They are too.
It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.
But I don’t like the way Sin’s nails are digging into my skin just a little more than they should. Like she has some sort of ownership over me.
Before I can remind her of who she is and what her role is, the door bursts open and everyone’s heads snap in that direction. Brothers who were sitting stand, and ones who were already standing slide their hands into their cuts.
A woman with brown hair rushes through the door, the air sawing in and out of her lungs like she’s being chased by the hounds of hell. She’s little, but the curves of her body make my cock go from ‘considering what is being offered’ to a steel pipe trying to break through my zipper. She might be 5’4”, if that. Her hair falls around her and down her back in luscious waves which make me want to twist it around my fist.
Her head is angled down, but when she looks up and pushes her hair back from her face, our eyes lock. I’m fucking done. Everything disappears around me, all of my focus zeroing in while I can feel my life realigning. With her at the center of it all.
Her dark eyes flash with something, but then she looks around and her mouth forms a perfect ‘o’. I take a step forward without even realizing it and Sin’s nails dig into my arm just a little bit deeper. Honestly, I hardly feel it.
“I’m sorry,” the woman’s voice wobbles and then her eyes meet mine again. “I’m looking for Mayhem? Scythe sent me here.”
Hearing another man’s name on her tongue has me seeing red. Rampage shoves me a little, and everything comes rushing back in.
But I feel different.
All because of her.
Fuck me.
She’s mine.
CHAPTER 4
ADDYSON
Okay. Now that I’m standing in the middle of a motorcycle clubhouse, maybe I should have looked before I leaped. This time.
Considering the big picture here involves being on the radar of a murderer because I rushed forward without a lot of thought, maybe I should put more effort into thinking things all the way through across the board. I’m not sure it would have changed anything, but still.
When Scythe called me to check on me and to find out if I was on the way to the clubhouse, he told me I would be safe and that Mayhem would make sure of it. I would not have had the courage to walk in here without his vow echoing in my head.
You know, I’m realizing just how sheltered I’ve been. Nothing I’ve done has ever gotten me into this kind of trouble before. Part of that was not leaving Magnolia Point.
How much trouble could I really get into when everyone knows you and is more than willing to tattle on you? Sure, we got away with some things, but nothing too wild. It was all normal stuff involving beer in fields and bad decisions in parking spots. It could have been worse, a whole lot fucking worse.
Whenever I rushed headlong into some idea I had, usually pulling Tallulah right along with me, I knew I had the town and my brothers at my back. Now? I feel like I’m freefalling without a net or parachute or whatever.
I’ve burst into the middle of a biker lair. What could possibly go wrong?
I shake my hands out, my eyes finding a guy standing near the bar. For some reason I keep looking at him. While I should be figuring out who Mayhem is, I’m busy eye fucking a man. That’s not mentioning the large and intimidating bikers who are studying me like they’re not sure whether I’m a threat or not. I don’t think I am, but considering I heard a cop kill his estranged wife, I could be wrong.
The moment I mention the club’s president and Scythe, some of the men relax. But not all of them. I see their hands, but I won’t allow myself to think about what they could be reaching for. My body wants to lock up, but I will myself to stand tall.
It’s all gusto and a hefty side of fake it ‘til you make it. What other choice do I have right now?
The man my eyes keep going toward takes a step toward me, but the redheaded woman who is hanging off his arm tightens her grip. As if I want to get in the middle of whatever the fuck that is. No, thank you. I have enough problems.
That doesn’t mean I like the way she’s touching him. I hate it.
She’s hardly wearing any clothing, and it takes some concerted effort for me to not stare at her. I can’t imagine having the confidence to wear a skirt that shows all of my bits. And what is the point of wearing a netted shirt at all? I mean really. Her nipples are jutting out through the holes in her shirt.
Does she think her outfit is sexy? Fuck, an even more disturbing question is whether the men find her outfit sexy? It leaves nothing to the imagination, but maybe that’s just the vibe here.
I remember Tallulah telling me about the club angels and what their role is. Hell, she’s given me a crash course in biker life and culture since she took up with her biker husband. But Jensen is the love of her life. I’m just a walking liability at this point.
