“What? I don’t exist now?” I asked, my hip dropping to the side. “Tate Michael Hanagan, just you remember who the adult is here, and I would be very fucking careful how you respond to that.”
The laughter from Mr. YMCA had me turning back to him. “Oh, you think this is funny?”
He closed his eyes while he took his time to scratch his damn eyebrow, acting like there was no rush to answer mine or anybody else’s questions. When his eyes opened again and his arm dropped down by his side, I felt his gaze fall to the tips of my toes before it crawled slowly up my legs, over my chest, eventually landing back on my face. “And what if I do?”
Of all the arrogant, ignorant, and…
Sucking in a calming breath and stopping the moment I felt his eyes on my breasts through my thin shirt, I let my eyes meet his.
“Look, I realize that this little asshole—who, for the record, is drunk off his ass—broke into your tree house or whatever, and perved over your porno mags. Believe me, he will be punished for that. But could you please explain the part where you said he tried to steal money?”
I looked between him and Tate again. Tate looked like a dog with his tail between his legs, and as much as the cooling anger demanded that I go and give him a hug, I resisted, folding my arms over my chest and reinforcing my glare. The sooner I got rid of this asshole, the better.
“Ayda—”
“Don’t you dare, Tate. I don’t want to hear anything fromyou yet.”
The biker boy’s hand flew out to the side, but he never once broke his stare as his blue green eyes burned into mine, studying me like I was some kind of science project. Before I even realized what was happening, he clicked his fingers at my brother then pointed to the ground in front of him, effectively calling him over like he would call a dog to heel at his feet. “I think I'll leave him to do story time. My patience is wearing thin with all this shit already and I’m not here to explain the actions of your piss ant brother… doll. You should be thanking me that he’s still alive. That’s all I can say. The rest…” He paused to smirk, giving my chest one last flicker of interest before he straightened his spine and towered over me. “Well, I’ll leave it up to TateMichaelHanagan to fill you in.”
“Oh, thank you. How very generous of you.” I stumbled closer, cursing the damnable pebbles on my front drive. They were sharp and bit into the soles of my feet as I got closer, the chill of the evening air making my arms cross tighter over my chest, hiding the effects of the bitterness on my body. The last thing I needed was this jackass thinking he was turning me on.
Mirroring the guy’s grip on Tate, I grabbed his arm and tugged him toward me. What I was thinking, I wasn’t sure. It had the same effect as if I’d tried to lift my car one-handed. The kid was all muscle and to me, might as well have been immovable.
“In the house, Tate.”
Tate’s eyes widened, but rather than doing as he was told, he shook his head, his eyes moving to Mr. Motorcycle Man and deferring to the ground. “Not leaving you.”
“I’m old enough to look after myself…” My words trailed off as I watched the guy laugh, shake his head and begin to wander away. The laugh wasn’t entirely filled with humor. I was pretty certain there was disgust, too. I was stunned by the arrogance of him. He wore club colors and thought he ruled the damn world.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Ayda!” Tate whispered.
“Shut up, Tate. Hey, we’re not finished here, dude.”
“Yeah, we are, sweetheart.” He snorted with derision, his hands digging keys from his pocket, his body listing to the side as he came up with nothing.
“Do not walk away from me!”
He froze, mid-step, lifting his head before glancing over his shoulder at me. The look of death he flashed had me swallowing with difficulty. At this angle, I could see him much more clearly and the dark stubble was made even darker by the bruise that marred his skin. How the hell had I missed that?
“You have no idea who I am, do you?”
Before I could respond with some smart assed comment, Tate leaned in close, his eyes catching mine with a silent warning. “That’s Drew Tucker, Ayda. Shut the fuck up.”
The buzzing in my ears was immediate. That name. I grew up with it. I heard it whispered by the girls in school, the barely-dressed women these men called the Hound Whores. It was a name spoken with reverence, awe, but most of all, it was a name that carried with it fear.
What the fuck had I just done?
Chapter Six
Drew
Icould sense Harry’s silent judgment pouring out of him as we drove back to The Hut in silence. I didn’t need for that fucker to say shit to me to know that he was doing what he usually did for all of us. He was worrying again.
In terms of long days, this one felt never-ending. As I let my body sink farther into the passenger seat and widened my legs farther apart, I dropped my head back against the leather and groaned quietly. I don’t know what purpose it was meant to serve, other than to fill this weird awkwardness with some noise and to try and stop me from saying something to Harry that I would regret. It was obvious what he was thinking. A part of me was thinking it, too.
Before too long, I threw my hands up to cover my face and ran them up and down my cheeks in frustration. The haze of the alcohol was starting to wear off and the thickness of my head was multiplying by seventeen thousand units.
