I stomp down the hallway and into the main room of the club. The afternoon crowd is gone, and I easily pick out Smoke sitting at his usual table in the back with Bolt.
I close the distance between us and demand, “You had no right to talk to her without telling me.”
Smoke stares up at me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Bolt’s spine stiffens, sensing trouble.
“Did you talk to Martina after you left my apartment this morning?”
“What of it?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Smoke narrows his eyes. “‘Cause I’m the president of this club, and I don’t have to tell you shit if I don’t want to.”
“What did you say to her?”
“Why do you care?”
“‘Cause I do.”
“You told me this morning she is nothing more than hot pussy. I believe you said ‘a great way to get your dick wet.’”
“That’s all changed.”
“What better change is this fuckin’ attitude of yours.”
Bolt rises and puts his hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off, and we exchange a knowing look.
We were built almost the same—bulky muscle with a big dose ofdon’t fuck with me. We met when the cartel was still running thefights. Punching it out in the fuckin’ dirt and living in barracks where the AC hardly worked and the shitter was always broken. We knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and how to survive.
I round on Smoke. “Just tell me what you said to her.”
“I told her about your track record with women and how you have a tendency to pick up strays and losers. I also told her that no amount of her fucking you would change your loyalty to the Bastards.”
I bite my lower lip. “Nice, real nice.”
“Don’t go giving me shit.” Smoke pushes away from the table, sending the chair backwards. “You said the same thing in your apartment.”
“I didn’t mean it,” I yell.
Smoke grabs me and pins me up against the wall, his forearm across my chest.
“Hey, c’mon,” Bolt says behind us. “Cool out.”
“I could easily raise my arm five inches, and you’d have trouble breathing.” Smoke sneers.
“And I could easily push you off, or did you forget what I do for this club?”
“Knock it off, both of you.” Blood storms over to us, slamming his hand on our shoulders, pushing us apart.
“Tell him that.” Smoke jabs a finger into my chest. “Fuckin’ guy comes in here spitting shit and disrespect.”
“‘Cause you went behind my back, and now she’s gone.”
“Who’s gone?” Bolt asks.
“Martina.” Saying her name drains all the fight out of me. I sink into one of the chairs and pull out my smokes.
