Deryk followed me out of the bar, staring at me like I’d grown a second head. Good. I needed the kid to know that this was the price of disloyalty. A healthy amount of fearful respect never hurt anyone.
“How long was Brass with the club?” Deryk asked as we made our way back through the gate.
“Two and a half years,” I replied. “He was one of the first recruits I brought after I was voted in as president.”
Deryk sucked in a breath. “That’s fucked up. I’m sorry, Prez.”
I glanced at the kid, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah, me too.”
I released him, and Deryk peeled off, sneaking back up to his room while I headed for my office. Still hopped up on adrenaline, I momentarily considered finding one of the club whores to blow off a little steam with, but there was only one woman I wanted to fuck. Settling for anyone else would most likely just leave me unfulfilled. It’d be like having my sights set on a Harley Cosmic Starship and settling for some Suzuki piece of shit.
I’d never settled in my life, and I wasn’t about to start now.
Angry, frustrated, and unwilling to relieve myself until after I met with Emily, I kept myself busy in my office until Wasp returned with her. He took one look at me and left the two of us alone, closing the door behind him.
“You get what you needed?” I asked as she sat on the loveseat.
“Yes.” She patted her briefcase. “It appears everyone loves Havoc. He’s the strong, silent type who pushes cars when they break down, feeds pets when people leave town, threatens ex-boyfriends who won’t go away, he’s quite the saint, you know.”
I cracked a smile, circling my desk to be closer to her. “He’s good people.”
“Sounds like it.” She studied me for a moment, her expression shifting to concern, before asking, “What happened to your hands?”
Brass’s ugly face had busted up my knuckles. I tucked them behind my back, leaning against my desk. “Club business.”
She stood and approached me. “Let me see them.”
Her tone left no room for argument. A little in awe, and a lot turned on, I held them out for her inspection. She looked them over, eyed me, and shook her head.
“What?” I asked.
“Am I going to be representing you in the near future, Tyler?” she asked.
Damn, my name sounded sexy on her lips. “Nope. Club business doesn’t work like that. We handle our shit here.”
“Peroxide?” she asked.
“No need. It’s just a couple of cuts.”
“His skin could be ground into your knuckles, and that’s gross. We need to clean them.”
Well, shit. I hadn’t thought of that. I grabbed the first aid kit stored under my desk—one of several we kept around the club—and handed it to her. She went to work sanitizing my cuts and tsking about the bruises I’d have. She smelled so damn good, and the way she was taking care of me made my dick take notice. Her hair was up in a bun again, and she had the most kissable neck I’d ever seen. Bathed in her scent, enjoying the sensation of her touch, and still jacked up on adrenaline, the crotch of my jeans grew increasingly more uncomfortable.
Emily pulled out a bandage and I grabbed her hands, stopping her from ripping it open.
She looked up at me, lip curled, eyes daring. “What’s the matter? Is the big bad biker afraid of a little Band-aid?”
“Big bad bikers don’t use Band-aids.” I was so damn hard for the little firecracker, I pulled her against me so she could feel my reaction.
She glared at me. “I told you not to touch me.”
“What’s the matter? Is the big bad lawyer afraid of a little touching? Scared you might like it and attack me? Fuck me, even?” Lowering my head so my lips were less than an inch from her neck, I added, “You showed me what you’re capable of. You don’t like this, babe, you can stop me anytime.
She pushed me away. “You’re a client, Link. There are rules.”
I grinned. “First off, I’m not your client. Havoc is.”
“You paid me.”
