Smoke and Steel (Wild West MC #2)(11)

It started a couple of hours ago when he was kicked back with a brew and a bag of Bugles, it was getting dark, and she exited her place wearing all black, including enormous black shades, and the sun was almost down.

Plus, she had on sensible shoes.

The woman never wore sensible shoes.

Shit, even lounging at Fortnum’s two Sundays ago, she’d been wearing a sexy pair of those tall wedges.

She also had her hair up in one of those big buns at the top of her head.

Last, she was not carrying her ever-present designer bag.

She was carrying a pair of binoculars.

All this said to Core that whatever she was up to, she meant business, and not the right kind.

She headed to her car.

He tossed the Bugles aside, grabbed his keys and hauled ass to his truck.

He followed her as she picked up her friend.

Then he followed them to some house in Littleton.

After that, he sat on his ass and watched them watch a house from their car.

Incidentally, she didn’t make him following her, and he didn’t try too hard to hide it.

He had no idea why she dressed like a cat burglar to do this. Both of them were shit at surveillance, and they didn’t leave her car. The only time they made any attempt to hide was when they ducked after some dude came out of the house.

Core got a good look at him and noticed he was so pretty, it made Hellen’s castoff seem looks-challenged.

The man got into a shiny BMW and took off.

Obviously, they weren’t after him, because once he was gone, they stopped ducking but continued to sit and watch the house.

Core was getting fed up with it, he was about to jump out of his truck, go knock on her window and ask what she was doing, when both doors to her car opened and the women got out.

This was what made him talk to his windshield.

The friend crossed the road, head turning this way and that, keeping an eye.

Core felt it in his dick, though, witnessing how Hellen crossed the road.

She did it not only like she lived in that neighborhood and belonged there, but also like she owned it and all of Denver.

Jesus, that bitch was something.

They approached the house, and things went south immediately, at least they did for Core, because they didn’t walk to the front door and press the bell.

They headed toward the side hedge and disappeared down it, toward the back.

“God fucking dammit,” he muttered, threw open his door and angled out.

He was a noticeable dude, especially in a nice neighborhood like this, so he didn’t fuck around getting to the hedge.

It was now dark, and he kept to the shadows as he followed the hedge to the back of the house.

The friend was nowhere to be seen.

But Hellen was standing to the side of a big window, her back flush to the house, up on her toes, peering over her shoulder in the window.

He could hear music coming from inside, but he wasn’t sure if it was loud enough to drown out sound from outside, so he got close to her.

And it didn’t escape him he got right up into her space, and she had no idea he was there.

He could be stealthy, what his club was about, it was essential.

But she was even shit at this part of whatever the fuck she was doing.

If you were somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, you kept your senses sharp for any threat. You didn’t stand there and let a man, who was six inches taller than you and had at least fifty pounds on you, get right up in your shit.

But once there, he didn’t dick around.

He asked low, “What the fuck are you doing?”

She made a peep, jumped, whirled, took a step away, but then froze and stared up at him, her pretty lips parted, the whole surprise gig.

So, she could be cute.

That didn’t help how she affected his dick.

“You…” She didn’t finish, she just went back to staring at him.

“Text your friend to head back to the car,” he ordered.

“Who are you?”

“Text your friend to head back to the car,” he repeated.

Her brows drew down over her eyes. “Do you know Christos?”

He looked in the window.

There were three guys in there, sitting around a kitchen table. Two had their heads close, looking at the same phone. One was doing something on a laptop. They were all of the same ethnicity, maybe Italian. They were all dressed like Neiman Marcus threw up on them. And they were one better looking than the next.

He returned his attention to Hellen.

“We can stand here and chat, they could hear us or one of them look out the window and see us, or you can text your friend and we can talk at your car.”

When she hesitated, he reached out, grabbed her hand and pulled her to the hedge.

She came with him, and when he looked back, he saw her walking, hand in his, no struggle, head down, phone illuminated in her other hand. She was texting her friend.

He was surprised at this, first because he was a stranger. As far as he knew, she’d seen him once at Fortnum’s.

Second, because she seemed like the kind of woman to put up a fight, even when it would be stupid to do it, just to make a point.

Last, because he was how he was, and she was how she was.

Sure, Jagger was a part of her family, and anyone who was family of a brother of Chaos was Chaos family. So she clearly had experience being around bikers.