Shafted (Devil's Blaze MC Book 4)(7)

By: Jordan Marie



I had her give me directions, but I don’t think I was prepared to pull into the parking lot of the local high school. Goddamn. Seeing the damn buses parked in a nearby lot reminds me of my dream. I pull up to the front door, ignoring the looks the people that are scattered around are giving us. I’m used to looks, it’s just I’m pretty sure these are calling me a dirty old man. A pervert and fuck I am. I’m both of those because it wouldn’t take me too much to lean her over my bike and fuck the hell out of her right now. I wouldn’t even give a fuck who is watching. Part of me wants them to see it. See me claim her. Watch as I sink my cock deep inside her branding her as mine. All mine.

She gets off my bike when we park, and I instantly miss her arms around me. She takes a step to stand in front of me, her soft hair is windblown, wild around her face, her cheeks are blushed from the sting of the wind and the exhilaration of the ride. The ‘V’ cut in her shirt gives me just a peek of her ample breasts, and it’s not too much to imagine this is exactly the look she would have after a healthy work out in the bed, or on the floor, shower…against a fucking wall…over the seat of my bike.

“Uh…thank you, I’m sorry I don’t know your name,” she says, interrupting my list of all the places I want to fuck her.

“Ajax.”

“Ajax? Like the cleaner?”

“There’s nothing clean about me, sweets,” I tell her and that’s more true than ever since I met her. Her nose curls in disgust and it’s damn cute. Jesus, even that makes me want her.

“Don’t call me that. I don’t like it,” she sasses.

“What?”

“Sweets. My name is Aubree.”

“What’s wrong with sweets?”

“That’s what you call a woman when you know you aren’t going to expend the effort to learn her name. I have a name. I like my name. Call me by it,” she demands, even as her blush is deepening. Baby girl has a kick to her, and fuck if that don’t just turn me on more. I like a woman who speaks up for herself. I like her even more when she knows to do as she’s told, and I’m thinking Aubree knows that for sure.

“I doubt we’ll know each other long enough for me to use your name much.”

“That would make me sad, Shaft,” she says, her voice soft, using the name on my cut. I look down at my name and wish it hadn’t been there. Her calling me by that name is wrong.

“Don’t call me that,” I all but growl at her.

“It’s your club name, isn’t that what your friends and family call you?”

“That’s not you. Don’t call me that,” I tell her again.

“Oh. Okay, right. Thanks for the ride. I’m sorry to bother you,” she says, the hurt in her voice is clear, making me feel like a real asshole. I’m biting my tongue to keep from explaining—especially when she starts to walk away with her head down.

“Aubree! You’re late. I been waiting for you, babe.” Babe.

I watch as some jock with a jacket on like football players wear comes running towards her and just like that my will for pushing her away is gone.

“Bree,” I growl, and it is a growl. A fuckin deep growl, and it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from cutting off the high school Casanova’s hand when he dares to put it on her shoulder. Heat bubbles in my chest, it’s a raw feeling, one I’m not used to. It isn’t quite anger, but I don’t want to say I’m jealous either. She stops, her feet stumbling a little, and then she turns around. My chest constricts.

“Everyone calls me Aubree,” she says, her eyes, a mixture of brown and green looking at me confused.

“I’m not everyone. Especially not to you.”

Her head tilts to the side just a little and she studies me. “I get it. You’re special,” she says, and those cherry lips once again lift into a smile.

I nod, my lip twitches wanting to say something smart. However, I respond, “Something like that.”

“Okay, Jax,” she says, and I find myself laughing, something I never do.

“Everyone calls me Shaft.”

“I’m not everyone. Especially to you,” she throws my words back at me.

“That’s it baby girl. That’s it exactly,” I tell her because I can’t stop myself.

“We better go,” football jock, mutters, putting his hand on Bree’s back.

“I’ll be here to pick you up when you get out, Bree,” I tell her, and I don’t think it’s my imagination that happiness vibrates from her at my announcement.

“It’s over in three hours,” she confirms with the hint of a smile.

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