Chapter 2 - Chance

I watch those two jackasses scramble out the door, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. What the hell was that? Getting myself involved in a dispute over some woman and her kid? That ain't like me at all.

They call me the Mercenary for a reason—I don't get tangled up in other people's messes. I look out for myself and my brothers in the Rogues, end of story. So why did I feel so compelled to step in and help that beautiful girl?

My gaze drifts back to her. She's still standing there, clutching her son close, those curves filling out her clothes in all the right places. Despite the fear that was etched on her delicate features just minutes ago, she's got the face of an angel.

I give an inward snort. Get it together, Chance. Sure, she's a pretty little thing, but she's clearly a few years too young for you. And already got a brat of her own to deal with too.

Still...there is just something about the fire in her eyes when she was protecting her son, the way she stood up to those mongrels even though she looked damn near petrified. She's stronger than she looks.

"Um...Chance, right?"

I blink, her soft voice pulling me from my wandering thoughts. The girl is right in front of me now, those big eyes locked on mine with an expression of...is that concern?

"I just wanted to say thank you. For helping us," she goes on hesitantly. "Are you okay? That looked like a nasty fight."

I grunt in response, swiping the back of my hand across my bloody lip. Damn Rog, always did fight dirtier than a dog.

"It's nothing," I mutter gruffly.

The girl's brow furrows, those big eyes taking in the split in my lip with a worried crease between them.

"That looks like it could get infected if you don't clean it properly." Before I can protest further, she's digging into her purse and pulling out a little travel pack of antiseptic wipes. "Here, at least let me help disinfect it. It's the least I can do after you stepped in like that."

My first instinct is to brush her off, to tell her I don't need her goddamn charity. I can take care of myself just fine. But there's something about the earnest, caring look on her beautiful face that stops me.

With a resigned sigh, I nod once, letting her know it's okay to proceed. She steps in close - close enough that I can smell her sweet, floral shampoo - and gently takes my chin, tilting my face toward her.

I tense instinctively at her warm touch, my muscles coiled tight. I can't remember the last time someone tended to me like this, despite the scrapes and injuries that are par for the course in my rough lifestyle.

The girl tears open one of the wipes with her teeth, then begins cleaning the split in my lip. She works with a delicate touch, her brows furrowed in concentration. Up close, I can make out the faint freckles dusting her cheeks, the sooty fan of her lashes...

"There, all better," she murmurs, pulling back with a little smile after she finishes. "Thank you again...for everything."

I pull back abruptly, her sweet smile and gentle touch making me suddenly uncomfortable.

"There, you did your good deed," I grunt, putting some distance between us. "Now get outta here."

Turning my steely gaze to the kid, I jab a finger in his direction.

"And you...I better not catch your scrawny ass back in my bar again, you hear? 'Cause next time, I'll toss you out on your own."

The boy's eyes go wide, and he gives a vigorous nod.

"Y-Yes sir, I'm sorry sir. It won't happen again."

I hold his frightened stare a moment longer before sighing heavily.

"Look, kid, I get it—the bad boy biker life seems real exciting when you're young and stupid. But trust me, it ain't worth throwing your life away over. You got people who care about you." I flick my eyes over to the girl briefly. "Don't be an idiot and waste that."

The kid blinks at me, clearly caught off guard to be getting life advice from a tough-as-nails biker like me. For a moment, he almost looks like he might protest or make a smart remark. But one stern glare from me seems to instantly quash any backtalk.

"Y-Yes sir," he mutters again, shoulders slumping.

I give a curt nod, satisfied he got the message loud and clear. Turning back to the girl, I'm surprised to find her beaming at me; pretty lips curved into the most radiant smile I think I've ever seen.

"Thank you," she says, ignoring her son's sullen pout beside her. "Really, thank you for trying to put some sense into him. That...means a lot to me."

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place under the warmth of her grateful smile.

"Don't mention it," I mutter gruffly, looking away.

What the hell was that about, anyway? Since when do I go around giving fatherly advice and trying to be some kind of role model? I'm the last person on earth who should be preaching to youth about morals and good life choices.

Still, for some reason, I can't quite put my finger on it; I felt compelled to at least try to set that kid straight before he wasted his potential. The way I see it, he's got something I didn't—a mother who clearly loves him more than anything.

Maybe I'm getting soft in my old age. Or maybe there's just something special about this girl that's throwing me for a loop...