses over my eyes. “Forget it,” I say, lifting my chin at her. Now that she’s facing me, staring me down, I can tell she’s not all baby bird. She’s got strength in her eyes and something else I can’t place. Fierceness, maybe. Whatever it is, none of this is my problem. “It’s kinda my fault,” I say, making light of it. “I really pushed you toward that dog. I hope you enjoy it.”

She smiles at that but then flicks a glance over toward a beat-up sedan parked in the shade at one of the pumps. She quickly looks back at me, but I’m thinking that must be her car.

“Look, I…I want to pay you back,” she says. “Can you wait here a second?”

I sigh and watch as she dashes to the car. I don’t even try to keep my eyes off her as she runs. Her hair flicks against her back with every step, and before I know it, she’s walked around one side and opens the rear passenger door. She looks up at me, watching me watching her, and I see her pass the hot dog to someone in the back seat.

I strain my eyes to make out…a kid.

A little girl.

She hands the hot dog and plastic bag to the little girl, talks to her for a moment—all the while keeping one eye on me—and then trots back across the gas station lot back to me and my bike.

She holds out a crumpled five-dollar bill and has her cell in her hands. “I only have a little cash on me,” she explains. “But I’d like your number or address so I can mail you a check when I get…”

The heavy pause lets me know that this little bird is flying away. Either doesn’t know where she’s headed or doesn’t want to say.

“When you get…?” I repeat, saying it like a question.

Her sudden silence reveals the truth. A woman with bruises on her arms and no cash. Beat-up car and shifty eyes. A little girl in the back, eating cheap-ass food at a rest stop.

I hold out a hand. “Unlock your phone.”

She swipes the touchscreen and punches in a code. Never taking her eyes off mine, she holds the phone out to me. I put my number in her contacts and hand the phone back.

But I can’t leave this woman just yet. I look her over. The soft lines in her forehead I can now see are worry lines. The distrusting eyes. Perpetual look of concern. A woman and a little girl in a beater car with a single hot dog between them. I shake my head. “You wanna pay me back, my number is in there under Morris."

“Did you send my number to your phone?” she asks.

I shake my head. “You want to reach out, you can. I’m in there. But if you want to put this day in the rearview…consider the lunch a gift.”

She looks at me confused, an upset-looking pucker twisting her pretty lips downward. “Why?” she asks. “Why are you doing this? I can’t accept your generosity. I can’t—”

“Did you fill your tank?” I ask pointedly. I didn’t actually see her put her card into that pump, so I don’t know if she has gas to get wherever she’s going or not.

She gives me a sad look and a wry smile. Like I caught her. “I put some gas in,” she admits.

“Some gas,” I echo. I shake my head and dig into my pocket. I flick a glance around to make sure no one is watching us and then peel off two hundred in cash.

She sees the money, and her eyes widen. “What? What is this? What do you think you’re doing?” She shakes her head and starts to back away.

Before she can get away, I reach out and grab her arm but gently. I lower my face and whisper in her ear, “I see those bruises on your arms,” I hiss. “I know the guy who grabbed you exactly like I’m doing right now didn’t give you cash to go with those bruises. Only a piece of garbage would send his woman and kid—or a woman with a kid, whether it’s his or not—away without a decent ride and money to get where they are going. I’m not a piece of garbage."

She struggles a little against my hold, but not in a way that makes me think she’s scared. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was actually leaning closer.

“I’ll keep out of your business after this. The two hundred means nothing to me. I’ve got ink worth more than that covering just my left hand.” I trace the line of her chin with my hand to prove the point. “I won’t stand by and watch a woman and an innocent kid suffer when a couple bucks might see you safely home—or wherever you’re going.”

I release her and kick a leg over the seat of my bike. While this woman smells like an angel and looks like she was made for sin, I’ve got places to be. “Hey,” I say, firing up my bike. “You need a job, a place to stay, or anything—you have my number.”

She looks at her phone, reading the contact information I entered. “Morris?” she asks. “Your name is Morris, right?”

I nod. “That’s me, darlin’.”

She looks over my bike and my leather vest. Her eyes grow dark when she scans my chest, my neck, and finally, come to meet my eyes.

“Don’t you want to know my name?” she asks. Her mouth is slightly open. I can almost taste the sugar-sweet air she puffs between those perfect lips.

I shake my head and give her a sexy smile. “You can tell me your name when you call me.”

And with that, I take off, leaving my beautiful bird and her little chick behind.