This time around, she’s ruining something much worse—my life.
Because I don’t know how I’m supposed to continue it without her.
15
SKIPPER
When I think about women,I normally do it consciously.
Not unconsciously during REM sleep.
This morning, I woke up with an unfamiliar feeling in my chest. Maybe this is what it feels like to be lonely.
Which is strange for someone who’s spent most of their adulthood alone.
Yes, sending Carmen away is going to ensure her survivalandthe club’s, but it’s going to be fucking boring from now on.
Until I hear a knock at the door.
Maybe I spoke too soon.
I head over and open up.
“Conrad?” I say his name more for my own benefit, as a way to try and wake myself up.
Conrad O’Neill is standing on the other side of the door, and I haven’t even had a chance to make a morning coffee.
“A message would’ve been nice,” I say.
“I don’t have time for messages.”
No, but hedoeshave time to make threats and break up something I was just starting to get a good taste of.
His face is quite the jump scare. On second thought, I won’t be needing my coffee. Conrad’s freaky face has woken me up enough. He’s like a fly, nowhere and everywhere at the same time with the same beady eyes. They pop out of his face as he stares at me.
It’s a pity I can’t squash him. For all I know, he’s come prepared with an army, ready to initiate war.
The agitated face would suggest that.
“What brings you out here?” I ask. “If you’re interested in becoming a prospect, you’ll have to come back next year. We have a long waiting list.”
“Do I look like I want to ride motorcycles all day long?”
No, he looks like he wants to sucker punch me to the ground.
A guy can dream.
He sticks his nose into the clubhouse. “Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Now’s not the time to play innocent. I want Carmen.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Why?”
“She’s mine.”
“You had your chance, in the parking lot when you invited her to your party.”
