Smoke slaps me on the back. “Pussy is pussy, but the club is forever.”
“Absolutely, brother.” We tap fists, and Smoke gives me the once-over. “She must be one hot piece of ass ‘cause you look like you got your bell rung.”
I nod and smile ‘cause that’s what Smoke expects. I have no intention of telling him how I really feel about Martina or that I’d never do anything to jeopardize her safety.
CHAPTER 17
MARTINA
I wake up alone in bed, throw on Diesel’s t-shirt and start down the hallway to look for him when I hear him and Smoke talking. I can hear my mother’s words of warning when I was a child—Don’t eavesdrop; you might hear something you don’t want to know.
I should turn back toward the bedroom. I should make a noise so they know I’m there. All the things I should do but don’t.
Instead, I stay plastered against the wall and listen as Diesel assures Smoke that his first alliance is to the club and that I’m nothing more than hot pussy, a one-nighter, and a way to get his dick wet. Lovely.
What did I expect? He hadn’t made any commitments to me, and although the sex was out of control and the best ever for me, it was probably just another night for him.
Bikers are notorious for having many women, many times and moving on. What would make me think I’m different? I’d watched him take Chantel into the private rooms and then return to his biker buddies not long after without her. Provingmy point—sex is just a way to scratch an itch for him. If I hadn’t had the panic attack, I probably wouldn’t have even ended up in his bedroom last night. Fate and coincidence put me here—nothing more—and I have to stop fooling myself when it comes to men, any man, even Diesel.
He hadn’t talked about a future with me. He only promised to keep me safe, and that could fall under the rules of the Royal Bastards looking out for the Royal Harlots and nothing more.
Their conversation winds down, and I scurry back to bed, burrowing under the comforter and feigning sleep when Diesel enters the bedroom. The shower turns on, and a few minutes later, it turns off. More movement in the bedroom, then silence. I peek through slitted eyes. I’m alone again in the bedroom. I lie still and listen to make sure, but there is no noise in the apartment at all.
I quickly shower, throw on Marisol’s dress and leave the apartment twenty minutes later. I need to get to the gym, change out of this dress, and figure out my next move. Much safer than concentrating on the hollow feeling inside my chest.
Depending on Diesel for help is a fleeting fantasy. One that would only happen if Smoke and the Royal Bastards sanction it, and it doesn’t mess with whatever deal they’ve made with Benito. Too many ifs to make it a solid plan, but that is fine. I’m used to depending on myself—it’s safer that way.
I make it down the back stairs, my ridiculous high heels clacking and echoing in the stairwell. I ease open the metal door leading to the back hall of the club and look both ways. Luckily, there is no one in sight, so I make a beeline for the back door.
“Martina?” Smoke’s deep rasp freezes me in place. “I need to have a word.”
I slowly turn to Smoke, all badass and glaring, behind me. He either heard me, or he was purposely waiting to confront me. He motions to the office on his right, and I shoot a glanceto the back door. Make a run for it in the stilettos, kick the stupid shoes off and run? I wouldn’t stand a chance.
I follow him into a small room with a sofa, desk and two chairs, one behind the desk where he sits, and one in front of the desk, which he points to for me.
I know from the few times I’ve been in his company that he doesn’t waste words. Most times, he observes, hardly saying anything, and somehow that’s even more frightening. I’ve also never seen him so much as crack a smile, no less laugh, or show any human emotions.
When he does come to the gym, he spends most of his time in the office with Blood or prowling around the floor mumbling to himself with the same scowl he’s wearing now. He gives dark and moody a bad name, complete opposite of Marisol’s bright personality. They are definitely a grumpy/sunshine match. Whether in the gym or The Tropics, I’ve made it my business to steer way clear of him—until now.
“You’ve been working at the gym almost two weeks now, right?”
Okay, Captain Obvious, so far so good. Nothing threatening there, but I stay silent, sensing more—much more.
“Maxie says you’ve got some nice moves.” He taps his finger on the desktop. “Pay attention to what she tells you ‘cause she knows what the fuck she’s talking about when it comes to fighting.”
“I will.” It seems to be the answer he wants, but I still can’t relax.
“She also told Blood that she’s taken you on as a Royal Harlot.” He plays with the pack of cigarettes on his desk. “That must mean she sees something in you, ‘cause they just don’t let anyone in.”
I force a smile, but I know he’s far from done with whatever he’s leading up to.
“I trust her judgment, but I also have to look out for the Royal Bastards.”
I jerk my head in a nod, and my stomach churns.
“I went up to see Diesel this morning, and he seems confused.”
“Confused?” Damn the squeak in my voice.
