Curvy Temptation by C.L. Cruz
Chapter 1
Ranger
Igrimacedownattheblacksludgeinmymugandstartscoopingsugarintoitfromtheglassjarbehindthecoffeepot.
“Want some coffee with that sugar?” Lux asks, patting my arm as she walks past. She opens the fridge and pulls out a container of eggs, a gallon of milk, and a block of cheese.
“The more caffeine, the better,” I say, trying not to sound as tired as I feel.
That catches Lux’s attention, and she looks up at me from where she’s standing over the stove, cracking eggs into a pan. “I’ve always said you worked too hard.” She raises a penciled eyebrow in my direction. “Having a woman by your side would do wonders for you.”
I shake my head, knowing my small smile is hidden behind my beard. Lux is the widow of our late founder, Roman “Rage” Hughes, and the closest thing I ever had to a mother, even if I didn’t hook up with the Raging Angels until after I got back from serving overseas. And even though Rage is gone—from a heart attack, of all things—we would never dream of sending her away from the compound. She’s welcome as long as she wants to stay, and not just because she cooks and cleans up after our asses, but because the Angels are a family.
Dropping a kiss on her cheek, I take my coffee out on the clubhouse’s back porch. It’s my favorite spot in the whole place; while the front looks out over our body shop and the two-lane highway leading into Heathcliff, back here is an entirely different world. There’s a huge, well-kept yard with a playset for the kids, and rolling green hills and dirt paths lead to small cottages where some of the guys stay.
As I watch, a prospect comes out of one of the cottages, dragging cleaning supplies behind him. Rider just moved out since his girl doesn’t want to live on the compound, so now we have a vacancy.
“Hey, Prez.” The prospect waves at me, but I ignore him, keeping my eyes trained on the landscape as the mid-morning sun warms the fall air.
My own house is back here, up in the trees, hidden from view to give me some semblance of privacy, something I don’t often get. I spent last night on a cot in the clubhouse, collapsing after a late-night run, exhausted and hating how we were scrambling to pick up the pieces after that explosion at the Four Knights warehouse put us behind on our deliveries.
The door opens behind me, and heavy footfalls let me know it’s not Lux coming to force-feed me breakfast. Turning, I nod at Stone, one of my enforcers, as he leans on the railing beside me.
“What have you got for me?” I ask. He’s been looking into the explosion, trying to figure out who we have to thank for the disaster.
“There’s a new club out of Havisham,” he answers. “They’re calling themselves the Misfits. Word on the street is that they’re looking for a leg up in certain businesses. They’ve been testing the waters in Blackwell, too.”
I grunt. “You talked to Rigs?”
He nods. “The Sentinels would be our allies in this if we decide to move against them.”
We talk a while longer about how to handle the situation before Lux sticks her head outside. “You boys are all business back here and missing all the fun in the shop.”
“What’s going on in the shop?” I ask.
“You’ll just have to go see for yourself.” By the playful glint in her eye, I know it’s not the cops or something serious. More likely, one of our prospects has gotten himself into some kind of trouble with a customer.
With a sigh, I tell Stone we’ll talk about this more later and make my way around the clubhouse to the garage out front where we run our legitimate business, Hughes Auto. There are several cars out front waiting to be picked up and even more in the bay to be serviced, but there’s one I don’t recognize—an old Volvo wagon that has seen better days. I give it the side-eye as I walk past, half-expecting it to burst into flames if I get too close. The thing is a death trap if I’ve ever seen one.
I open the door to the service station’s office. The bell hanging overhead announces my arrival, though neither of the people at the counter turns to look at me. A woman—a beautiful, curvy woman with light blond waves down her back and a shapely ass squeezed into tight jeans—has Ash, another one of our prospects, cornered.
“Look, ma’am,” he says, and I wince, already knowing that’s a bad idea. She can’t be much older than he is. “We aren’t firearms dealers. This is a body shop.”
He points to the sign on the door and spots me when he does. Relief flashes across his face. She notices and turns, her soft, brown eyes zeroing in on me.
“You drive that Volvo out there?” I ask before she can say anything.
A little line forms between her eyes. “Yes.”
My brow furrows. I don’t like the idea of her driving around in that rust bucket, which is odd. I just met the woman. Still, something in her calls to my underused sense of chivalry, and I step back and hold the door open. “Let’s go take a look at it and you can tell me what you need.”
“But—”
“After you,” I say, gesturing toward the door.
With one last look back at Ash, she turns and strides through the door, her arm brushing against my chest. I inhale her sweet rosewater scent as she breezes past me and then hurry to catch up to her.