Daddies Underground MC Club
I follow his gaze and immediately feel my jaw clench.
Danielle is walking toward the women, half-asleep and barefoot. She’s wearing one of my shirts, oversized and hanging just low enough to be dangerous, tucked into shorts that are so small they look more like underwear than anything else. Her hair’s messy, she hasn’t even washed her face, and somehow she looks better than half the women who spend hours trying.
Ghost lets out a low whistle.
Turning, I glare at him. Hard.
“Don’t look at me like that. Can’t blame a man for enjoying the view,” he says, grinning.
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