Tate goes to put his right hand in the hole that spits out the balls, and I tsk. “He was bowlin’ with his left,” I say, and Tate groans, having to readjust the asshole to get his left hand and arm into the return.
“No, please. It was a mistake. I won’t do anything like it again. I promise,” he begs. Tate grins down at the man, and I toss one ball down the lane and quickly toss the other.
“Do we need a third?” I ask Tate in a weirdly sweet voice.
“Yes,” he says, forcing the man’s body to hold still along with his arm.
“You’re so right. You know, three is the perfect number,” I joke, winkin’ at Tate.
He doesn’t even appreciate my joke as I toss the third ball down the lane. We don’t have to wait long as the balls attempt to come back to the front of the lane.
The man cries and begs, but Tate holds him down. I join him as the balls return to us, the machine whirling and the man screaming as we listen to his fingers and wrist breaking. He goes limp against the machine and cries as we step away. He holds his arm pathetically as he looks up at us.
“Fuck with the Dead Palms again and we take more than just your hand,” Tate warns, spitting on the man before we both turn away and leave the establishment.
We stay silent until we’re both on our bikes, and I cut the tension.
“Thanks for comin’ so fast.”
“I came because he disrespected Lily,” he replies.
“Right… the S.Y.W.T.F.”
“What the fuck does that stand for?”
I grin at him and start my engine before I yell out the acronym. “The stepsister you want to fuck.” I feel his glare burning into me as I ride home, wondering if by any chance I’ll be able to catch Lily for a quick kiss—or more—before she goes to bed.
As badly asI want to be back inside that bowling alley giving that dumbass the beating of his life. I know Axel has it covered, and I don’t want Lily around for that shit.
She’s not dumb. She knows the things we do, why guys walk around the compound with black eyes and bloody knuckles. But it’s one thing to know something and another to see it. For me, I don’t want my Omega to deal with that shit.
Maybe it’s a double standard, but I don’t really give a fuck. I want her protected and only to be involved in club business when it's necessary or safe enough. I think our night at the trailer park taught me a lot about Lily.
She isn’t scared of the danger or the lifestyle. She just wants us to be safe, and I can’t imagine asking for much more than that.
I had to modify my bike so she could ride with me, seeing as I’ve never had anyone on the back of my bike before.
“Are you sure we should leave him in there alone?” Lily asks me as I usher her through the side door toward my bike.
“I’m pretty sure that deranged psycho can handle himself better than most Alphas,” I reply, and I don’t miss her smile at my comment. I’m not sure how much she would smile if she actually saw the violence happening in there, but she clearly isn’t upset over it. “He’ll be more than fine.”
“You’re right,” she sighs. “Where are we going?”
“I was thinking we could sneak into the body shop so you could spend some time with Winnie,” I suggest, and her face lights up.
“That sounds perfect.”
I grab the helmet I specifically brought for her; she reaches out to take it, but I shake my head, placing it on her head and buckling the chin strap myself.
“You don’t have to do things for me,” she says softly.
“I know. I do them because I want to.”
Her cheeks are flushed as I get on the bike first and she hops on the back. When her arms and scent wrap around me, I think I might die. At the very least, the drive home is going to fucking suck with a hard-on.
I toss my helmet on, and she speaks before I start my engine.
“Not a lot of the guys wear helmets,” she comments.
