Chapter 8 SEVEN

Rhian, of course, had to agree. He was being reasonable and smart, and if there was one thing that irritated me more than anything else about an attractive man, it was when he was making sense.

Rhian was riding behind Grim on her first motorcycle ride, her arms tightly wrapped around his muscular torso.

The one problem with Grim's "sense" was that it was based on her still pretending to be his old lady.

It is his property.

His alleged lady.

It was difficult to decide which was worse: associating with a biker gang for a short period of time ("no more than a couple of weeks," he promised), or asking her family (and thus her father) for assistance.

Grim's bike was impressive, and it made the decision much easier. It's ridiculously simple. Rhian was feeling easy, and her waves of guilt and regret were being steadily eroded by a constant sexual cavalcade of thrumming motor thunder and the sheer tactical pleasure of holding tight to Grim's impossibly hard body.

The bike was black and chrome, with a heavy metal engine that looked like it belonged in a horror film about bikes that ate innocent young women alive. As a result, she found it inherently exciting, which she assumed was the point.

Of course, she had to ride behind Grim, her hands throttled around his midsection. Because his shirt was thin, it was easy to feel the heavy layers of clearly chiseled abs beneath. She knew he had to be having fun, must have felt dozens of women clutching him like this. He was clearly aware of the effects of his body on the opposite sex-all the more so because his masculine prowess had so far steamrolled over her.

It made her feel guilty once more-she prided herself on her intellect and personality-but Grim was a beacon of sexual force in the world. A titan of male power, clearly attracted to her and openly requesting that she touch, hold, and be close to him.

She'd never had anything like it before. Rationalizations hit her-it was okay to be caught up in the moment, at least for now. Have fun with him and this.

It wouldn't last long.

In fact, a part of Rhian was envious of him. Sex had a lengthy vetting process for her, one that included a dead certainty of love, affection, and commitment.

The idea of a life like his, where affection was easy and sex was a way of life, both beckoned to her and repulsed her. She wanted it to be that simple, but she also wanted every sexual encounter she had to be romantic, steamy, and full of passionate attraction that went beyond the physical.

All of her thoughts about sex and attraction, as well as the touching she was doing on his washboard torso, combined with the heavy vibrations rhythmically sliding between her legs, put her entire body in an almost unbearable state of arousal.

She only hoped he didn't hear the soft unconscious moans that rose up from her mouth every few minutes when the pressure from the vibrations became too much for her to bear. It was almost certain, however, that with a man like him, even if he didn't hear her, he was aware of her moans.

Rhian wasn't a big swearer. She thought it was impolite. Grim, on the other hand, was fucking hot, which was a problem because he was also practically the definition of fucking trouble.

According to what she knew about outlaw bikers, they treated their women in the most chauvinistic way possible. They saw women as objects rather than people. They cheated on their girlfriends and wives with any loose girls who happened to wander into their bars. They had wild parties where women were expected to strip and dance for their gratification, to get high on drugs and become drunk as skunks.

They used coercion to force weak-willed beauties to do what was best for the brothers, which was usually time alone in a rented room.

They occasionally dealt drugs. Drugs brought with them a slew of implications and issues. Theft. Extortion. Murder.

How much of that was done by the Beat Machines?

What was that strange dark excitement she felt building in her mind at the prospect of discovering the truth?

This was all going through her head as they drove through the outskirts of Binan, getting closer and closer to the city center.

Binan was a city disguised as a small town. Like many areas in the desolate space of Western Laguna, its population was inflated by census to a few hundred thousand, owing primarily to the fact that the city limits extended so far outside where the actual city buildings were. Farmers, ranchers, and other rural residents inflated the population count, as did migrant workers and semi-transients working in the city's oil fields.

There were some tall buildings in the city, but none any taller than twenty stories. It had a small airport, but it was an international airport because it flew to some small towns in Cavite.

She was surprised by how little had changed as they drove through its streets, the hot temperatures continuing to rise. There were the same long strip malls with small businesses that she had never seen anyone enter. The same enormous, wide parking lots that could be found all over Laguna. The same unkempt roads, littered with potholes and sporting lines that became indistinguishable in the rainy darkness (whenever it actually did rain, which was rare).

But there were some pleasant reminiscences as well: the cafeteria where her family would go after church on Sundays; the local shops she and her mother visited every summer before school to get new clothes; the small park with the great big twisting oak tree shaped like a melted scarecrow, wider than it was tall.

She was surprised at how much she enjoyed returning to this wasteland border town with its concrete paths and squat brown buildings.

But that, and Grim's heady arousal, were not the only things on her mind.

Fifty thousand pesos to repair her car seemed insane to her, like attempting to build a rope ladder to the moon. And getting rid of her car or buying a new one was simply out of the question.

She had completed four years of college on a full scholarship. She'd worked a crappy job at a retail clothing store, but it was only enough to pay for groceries, books, and the occasional new bargain outfit.

She had spoken with her family several times during her absence, and she had even seen them a few times-but only when they came to Calamba. Her hope was that they realized that returning to Binan was a no-go in any conversation.

And yet, here she was, returning to Binan with more than a tail between her legs-with a bike belonging to one of Laguna's most notorious outlaws. Her father would be overjoyed.

He cut an imposing figure everywhere he went, but especially when he rode-his triceps flexed to keep the handlebars in place, his posture ramrod straight, his intricate frameework of tattoos visible on his arms. As he steered, his back muscles flexed and shifted like steel bars.

They came to a stop at a gas station, and he stepped out, giving her a knowing smile as she slid off the seat herself. When he pulled up, her hips and thighs instinctively pulled up with him, attempting to capture him and keep his hardness close to her body and wickedly moist center of arousal.

This was clear from the expression on his face. Not in the least.

Rhian, get your act together. He's just a bad guy.

Second by second, a criminal was driving her insane. She went for a walk around the pump to stretch her legs and clear her mind. Taking a step away from Grim and looking somewhere else helped her regain her sanity.

But the moment she looked back at him, all that insanity returned. She wished she could slide up between him and the gas pump, feel his hard, big hands sliding over her body and pushing her against the concrete, and-

That was stupid. Super, duper stupid.

Her mind was pushed by a desire to do something to break the silent tension between them.

"Can you tell me your name?" she inquired. "It's your real name."

"Reid," he introduced himself. "David De Leon."

"Rhian Guzman," she says. "It's nice to meet you."

"Guzman? " He chuckled. "That's a well-known name around here."

"Believe me, I know," she said, unsure whether she wanted to bring it up with him. Not after he'd been so pleasant so far. She made a sharp turn. "How did you come up with the name Grim?" "

He took a deep breath and exhaled. "I used to get into a lot of fights as a kid." I once got into a fight with the teacher. He was nearly twice his size and twice his age at the time. In any case, he called the assistant principal, who then called the cops. I fought them all. When my father arrived with his Machines to pick me up, he heard what had happened and said I was as dreadful as a Grim Reaper, and it stuck, so they call me Grim."

She cracked a grin. "I believe it suits you."

His expression was ambiguous. There was no way of knowing whether he liked it or not. "Are you coming in from Calamba?" In preparation for college? You got your diploma? "

"I did it. The liberal arts. Philosophy and English."

"Do you speak English?"

Here's a test for you. Will he fall into the same trap that everyone else did? Will he accuse her of wanting to be a teacher, and thus be like everyone else who has ever inquired about an English degree?

"So you want to be a writer?"

Rhian grinned. Not too shabby. "Something along those lines."

She honestly didn't know what she wanted to be; all she knew was that she didn't want to have to rely on her parents again. An English degree might not have been the best choice for that, but she went to college to learn, not to train for a job that would require her to train anyway.

Rhian had an idea for a business. It entailed hiring basketball players and shaking all English majors until they changed their major.

"So, how's it going? " she inquired, hoping to permanently change the subject. "how's it going you know, to be a member of a motorcycle club?" "

"We're not, you know..." he said, motioning with his hands. "People invent stories about bikers. We're not as bad as they portray us to be."

"Are there no rape parties? No homicide raids? "

She was half-serious, half-joking. Her parents had told her a slew of terrifying tales. Their conventional wisdom would have told her that even the most blatant lies contain some truth, but those nuggets of truth were frequently small. Truth nuggets include the fact that bikers, like any other human being, occasionally had "parties."

"What about rape parties?"

"Goddamn, no." He laughed softly. "No way, no how. I mean, there are drugs, right? We don't really follow the laws of the land. But we still have morality. We simply do not require the man's presence in our scene."

Rhian gave a nod. That was about what she had anticipated. Boys playing with their toys at an inappropriate age.

"How does it feel to be a biker? I mean, how is your life going? The way of life? What should I, you know, what should I look forward to? "

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"I inquired. As a result, yes, I do."

"It's..." he shook his head as he flipped open his bike's gas tank. "You know, if you'd asked me twenty-four hours ago, I'd say it's the best thing in the world. There are no rules except our own. There is no law except our own. We look out for one another. We look out for one another. Nobody gets in our way as we ride and die. However, today..."

"Today is even worse. Because you're bringing me into your life for whatever reason."

He motioned down the road with his hand. "You can leave whenever you want, babe."

She was unconcerned about his deflection. "However, things are getting worse today. Why?"

On the right side of the four-way intersection, a group of bikers approached. In fact, they're called Beat Machines. One of them recognized Grim and raised a fist in his direction. Grim returned the salute.

"Kiss me," he requested.

Her hair spun as she returned her gaze to him, almost flying in his face. "What? "

"Are you going to be my old lady?" So, here's a crash course. You must obey what I say, when I say it, and in the presence of my brothers. So please kiss me."

She was unsure.

"Do you want your car repaired or not?"

It wasn't because Grim was attractive that she was hesitant. In fact, the opposite of her hesitation was that he was too attractive, and he was exactly the type of man Rhian didn't need to be associated with.

If they kissed, if they really kissed, this entire situation would become very risky, which made Rhian uncomfortable. She was already attracted to Grim in a biological, primal way, a preternatural sense of how strong and protective he is, what a good mate he would be in some hunter-gatherer fashion.

Rhian, on the other hand, was not a cavewoman. Love hadn't been in her life in a long time, not since Simon, and if it appeared again, she wanted to make sure it came in the way she wanted it to.

Grim sat, anticipating. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

Screw it, Rhian reasoned.

She leaned in deeply, moving harder and faster than she expected, miscalculating the distance between them. Her lips brushed against his, feeling the probing, almost gentle tip of his tongue slip into her mouth. Was he hoping she'd go halfway?

Rhian Guzman didn't do anything half-heartedly. Something he'd have to get used to.

Her hands slid across his thick skull, her heart racing. As she pushed herself forward, a part of her tried hard not to notice the thickness of his hair and the density of his shoulders. Her legs appeared to have a mind of their own, squirming forward to wrap around him. Her thighs massaged each other slowly, a flirting heat filling her center, held in place only by the barest remnants of self-control.

"Is that enough for you?" she said quietly, slipping off of him slowly.

He appeared to be taken aback. She bit her lower lip, impressed and disappointed in herself. She let the former win for the time being.

"All right," he said. "That was excellent. Aren't you a wild girl full of surprises? "

Grim coughed, removed the nozzle from the bike, and stepped aside. The bikers rode away down the street.

She made up an excuse about needing to use the restroom. But, to be honest, she just needed a splash of cold water on her face before going too far down the rabbit hole with the world's sexiest outlaw.