Jealousy like I’ve never felt before burns in my gut. I want to walk over to her, remove her hands from him, and then rip out her fake ass extensions. But I don’t. Because it would be bad form.
I’m a guest. If that. Honestly, I’m probably more of an inconvenience than anything else.
And I don’t know the man she’s touching.
He certainly isn’t my man. My man, if I had one, would fucking never.
I swallow hard and try to focus, but the fear I’ve been trying to ignore is crawling up my throat. There are so many unanswered questions and I’m fairly sure I’ll never feel safe again. Not as long as Kendra’s killer is at large. I know it’s gotten less likely since he also wears a badge.
Why couldn’t I just be content with not getting involved?
Another man, this one leaning against the bar looks at the hulking figure of the man I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from and then back at me before smirking. “Who are you, sweet thing?”
My lip curls up at the endearment. I can’t help it. I’m not one to lose my head, or my panties, over a man using sweet words. I watched my brothers operate, thank you very much, and they were just a lot of pretty words and depraved thoughts. Nope. I’m not falling for that shit.
“My name is Addyson,” I tell him, my voice still weaker than I would like. Instead of giving into the fear, I straighten my back and square my shoulders. “Like I said, Scythe told me to come here. He said Mayhem would help me and keep me safe.”
A low whistle comes from a man much closer to me. When I glance his way, he winks at me and I narrow my eyes at him. At least he’s close enough for me to see the patch on his chest letting me know his road name is Duckie and he’s the Sergeant at Arms for the club. I probably shouldn’t piss him off.
“What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, babe?” Duckie’s eyes sweep over my body, and I can see the appreciation in his eyes. “Not that I mind that you’ve stumbled into our clubhouse. You’ve got a smokin’ hot body.”
The man with the redhead hanging off his arm takes another step and then lets out a growl that sounds like a warning. My head snaps in his direction, and I tilt it as I look him over again.
Fuck, he’s hot. He’s got to be at least a foot taller than my 5’4” frame. But it’s not just height he has going for him. He’s built and my heart flutters at the thought of being sheltered in his strong arms.
What is wrong with me?
Still, I can’t help but catalog everything about the man. His dark hair is cut short except for a little bit of length on top and what is there is messy like he’s been running his fingers through it. I’m not going to lie, my fingers want to do the same. They twitch at my sides with the need, but I ball my hands into fists. Now is not the time to get handsy.
I have enough problems.
“Duckie,” the mystery man’s voice is sin and honey. It wraps around me and squeezes in such a way that my mouth goes dry. “That’s enough.”
When I glance over at Duckie, his eyebrows have shot up to his hairline and he’s holding his hands up in surrender. “You got it, Prez.”
My eyes go wide. No fucking way. Prez. The president of this chapter is Mayhem. The man I’m here to see. The one who is going to keep me safe.
I slowly turn my head back toward him and catch the ghost of a smile on his lips. Why did he have to be so hot?
This is going to be torture.
“You’re Mayhem?” I can’t help the way I take him in while he inclines his head in a way which tells me it’s the only answer I’ll be getting from him. “I’m Addyson,” I introduce myself, again, because being polite is something my mama drilled into me while growing up.
I feel my cheeks heat as the redhead who still has a proprietary hand on Mayhem smirks. Damn it, I hate mean girls and drama. This isn’t something I have time for.
When Mayhem notices my focus on the woman clinging to him like a damn vine, he does a double take as if he hadn’t even realized she was still there. Well, that makes one of us.
He shakes off her touch, but it doesn’t matter now. She got her point across loud and fucking clear; her claim is staked.
He steps closer to me and the woman frowns while I feel all the eyes in the room boring into me. It makes me want to squirm. It makes me want to run. But I’m frozen in place.
When he’s close enough, I get lost in his crystal blue eyes. There are flecks of other colors there which remind me of clouds when a storm is on the horizon.
“Addyson,” his voice is rough and my body goes on high alert, “come into my office. I’d like to go over your story.”
I bristle at the implications of his words, and I can’t help myself when I spit out, “It’s not some fanciful tale. It’s the truth. I listened to a woman be murdered and now I know who did it.”
Ignoring the collective intake of breath from the men in the room, I glance over my shoulder almost expecting Wagner to burst through the door behind me. He doesn’t.
