...or something: Ronacks Motorcycle Club by Debra Kayn

the car?" He sat on the coffee table in front of her.
    Of course, she had, and she'd waited for him like she always waited.
    She nodded. "Yeah, thanks again."
    He frowned and leaned forward, placing his hands on her bare thighs. The warmth of his rough, broad hands restarted the tears in her eyes, and she blinked them dry.
    "What's going on, carny-girl?" he whispered. "Did someone upset you?"
    She wanted to scream that he upset her.
    "It's been a big day," she said.
    He moved and sat beside her, tucking her under his arm. She laid her head on his chest and closed her eyes when his hand stroked her hair. He was here with her now. That's all that mattered.
    One day, he'd wake up and realize the women who hung around the club members meant nothing to him. She'd seen them come and go, and he only used them. He used everyone, except her.
    People believed they understood and knew Battery. Club members, women, and even the residents of Haugan only understood what Battery allowed them to see. Nobody understood him or witnessed what she had over the years.
    He was different around her, especially when they were alone. He was her family, and he might believe that the club was all the family he needed, he'd be wrong again. He needed her. Deep down, they were connected and closer than they were to anyone else.
    He sought her out. He watched her sleep. He wanted to touch her, and she'd felt him pull back until it pained him. And, he could deny it, fight it, and try to change it every minute of every day, but she was the one on the other side of his needs. And, she was done waiting for him.
    Completely done.
    There was nothing stopping her from going after what she wanted, and from the moment she met Battery, trusted him to take her away from the carnival, keep her safe from his club, she'd wanted him.
    She sighed and snuggled against him. "I don't have my license."
    "You'll get it. Until then, you can drive the backroads and keep your speed under control, and the cops won't do a thing to you." Battery stopped moving his hand and held her tight. "You'll probably figure out right quick that the roads never stop. You can drive forever, see places you've never been."
    She pushed against him without leaving his arms and looked him in the eyes. "I'm never leaving you."
    "Never is a long time," he mumbled.
    She kissed his cheek, leaving her lips on his bearded face, and whispered, "Forever."
    "You need to go to bed, and I need to get back downstairs." His fingers knotted in the strands of her hair skimming her lower back. "In the morning, you can take me for a ride in your Corvette."
    She sagged against him and pulled back to look in his eyes. "I'm nineteen years old now. Doesn't that change things for you?"
    "Yeah," he said on an exhale. "You're too old to play games, carny-girl. Hop up and go to bed."
    "Don't treat me like a child." She skimmed her lips over his. "You want me."
    "I want a lot of things." His tongue came out and tasted his lips where she'd pressed hers, and made her stomach quiver. "Most things I want will get me in trouble and then who'd look out for you."
    "If you don't want anyone to know, we could keep it a secret," she whispered, rubbing the pad of her thumb over his bottom lip.
    His eyes softened. "I'm Forty years old. At your age, you don't know what life is going to give you. Don't throw it away on me. I'm old enough to be your father. I brought you here to save you from yourself."
    "Don't lie. Not to me." Her spine straightened. "You kept me for you, and I've known that from the second day you came back to the carnival to see me."
    "You were sixteen."
    "Don't give me that bullshit excuse about my age." She pushed away from him and stood. "I offered myself to you the night we arrived in Montana, and you turned me down, saying I was too young. I tried again six months later when I turned seventeen, and you went downstairs and fucked Leslie. Leslie, Battery. Let that sink in. At eighteen, I stopped keeping track of how