The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) by Jaci J Page B

of a long time, and it’s a place I visit often.
    “Come on, darlin’.”
    The bell above the door rattles when we walk through, and the smell of leather and grease greet me. Letting the door swing closed, it hits the frame with a loud crack. Lennon is hot on me heels, her hand on my back, holding on to me.
    The little time I’ve spent with Lennon, I’ve learned she’s a toucher. Not the type of woman who flirts with her hands, seeking attention, but the type who needs the contact, needs to touch things. She has no fucking clue she does it, and I’m not going to stop her.
    “Come on, babe.” Taking her hand, I lead her inside and in front of me. I don’t mind her touching, but I hate her behind me where I can’t see her.  
    “Welcome to—” Tinker starts to say, walking in from the back. His phony smile drops and his shoulders drop when he sees me. “Oh, it’s just you.”
    What a welcome.
    “Nice to see you too, old man.” I respond back sarcastically.
    “Eh, fuck you.” He waves me off while puttering off to the register, the chain on his wallet rattling in the quiet shop.
    Lennon’s looking up at me, waiting for lord knows what, with curious eyes and a big smile.
    “Yeah?” I implore. I hate when she stares at me like that. I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
    “Can I look around?” Don’t see why she’s asking me now.
    “Sure.” Letting go of my hand, she smiles and mouths, “Thanks.” I’m caught watching her walk away when Tink asks, “Got yourself an old lady or somethin’?” He’s looking at me with that knowing old man stare he’s perfected over the years.
    Yeah she’s my somethin’ alright. 
    “That a yes or a no, brother?” Elbows planted on the counter, he lifts his chin towards Lennon, and he starts staring, all interested and shit in her. He’s not even fucking close. Lennon and me aren’t much. Not even sure you’d call us friends.
    Leaning my back against the counter, I cross my arms and start watching her too.
    “Nah, she needs adult supervision is all,” I tell him. I have no idea why she landed here in my lap, but I’m learning it isn’t the worst thing that could have happened to me.
    “A favor,” he grunts in understanding. Tinker knows how this shit goes. Occasionally we gotta help some outsiders out, and usually that outsider is linked to a brother or an old lady. Rule two, we protect our own and that shit extends to family and friends.
    “Yep.”
    “Tough break,” he says, grinning. I get it, she’s fucking hot. But she’s still a woman—a needy, whiney woman.
    “You wanna live with her?”
    “Sure, send her my way,” he offers easily without hesitation.
    Tinker, an old-timer, semi-retired bother, has owned the local bike shop in town for years. He sells just about anything you could need for a bike; parts, leathers, bike accessories, helmets, and all that good shit. Anything you need, he’s your man. But it’s his knowledge about bikes and the world that has us young motherfuckers coming here. Tinker knows everything there is to know about everything.
    “She ain’t hard on the eyes, brother.” Yeah, but she’s hard on everything else.
    “No, that she is not.”

    Lennon is a handsy little thing today. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible for her to keep her fucking hands to herself as she walks around the store. I watch her touch everything in the goddamn place within arm’s reach. She’s browsed a rack of leather jackets, checked out the isle of boots, and now she’s perusing the helmets.
    Picking up a full black helmet, she inspects the shit out of it before setting on her head. I watch her and laugh to myself. I have no fucking clue what she’s doing, but she’s having fun, something she always seems to be able to do, no matter what she’s doing.
    Turning towards Tinker and me, she puts her hands on her hips and shouts through the shield, “Does this helmet make me look fat?”
    She’s trying to set me up to fail with that