When I look back at Mayhem, his eyes are soft as he nods once. I have a feeling it’s about all I’m going to get. Little victories for sure.
A glance at the redhead tells me she’s pissed to the point smoke is about to come out of her ears. I’m not looking to get involved in any drama.
Even for a man as good looking as Mayhem. He has heartbreak and bad decisions written all over him.
I still want him, but I can recognize a mistake coming my way. And thinking it would be different won’t help anyone, least of all me.
We all make mistakes in life.
“That’s not what I meant,” his voice is soft and from the way everyone’s eyes widen, it is not a common occurrence for him to walk back his words in any capacity.
“Sorry,” I murmur and step toward him, my feet moving without my input.
I swear my body keeps trying to sway closer to him. As if I need to be near him. As if I’m desperate for it. It makes no fucking sense.
He shouts, “Anchor. Rampage. Duckie. Ripper.”
I have no idea who he’s calling out to other than Duckie. When his blue eyes look back down at me, something flashes there, but then it’s gone.
“They’re all officers in the club, Tempest.” Fuck, why does that sound like a lullaby? “I need them in the meeting with us, that way you’ll only have to get through it once.”
My heart stutters in my chest. At the care he’s showing me when he doesn’t know me. At the way he’s looking at me like he’s not planning on letting me go anytime soon. At how much I want him, even though we just met.
Mayhem is a biker who may or may not operate outside the law. He’s the last man I should get involved with.
But I have a feeling I won’t be able to help myself.
Worse things have happened.
You know, like being murdered by a man who has taken an oath to serve and protect, not to be confused with the whole wedding vow thing. Wait, I’m not sure wedding vows cover killing. Maybe it’s time for a revision.
Mayhem moves close enough that the heat of his body soothes some of my jagged edges which have been sharpened by fear and helplessness over the last two days. I want to sink into him, but I don’t get the chance. A clawed hand slides over his shoulder and the redhead drapes herself against Mayhem.
“We’ll take this up later, baby,” she purrs, her words dripping with innuendo even a nun could interpret. And blush at. Fucking yikes.
When I take a step away from the pair, Mayhem turns toward the woman. “Sin,” he snaps, and I almost laugh at the perfection of her name, “get your hands off me.” She does. Slowly. “Do I need to remind you of your place here?” When she only blinks up at him innocently, he growls, “You are a willing and waiting hole for any of the brothers. Don’t forget that is where your importance begins and ends.”
“Harsh,” I breathe out. Mayhem looks down at me with amusement dancing in his eyes. When he arches an eyebrow, I hold my hands up, grateful for the focus not being everything going wrong in my life for a moment, “I didn’t say you’re wrong, I just said that was harsh because it was. I mean,” I shrug as I point out, “how many times have you stuck your dick in one of those willing and waiting holes?”
Does it kill me a little to ask? Yes. Does it deserve to be asked because even if she is a club angel, she deserves a little bit of respect? Also, yes.
Now, if she continues to glare at me and piss me off, my opinion on the matter may change. But I’ll ride it out for now.
When one corner of Mayhem’s mouth tips up, it’s devastating.
Let Geoffrey Wagner come for me. I’m done for anyway.
Sin slinks away, but I’m not naïve enough to believe it’s the last I’ll see of her. No, the mean girl always pops up again, doesn’t she? I’ve had plenty of movie marathon nights disguised as sleepovers; I know the drill and I’ll be ready for her.
Mayhem slides into place next to me and his large hand finds the small of my back. It feels right to be at his side. The feeling of something clicking into place has me closing my eyes. Just for a second.
I haven’t felt safe in two days and now the feeling of someone nipping at my heels is hard to shake.
His touch is grounding. It’s a sensation I should not be feeling when I’m embroiled in my fight or flight response, with the added benefit of some biker dinner theater. What could go wrong?
The bikers he called upon like a fucking king fall into step behind us as Mayhem guides me around the bar and down a hallway. We walk into what can only be his office. I’ve never been in a room that screams man more than this one. I’m only a little surprised to not find posters on the wall of half or completely naked women.
And if said woman was straddling a Harley? Even better.
