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“You shouldn’t leave without talking to Shade first,” the guy said, and his voice was firm. His hair was all flattened on one side where he’d passed out—probably on one of the couches lining the room—but despite the silly hair, I didn’t want to mess with him.
“He said he’d give me a ride—” I told him. Then someone started pounding on the main door, startling the hell out of me. Instantly three men I hadn’t noticed (had they been sleeping on the couches?) were on their feet, one of them looking through the peephole while another stood ready by the door.
“It’s that tool, Rebel,” one of them said, glancing toward me. “He’s your boyfriend, right?”
Damn, gossip spread fast in this place.
“Ex-boyfriend,” I said grimly. My fury from the night before came rushing back, mixing with my worry about the girls and the pain of my headache to create a roar in my ears. I couldn’t fix things for my sister. I had no clue how I was going to get home and I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around what’d happened, but one thing was very clear in my mind.
Rebel needed his ass kicked, and I was just the girl to do it.
“Boss, we got a situation with your girl.”
I woke instantly, reaching for the gun I kept under the bed as I rolled to my feet. It was an old habit, one that’d scared the shit out of more than one woman, but it’d served me well during my years as a club enforcer.
Nowadays, I always traveled with security—one of the many “perks” of being national president. Got on my nerves in a big way. I also understood the reasoning behind it. Nothing throws a club into chaos like seeing their president gunned down, or worse, taken hostage. Not that the brothers would be stupid enough to give in to any demands if it happened, but they’d kill themselves trying to rescue me. Taking on the job meant losing some freedom, which sucked.
“What’s the problem?” I asked, although I had a pretty good idea already. Mandy was gone, and seeing as she had no transportation, that meant she had to be wandering around the clubhouse. Nobody would give her a ride without my permission.
Fucking hell, but that bitch had me tied in knots.
Why I gave a shit about her I had no fuckin’ idea, but I knew one thing for sure—I wouldn’t be happy until I was balls deep in that sweet snatch of hers. Fuckin’ hated watching the eyes that followed her at the bar. Every man in the place wanted a piece of that. I hated them all, but I hated Rebel more than the rest combined because at the end of the day, he was the one hitting that.
He’d been mouthing off last night about how tight her asshole was, and when he’d offered her to me, I’d known it was a bad idea to say yes… But I wanted her. Wanted her bad. Bad enough to drag her back to the clubhouse, despite the fact that I knew it wouldn’t end well.
Every second of the ride had been hell. Half of me wanted to howl at the moon in triumph because I was finally gonna fuck this woman who’d been driving me crazy. The other half wanted to kill someone, because apparently she loved that fuckwit loser so much that she’d pimp herself out for him.
By the end of the night my balls were blue and I’d been frustrated as hell, but there’d been relief, too. I’d seen the fury in her eyes when she’d realized what he’d done.
Fuckin’ gorgeous, that.
“Rebel’s out in front of the clubhouse,” said McClane. He was a local brother who’d been assigned to help me out as needed, and the man was damned good at his job. “Your girl’s about to kill him with her bare hands. Wonderin’ if you want us to step in?”
His face was carefully blank, but I saw the hint of humor in his eyes.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked, reaching for my boots.
“It’s pretty funny,” he said, studying me. “You fuck her last night?”
He smiled. “So she’s not a whore?”
“Not Rebel’s whore, anyway,” I said, holding back my own grin. “Who’s out there with her?”
“Half the clubhouse,” he replied. “Everyone’s waiting for you. Not club business, but we don’t want your woman gettin’ fucked up, either.”
He shrugged, slapping me on the back as I passed through the door. Whatever else happened, watching Mandy take on Rebel should be entertaining.
“You Goddamn piece of shit!” I hissed, stalking toward my future ex-boyfriend. I couldn’t believe the fuckwit had the nerve to show his face… Although I wasn’t stupid enough to think he was here for me. Nope. He’d come to collect his bike. The bastard held up his hands, giving me that cute little puppy dog face I used to think was so adorable.
Yeah. Not so fucking cute any more.
“It’s not like you got hurt,” he said, his voice wheedling. “And you’re always saying you want to help me get ahead. I couldn’t have pulled this off without you, and it didn’t even cost you anything. And just think—now we can start riding together again. I know how much you’ve missed riding!”
I felt my blood pressure rise. All my life I’d been surrounded by people who thought I was trashy, but I’d taken great pride in the fact that I never acted that way. I wasn’t the type to scream at people in public, I didn’t air my dirty laundry and I never, ever put on a show for anyone. I’d survived twenty-seven years, five step-dads and one failed marriage without losing my dignity, but this was the end.
“You treated me like a fucking whore!” I screamed, then balled up my fist and punched him in the stomach as hard as I could, savoring the look of utter shock on his face. Then that same face transformed into something ugly as he caught me by the shoulders and threw me into his truck.
I hit hard and stumbled, falling to the side and clipping the mirror with my cheek on the way down.
Black swirled behind my eyes. I blinked, trying to catch my breath as my face throbbed in time to my heartbeat. Rebel gave a startled squeal as one of the Reapers—Dopey, the anti-dwarf I’d met last night—knocked his head back with a crack. My ex-boyfriend hit the ground and Dopey kicked him in the side for good measure. Rebel moaned.