My mind goes quiet for a moment, buzzing with static as though I just can't compute what she's said. Trinity. How does she know that name? Had someone told her. And then, like a zombie lurching forward slowly, my reasoning catches up with my mouth, and I realize what I've done.
Oh, fuck. I said her name. I've said Trinity's name while buried balls deep in Penelope Fucking Cruz. My entire body goes cold.
I pull out of her so fast my head spins, and I've retrieved my abandoned pants from the floor, jerking them on with harsh, angry movements. I have to get out of here. There's no fucking way I'm staying in this room after that little fuck-up.
"Calamity-" she tries to say. I don't want to hear it. Don't what to know what she thinks about what's just happened. Because I'm too horrified by this development to hear a goddamn word.
I'm already out the door before she can finish her sentence.
9
Penny
That motherfucker did itagain.
I will find him and saw his mother fucking balls off.
Just as soon as I can force myself to stand.
If I'd thought the orgasms he'd given me before were intense, it's nothing to what I'm experiencing now. This last month in his bed has been the most surreal time in my life, where I simultaneously both long for and dread his presence in the clubhouse. Dread it, because it means my father's murderer may be close at hand. Long for it, because his hands, teeth, and tongue have brought me to hitherto unknown heights of pleasure. It's really making my head spin to feel such conflicting emotion where he's involved. Especially since I should feel nothing for him but scathing hatred.
He's twice my age, for God's sake. I've never been into the silver fox scene. There are plenty of older men to choose from in the Spades MC, some unattached. And I've never felt even a twinge of interest. But there's something about Gardel. Primal, animalistic force that commands attention and respect in men and draws out the inner hedonist in every woman who lays eyes on him.
I'll bet my fine ass that the reason Kylie hates me so much is because I'm in his bed. I'll frankly be a little green myself if he moves on to another woman. Because part of me already thinks of him as mine, as compelled by me as I am by him.
"You're a fucking idiot," I mutter. As if someone could ever put a collar on Calamity Gardel.
Except, it sounded like someone had. He'd groaned a name when he came, and, to my horror, it hadn't been mine. I hate the faceless woman for somehow ruining the moment. Which, again, is stupid, because it wasn't my moment to have. I should be at work, helping Holly at the rehab center. I miss my job. I miss my patients. I miss the endless stories about my brother's kid.
There's a small part of me that wonders if that brain bleed theory I concocted a while back has any merit. Surely that's the only explanation for the tears and the sense of betrayal so strong it makes my chest ache. If I could somehow block out he's a callous would-be murderer, he's given me everything I want in a bedmate. But the reverse isn't true. Every time he's touching me, he's thinking of her.
I test my legs after about five minutes, finally trusting myself not to go to pieces. I swipe hastily at my eyes, cursing myself for acting like a sentimental girl. I'm tougher than this. He deserves a good tongue lashing, so I will give it to him.
I slide my hands down the wrinkled dress primly, settling the fabric over my front and my ass, so I don't flash the room at large when I exit. Then I yank the door open and stride out of the room as if the pleasant ache between my legs doesn't remind me with every throbbing heartbeat he was inside me not so long ago.
The men from before had the good sense to clear out, which leaves us alone in the foyer. I study it, rather than look at him, running my fingers lightly over a pockmarked section of the wall. Had my brother stood here, facing down Gardel? The place looks rather forlorn without its thuggish occupants to give it atmosphere. It's undeniably beautiful craftsmanship that's been ruined by the ravages of this man's lifestyle.
Actually, not a bad metaphor for the man sitting on the throne. Beautiful but forlorn, tearing down everything around him because of the one that got away. Trinity has to have been Brooklyn's mom, I suppose. He must have loved her if her abandonment turned him into...this. He will love no one the same way. Especially not me.
He barely swivels his head to look at me as I step into the light.
"Thought you might pass out."
I almost had. Even now, fatigue threatens to overwhelm me. Keeping up with this man is both physically and mentally exhausting.
"After what you just did? Not a fucking chance."
His sigh is nearly inaudible. I think I must imagine it because the next second he's on his feet and stalking toward me, a mountain of muscle and barely restrained rage. I back up a step, even as my pussy clenches tight. Stupid fucking reaction, to tie his anger to the anticipation of pleasure. Stupid that I have gotten off, even once, to the fact that he so obviously despises me.
"Can't you just fuck off? Stay in the bedroom for a few goddamn hours and keep out of trouble."
"I want to know what the hell that was back there."
My back hits the wall, and he finally comes to a stop. Hands shoot out on either side of my head, caging me in so all that I can see, taste, smell, is Calamity Gardel. One huge hand comes up to cup my face, a gentle gesture that's at odds with the scorn written on his face. His eyes are glacial, a blue so pale it chills me. It's nothing like the soft, denim shade of Brooklyn's eyes, which seem perpetually warm. I can't fathom how a girl like that came from a man like him.
His fingers curl around my chin, and his lips quirk up into a nasty smirk. My hands twitch at my sides with the need to punch it right off his face.
"I knew you were brave, but I didn't think you were stupid, Penelope. You really think I need a reason? We had a deal. Your body for their freedom. I collected my fee. If you think it meant anything, you're deluding yourself."
