The lady wasn't just running.
She was running from an abuser.
An abuser of woman and children was something my brothers and I never tolerated. It didn't matter if it was a stranger. If we saw it going down we stepped in. A man didn't put his hands on someone smaller, and weaker than him. Our MC had gained a reputation in town for looking out for the weak, dealing with shit fairly, taking care of our messes, and making donations to the causes that came up. The law didn't step in to our business that way.
My thoughts drifted back to the woman again. Not a good sign because I was the kind of man who didn't think about women unless I was about to fuck one. My motto was fuck them and forget them, kept life a hell of a lot simpler that way. The woman, the only other person renting a room in The Pink Pussy that night other than my crew, was trouble, and my gut was never wrong.
I leaned back against the booth I was in, reached for my whiskey and threw it down, trying to get the shape of her sweet, heart-shaped ass out of my head. My cock had jerked with the thought of having those fleshy mounds in my hands, and when I was close enough to catch her scent a major case of lust had slammed right the fuck through me. If I hadn't grabbed her arms to keep her from slamming into me when she swung around to leave she would have found out real quick that my cock was hard, so hard that it fucking hurt.
I grinned to myself, wondering what her reaction would have been if I had let her find out.