I turned to leave, but Dutch caught my arm. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to find one of your brothers to fuck,” I said, my voice deadly calm. “For stress relief. Maybe Holden. He’s always been friendly.”
Dutch’s face went dark red, and he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Like hell you are.”
“Why not?” I tilted my head, enjoying the fury in his eyes. “If it’s okay for you to fuck other women, then it’s okay for me to fuck other men, right? It’s just stress relief, nothing personal.”
“No. Not happening.” His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’remywoman.”
“Then act like I’m your woman instead of treating me like one of many.” I stared him down for a long moment, then shrugged. “Fine. If I can’t fuck one of your brothers, then I’m going home.” I pulled free of his grip. “To my apartment. You know, the place you’ve never actually invited me to move out of because apparently I’m just another service provider.”
“Indira, don’t be like this. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating me.”
I stopped and turned back to face him. “I did? I thought I was dating a man who cared about me. I thought we were exclusive. Apparently, I was dating a man who thinks fucking other women is just part of his job description.”
Crystal chose that moment to saunter past us toward the door. “Don’t take it personally, honey,” she said with fake sweetness. “Prez has needs. Nothing wrong with knowing your place.”
The rage that had been building in my chest finally exploded. “My place?” I stepped toward her, and she actually took a step back. “Let me tell you something about my place. My place is anywhere I damn well choose it to be. And it’s definitely not here, watching my boyfriend screw a club girl because it’s apparently just an average Thursday to him.”
“Indira,” Dutch’s voice held a warning. “Calm down.”
“Calm down?” I spun to face him. “You just told me that cheating on me is stress relief, and you want me to calm down?”
“I wasn’t cheating,” he said, and I actually laughed. A sharp, bitter sound that made him flinch. “This is just how things work. My father...”
“I don’t give a shit about your father,” I snapped. “I give a shit about you. Or I did. Past tense.”
I walked out of his office, through the main room where several club members had gathered, drawn by the raised voices.Their faces ranged from uncomfortable to amused. I kept my head high and my stride steady until I reached my car.
Dutch followed me out, his boots heavy on the gravel. “Indira, wait.”
I turned around, my hand on the car door handle. “What?”
“We’ll talk about this at home,” he said, like he was doing me some great favor. “After I’ve finished up here.”
I stared at him for a long moment, my mind racing through my options. Home. His house on the club grounds, not my apartment across town where I could lock the door and lick my wounds in private. He wanted me on his territory, where he had all the control.
I could refuse. Tell him I was going to my own place instead. But then what? I’d have to get past the gate, and the prospect on gate duty was already watching us from his booth. When we first started dating, I’d always had to wait outside while the prospect placed a call to Dutch to get his permission to let me in. All that had changed when Dutch put me on the approved list—they’d waved me through without question, and I’d thought it meant something. That I belonged. Now I realized one phone call or a wave from Dutch and those gates wouldn’t open for me. I’d be trapped here.
What about ramming the gate? I’d seen it in movies—desperate woman crashes through barriers to escape. But this wasn’t Hollywood, and my Honda Civic wasn’t exactly built for demolition work. I’d probably just end up with a destroyed car and a very pissed off motorcycle club.
No, the smart play was to go along with his plan. Let him think he was in control while I figured out my real exit strategy. I could pack my things, make it look like I was going along with whatever bullshit explanation he was planning to give me, and then leave on my own terms.
“Fine. We’ll talk at home.”
He nodded, satisfied that he’d handled the situation. “Good. I’ll be there soon.”
I got in my car and drove to his house without another word. But not to wait for him like some obedient little woman.
I had packing to do.
Chapter 2
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— Indira —
Dutch’s house sat on the back edge of the club property, a sprawling ranch-style place he’d built two years ago but barely used until we started getting serious. Most of the brothers lived in rooms upstairs at the clubhouse, but Dutch had wanted something that felt more like a real home. Somewhere he could bring a woman he actually cared about, he’d told me once.
