Don't Say It:Ronacks Motorcycle Club(4)

By: Debra Kayn

"Motorcycle club." Swiss kept his gaze on her hands. "Ronacks Motorcycle Club."

"You said your name was Swiss," she said.

"That's what I'm called."

"You live here?" She tilted her head to the side.

He'd like to see her in the light. Going by her voice and the way she held her position, he liked where his mind took him. She had guts.

With a gun in her hand, he'd be foolish to believe her stupid or predictable. But, it was the middle of the night, and he wasn't planning on standing around with a pistol pointed at him answering her questions twice because she failed to understand him the first time.

"Already told you where I live and as much as I'd like to discuss this more with you until you believe me, I need to get inside." He stepped to his right, keeping her in view in case she made any sudden movements.

Aware of the package of cash against his back, he'd at first thought someone was trying to lift the money bag off him. Haugan was a small town, but travelers passed through, often desperate for money or thinking they could skip town and never be caught after taking advantage of one of the locals. He couldn't be too careful.

He reached for the door handle and his nighttime rebel said, "Swiss?"

The insecurity in her voice stopped him. He turned around. "Yeah?"

"You're right. It's the middle of the night, and it's dark." She remained on the sidewalk. "I apologize for pointing my gun at you. You startled me."

He moistened his lips and gazed around her. The whole town slept. The houses along the street remained dark, and they were the only two awake and outside.

"No harm done. You can't be too careful," said Swiss, taking in the silence.

While moving in or not, a female shouldn't be out at three o'clock in the morning by herself. Even the town of Haugan had its good and bad areas where a woman should pay attention to curfew. He preferred to stay in the south part of town where most of the petty crime happened because he found it easier in the chaos to mind his own business. But, there were meth-heads, heroin users, and men who would think nothing of taking advantage of a woman alone.

"Why don't you wrap up what you're doing and catch some sleep until the sun comes up. That way you're not startled anymore if you happen to run into someone when you're going out to your car." He opened the door, reached inside and flipped the outside light hanging above him on.

The light temporarily blinded her and gave him time to see who pulled a pistol on him.

He was right about her size. All woman with curves in the right places. Though, she was better looking than he'd imagined—beautiful. She had thick, long, black hair and wide eyes. He dropped his gaze to her ripped jeans that hugged her thighs. Thighs he could dig his fingers into and hold on. Her waist indented nicely above her wide hips. He raised his gaze higher and appreciated the full breasts contained in her tight shirt with a low front that gave him a nice rack to admire.

"Sorry for disturbing you," she said, sidestepping to break his ogling.

He jerked his gaze to her face and openly stared. Her full lips gave her a sad expression. A susceptibility that confused him. She'd pulled a gun on him and seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

She turned her dark eyes away and walked toward the door, fifteen steps to his left, and slipped inside her part of the duplex. He shook his head at the turn of events and went inside. He had no use for a neighbor, especially not a female.

The duplex was his, though he rented from the landlord, too. He'd made sure that nobody in their right mind would want to live on the other side of the wall from him.

She better not come over and try to get him to fix every electrical socket that wouldn't work or bitch about the noise of the plumbing.

It was a duplex. Not a condominium in Missoula. Shit broke down all the time, and he lived in the better half for a reason.

Chapter Two

Gia sat down on the scungy, shag carpet that reeked as if rats had died in the bedroom of the duplex. She held the cell phone she'd bought somewhere in Idaho at a Walmart store, and used cash to put twenty dollars on the account knowing she'd never use all the money.

She only needed to make one call. Then, she'd destroy the phone.

She punched in the phone number she'd memorized by heart and put the cell to her ear. The time of day or night she called no longer mattered. She had an emergency on her hands.