Train's Clash
Page 12

As Mick talked, Train made sure that Killyama didn’t slip out of sight. He knew none of the brothers would ask her to dance, but he was interested to see if any of the Destructors would. From the file Crash had given him, he knew no men were sleeping over at her apartment, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sleeping over at someone else’s.
She was wearing blue jeans and a black top that rose up the front, showing her flat waistline, then rode to her hip, accenting her ass. The plunging neckline showed the gleaming V of skin between her breasts. Her pert breasts were so firm Train thought he could bounce a quarter off them. The thin straps crossed at her shoulders, lacing down the long length of her arms.
Killyama had the best body he had ever seen on a woman. She moved like a lioness, confident in her ability to handle anything or anyone who dared to think they could tame her.
Train took a drink of his beer. He should have asked for something stronger. Usually, beer was all he had, but he was sure he was going to need something stronger tonight.
The women were joking and laughing among themselves, all except Killyama, who every now and then would respond to one of them. She seemed a part of their group, yet curiously detached, always keeping her eyes on what was going on around them.
“She’s a nice-looking woman. She yours?”
Train’s lips twisted. “No. I don’t have a woman.”
Mick raised a brow. “Then why are you staring at the redhead like a rare steak?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want her.”
Mick chuckled as he stepped out from behind the bar, going to Killyama’s table to take their drink orders. He came back a few minutes later to fill several beer mugs, placing them on a tray on the bar. Taking a bottle of tequila off a shelf, he then poured out just as many shot glasses before loading the round tray then carrying them to the table.
Train wished he could hear what he was saying to them, because the whole table turned to stare at Train. He felt like a six-year-old under their scrutiny. What the hell was Mick saying?
Before Train could ask, Mick held out his hand when he returned. “That’ll be thirty bucks.”
Train gaped at him. “I thought my beer was free?”
“It is. The round of beer I gave them …” Mick nodded his head toward Killyama’s table. “That costs you the thirty.”
Train closed his mouth as he reached for his wallet. Flicking the bills, he pulled out three tens.
“You’re not going to tip me? Don’t you want to know what she said?”
Train tightened his lips, taking out three ones before hastily putting his wallet out of sight before Mick could ask for more.
“Jeez, thanks.” Mick’s sarcastic comment didn’t keep him from shoving the cash into the cash register.
“I didn’t offer to buy their drinks,” Train reminded the bar owner. “Besides, Viper is footing the bill for the Destructors.”
“Viper’s not the one trying to get into that redhead’s panties. If you weren’t such a skinflint, you would have thought of that yourself. Didn’t your daddy teach you how to court a woman?”
“No, he must have missed that lesson.” The only lesson his father had taught him was to show him how to open a beer bottle with his teeth. Despite himself, Train couldn’t help asking, “So, what did Killyama say?”
Mick almost dropped the beer he was opening. Expertly managing to catch it before it could spill, he set it down on the bar.
“I didn’t know that was her nickname. She’s been in the bar a couple of times with Beth, but I never heard it before. You’re jonesing after a woman called that?”
“Why not? I love to live dangerously.”
“You sure you’re not related to Greer Porter? That’s something he would say when he’s chasing after a woman out of his league.”
“A gerbil is out of Greer’s league. You going to tell me what she said or not?”
Mick reached into the cash register and took out three dollars, setting it down in front of him.
“Why are you giving the tip back?”
“I might own a bar, but I still have a conscience. I won’t try my hand at matchmaking anyone called Killyama. Love is hard enough without trying to fuck a woman prone to violence.”
Train slid the tip across the bar toward him. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I want her to join The Last Riders.”
“You’re trying to get her to join? You stand a better chance of getting shot in the dick than getting that woman to become a member. Here she comes. Slip out the back exit while I distract her.”
Train remained sitting as she approached, feeling his dick getting hard. He felt like he was drinking tequila with the way he felt when she sauntered toward him, imagining touching that satiny flesh she was exposing with his lips.
“I’m tired of waiting. I’m thirsty.” Killyama’s curt voice yanked him out of his fantasy.
Confused, he stared back at her stupidly. “Then drink your beer.” Train stared over her shoulder to see her beer and tequila shot were still full.
“I asked him whose cash you were using when he said you were buying us a round.”
“Really?” Train gave Mick a penetrating stare. “What did he say?”
“He said to ask you. You were supposed to come over and answer my fucking question.”
Train looked at the table again. “I see who was paying didn’t bother anyone else at the table.”
“I have standards. Unfortunately, they don’t. So…?”
“Viper paid.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He snaked his hand out to catch her arm as she was about to turn away. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Mick abruptly left, moving to the other side of the bar as he rolled his eyes toward the exit.
Train tightened his grip on her arm when she tried to pull away.
“I figured, if you couldn’t even take a woman out to dinner after you fucked her, you’re certainly too cheap to buy her and her friends a drink.”
Train clenched his jaw in frustration, his boots hitting the floor. Maneuvering through the crowd, he dragged her to a small table at the back of the bar.
“Sit down.”
“Make me.”
Train dropped her arm, staring at her coldly. “Let’s get this straight between us right now. I don’t like playing games. I would like to talk to you and get some shit settled between us, so we can at least be civil when others are around. But if you’re too immature to listen, then I guess we don’t have anything to talk about anyway.”
He expected her to storm off; therefore, it took him a moment to realize that she had taken the chair he had pulled out for her.
Sitting down across from her gave him a view of the bar as he gathered his thoughts to begin the conversation that would either end in another argument or a cease-fire.
“I’m not a man who enjoys conflict. I’m also not one who will run from it, either. I have tried to talk to you about the day we spent together, and every time, we just get in a fight. I’m tired of you making me feel like shit, or that I took advantage of you. We both know that isn’t true.”
“I never said you took advantage—”