Lamp Riders: A Jinn Motorcycle Gang Novella by Augusta Hill Page B

turned to find the biggest biker of all leaning over her counter, his thick arms supporting a chiseled, angular face. His eyes were so brown they were almost black, like pools of slick oil. Much like oil, they gave Celia the impression that it would be very easy to lose her balance if she spent too much time staring into them.
    “Sure. I have several roadmaps here,” Celia casually said, pointing to a stack of cheap decade-old maps beside the register. She kept her voice light but disinterested, playing coy with the man.
    The biker flicked his dark eyes to the map, taking in their yellowed pages with a single glance, then looked back at Celia. He drummed his fingers on the counter, letting the florescent lights over the register catch the golden rings he was wearing. The rings were intricate bands of woven gold with diamond accents; they looked expensive, more expensive than the entire collected worth of Viento Frio.
    “That’s not really what I’m looking for. I want something that shows old mining trails and back roads. Places where the boys and I can really test the limits of our bikes.”
    He openly ran his eyes up and down her body as he spoke, a smug smile playing with his handsome full lips. She kept her face impassive; as fine as these men were, they were just strangers riding through, and she knew better than to trust strangers who were so forward with their attentions. A girl couldn’t grow up in the sands without learning to distance herself; the desert didn’t treat weakness kindly.
    “I don’t have anything like that. Folks here memorize those trails, and we’re not really the type of people to write things down.”
    Celia was avoiding the silky blackness of his eyes as she spoke, instead taking in his dark bronze arms and the elaborate geometric tattoos that covered them. The swirling, repeating patterns moved up his arms and disappeared under the sleeve of his tight shirt, but she thought that it probably continued onto his shoulder and back as well. It was like stained glass on skin, a beautiful work of art that belonged in a church somewhere and not on the rippling muscles of this bad boy.
    Oof, she thought. She had always loved a guy with tattoos.
    The man noticed her staring and smiled slyly, a sexy lopsided grin that had likely brought trouble to hundreds of girls before. He was well aware of how good he looked.
    “So, if you don’t have a map, perhaps you could recommend a guide?” he purred to her, leaning further over the counter. “Maybe you are free to show us around?”
    Celia took a step back and set her face into its patented ‘bitch mode.’ Her former enthusiasm for the visitors was rapidly leaving. These guys were hot as hell, but they must be stupid to think she’d be going anywhere with them, let alone into the forsaken deserts around Viento Frio. Celia’s lips set in a firm line, and she furrowed her dark eyebrows dangerously. She didn’t like these men thinking she was some sort of easy target.
    “No.”
    Her tone packed the punch she intended, because the store suddenly went silent and cold. She could feel a dozen set of eyes swing around in unison to watch her stare down the bronze god before her.
    Let them stare, Celia thought. I have all damn day to stand here.
    “Yo, Abdul, I think we’d better head out,” called a blonde biker from near the ice chest to Celia’s right.
    The silence broken, the other men began to murmur their consensus and shuffled towards the counter with all their various goodies. Abdul nodded slowly in agreement and slid his upper body off the counter, never breaking eye contact with Celia. His smirk was still there, but she thought she saw a new glimmer of emotion beginning to show his eyes. It was either respect or amusement, but she couldn’t quite tell which it was.
    Celia didn’t dwell on it though, and just turned to the register to begin ringing up the piles of purchases building on the counter. The guys were ravenous by the look of it