Bomb (Ruin Outlaws MC #1) by Amy Isan

CHAPTER 1 — CASSIE
    I wring my hands and stare across the flickering pavement. I can’t believe this is happening. I fixate on the burning wreckage and want to look away, but I can’t. Breaking my trance, I spot a rider approaching me, and I freeze up. His leather vest has deep creases from his muscles, and I feel pinned down by his stare. His eyes lock on me, and I find my knees buckle a little. This must be the same rider I saw the other day, but what does he want with me? I swallow hard and keep my eyes on him.
    But, I’ve gotten ahead of myself. This isn’t where the trouble all began...
    . . .
    “Sara, what is it this time?” I answer the phone, nestling it between my ear and shoulder. I’m stuck in rush-hour traffic, and I direct my frustration at her. I don't know why. She hesitates when she hears my tone. I can’t help but grin a little.
    “Where are you?”
    I sigh, annoyed. “I’m coming home, jeez, what are you my mom?”
    “Your dinner will be cold.”
    I laugh. “You didn’t have to make me dinner, Sara. I’m an adult.” I suck on my teeth, waiting for the silence to grow awkward. Things have been tense... and strange between us. Since she broke up with her boyfriend, she’s been a bit... clingy. I can’t really say why, but I feel shaken up most of the time. Sara thinks it might be because of my new job, but I can’t be so sure. Either way, my nerves feel so frayed at the moment, that Sara’s grumbling over the line is more irritating than the pick-up with three burnt-out brake lights in front of me. “I’m coming, okay?” I finally bite out. I add, “Thanks.”
    I wait for her to reply, but she just sighs and the line goes dead. I groan and toss my phone into the passenger seat.
    “Come on, just put it in park already,” I mutter to the driver in front of me. I turn on the radio and try to find a station that isn’t talking about the traffic jam, looking for some oldies or jazz. A flash of light in my mirror steals my attention, and I wonder, who the hell thinks they can move in this grid-lock?
    The motorcycle engine races as bike and its rider slide between several cars and to my side, straddling the lane. I adopt a glare and turn out my passenger window, expecting to see a fat, old and balding man on top of a dirt bike. But it isn’t.
    A leather-wearing man. My age, I think. A sexy dash of closely cropped hair, a strong jaw with a bit of stubble, and a defiant grip on the reins of the beast shakes me to my core. The man suddenly looks right at me, and I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Why? He twists his motorcycle and makes it howl in protest, before speeding off between the lumbering and frozen cars scattered along the highway. The last glimpse of him I get is the back of his leather vest, bearing a skull with fangs instead of teeth, and the words “RUIN M.C.” in dark red letters.
    Who does he think he is anyway? I shut the radio off as the announcer switches to another commercial. I stare at the suffocating traffic.
    The motorcycle rider’s eyes. They looked... hurt. Like I had personally attacked him with my look. Was it my fault? What could I have done to make it better?
    Maybe my imagination was playing tricks on me. Before I shrug the thought away, a sentence passes over my lips silently: Come back to me.
    . . .
    I slide my key into the lock at the apartment that I’ve lived in for the last three years. The trees scratch the windows on windy days, the lights flicker out at inopportune times of the night, and I swear I can smell weed most of the time, but it's home. Not only that, but it's cheap.
    I throw my purse on the counter and slump into a chair, eyeing the tin-foiled casserole dish suspiciously. It doesn’t smell like cold pot-pie, but something much better. Sara must’ve slipped into her room, since her door is closed. I lift up the tin foil carefully and a burst of steam spills out. Lasagna.
    Ugh. How could I stay mad at her? I can’t even remember