“You’re the fucking worst. At least club whores know they’re only good for sucking cock. Apparently, you think you’re also good for playing me. Fucking congrats, you fooled Satan. Not exactly fooling a genius here.”
I saw Hailey’s text bubble popping up. I refused to let her get the chance to respond. She needed to hear this.
“You fucking played me. I hope you’re happy. I hope your little smartass brain got off from knowing you fooled a biker. Big fucking whoop.”
Finally, I slid my phone across the table, folded my arms, and leaned back, my mind going a thousand miles an hour. So fucking angry.
But also really fucking tired. It was exhausting being this fucking pissed. But how could I not be for how Hailey had just treated me? I mean, for fuck’s sake…
I’d been played.
Yeah, I’d said it in the text, but that was directed at Hailey. Admitting it to myself…that was fucking tough. Really fucking tough.
I liked to think I was smarter than my appearance made me out to be. Perhaps among bikers, sure, but amongst the world at large? I was just a fucking meathead motherfucker.
I sighed. I finally went over after some time, grabbed my phone, and looked.
“Can we meet in person?”
This bitch…
She was either the bravest girl I’d ever talked to, the most brazen, or the biggest fucking idiot I’d ever met in my life. Perhaps all three at once. I certainly, in a fucked-up sort of way, had to give her kudos for wanting to meet in person after the shit she’d pulled.
But there was no fucking way. Certainly not right now, at least. If I saw her and had to have a real conversation with her, then I really would live up to the stereotype of criminal biker. That was for damn fucking sure.
“You got a lot of nerve, and I don’t mean that in a fucking good way. Fuck off and don’t ever talk to me. All you journalists are the fucking same and I don’t want a goddamn thing to do with it.”
But this time, I didn’t press send. My thumb hovered over it, but something pushed me back.
You believe her?
No, I knew it was because she was a journalist. Being with them was like the whole bullshit they said when they arrested you: “Anything you say can and will be held against you.” I could say “hello” and journalists would probably come up with some bullshit like, “Newsflash: hello is aggressive.”
So I just deleted the text.
And then I deleted Hailey’s number.
Never before had my fury risen to such levels. I’d felt extreme emotion before, primarily when Tamara passed away and when the King’s Men had continued to ignore my hints, but never anger like this. Anger…that masked disappointment that this could have been my second chance at love.
I should have known better. I’d gotten my one chance. There was no reason to believe there would be a second.
And yet, I knew that even with deleting Hailey’s number and the text message history, if she called me, I’d recognize the number instantly. That shit was too ingrained in my brain.
“Fuck!”
I rose from my chair, pocketing my phone. I stormed outside. The prospects had done a damn near miraculous job of getting the place clean. My anger was not for them.
For now. It could go anywhere real soon.
“Another journalist has come to deliver a hit piece on us,” I growled. “I made the mistake of believing this would be different. I don’t want to see anyone in this room ever fucking talking to another journalist, you got that? Same for you, Spawn and Sonny.”
They actually looked relieved they wouldn’t have to do that shit anymore.
“If for some reason we are required or we feel like we’ll actually get a fair shake, I will be the only one talking. But even I will hold myself to this rule. Those assholes want to twist the narrative however they like. Let them. We don’t need them.”
I drew a deep breath. I needed to change the subject before I blew a fucking volcano of a headache from talking about this shit too much.
“Anyone have any updates on the King’s Men or Black Reapers?”
