“Don’t sweat it, Dutch.” Handful appeared at my elbow, already nursing a beer. “She’ll cool off.”
I grabbed a bottle of Jack from behind the bar and didn’t bother with a glass. That’s what I’d told myself too. She just needed a night to calm down, and tomorrow we’d talk. She’d realize she’d overreacted, apologize for all the things she’d said, and everything would go back to how it was before she went to Atlanta. But something about the way she’d looked at me—that cold, dead look in her eyes when she said she needed time—made my gut twist with unease.
I could still hear her voice—“I thought I was dating a man who cared about me. Apparently, I was dating a man who thinks fucking other women is just part of his job description.”
“She’s being dramatic,” I said, though the words felt hollow. “Because of Crystal.”
“Ah, shit.” Holden abandoned his pool game and came over. “She walked in on that? Bad timing, brother.”
“It’s not bad timing,” Glitch said from the corner, his dark eyes sharp. He didn’t look amused like the others. “It’s bad leadership. You’ve been acting like she didn’t matter for a year, Dutch. Eventually, a woman like that is gonna believe you.”
“She matters!” I roared, slamming the bottle onto the wood. The room went silent. I felt like a caged animal. “She’s my woman. Crystal is... she’s club business. It’s different.”
“Try telling a Queen she’s the same as a service provider,” Glitch muttered, turning back to his laptop. “See how that works out for you.”
Before I could tear Glitch a new one, Crystal sauntered over. She still had that satisfied, cat-like smile on her face, her blonde hair messy from what we’d been doing on my desk less than an hour ago. She smelled like cheap perfume and the clubhouse, and for some reason, the scent made my throat tighten with a sudden, sharp revulsion.
“Hey, Prez,” she purred, sliding her hand up my arm. She didn’t wait for an invitation; she pressed herself against me, pushing up between me and the bar just like she’d done a thousand times before. “Forget about her. She’s too high-maintenance anyway. I’m right here.”
I looked at Crystal. I looked at the way her makeup was smudged, the way she looked at me with expectation. Then I thought about Indira.
Indira, with her long dark hair that fell in waves down her back, dark eyes that could cut through my bullshit in seconds,smooth brown skin that smelled like her jasmine shampoo. She was the complete opposite of what I’d always thought was my type—all the club girls were blonde, curvy, loud, easy. Indira was elegant, sharp-minded, reserved in a way that made every smile feel earned.
The first time I’d seen her at that charity ride, standing apart from the crowd in a sundress that showed off her body without trying too hard, I’d gotten hard just watching her laugh at something her friend said. Something in my chest had locked into place, and I’d known with absolute certainty: mine. My old lady.
But she’d been from a good family, conservative from what I could tell, and I’d wanted to introduce her to club life slowly, let her see what it meant to be with me before I claimed her publicly. Give her time to understand what being an old lady meant before I announced it to the world.
Except, now, Crystal’s hands were on me, and all I could think about was Indira’s face when she’d looked at me like I was nothing.
Crystal leaned in to kiss me, her lips wet.
I felt a physical wave of disgust so strong I actually shoved her back.
Crystal stumbled, her eyes widening in shock. The entire room went dead quiet. Even the clink of pool balls stopped.
“Get off me,” I growled.
“Dutch?” Crystal’s voice was small, confused. “What’s wrong? You were fine an hour ago.”
“An hour ago, Indira was in Atlanta,” I snapped. “You were just something to pass the time while my woman was away.” I looked around the room at my brothers watching this unfold. “But she’s back now. And I don’t need you when I have her.”
Except I didn’t have her right now. She was at her apartment, hurt and angry, and I couldn’t shake the image of her face—theway her eyes had gone dead when she looked at me. I hadn’t done anything wrong, not by club standards, but seeing her hurt like that twisted something in my chest that I didn’t understand.
“Find someone else to fuck,” I said, my voice cold. “Find another brother. There’s plenty here who’ll take you back to their rooms.”
“You’re dumping me forher?” Crystal’s voice went shrill, trying to get her pride back. “After the scene she just made?”
“I’m not dumping you because there was never an us,” I snapped, anger flaring. “You’re a club girl, Crystal. You provide services for the brothers in exchange for somewhere to sleep and food. You’re not relationship material.”
The words were harsh, but they were true. That’s how it worked. That’s how it had always worked.
“What, she thinks she’s better than me?” Crystal’s face twisted with rage.
“She’s right,” I said. I grabbed my bottle and headed toward the stairs that led to the second floor—to the room I hadn’t used in months. Before Indira, this had been my spot for Crystal and the others. Quick, easy, convenient. But once I’d started dating Indira, once I had her in my life, I’d stopped using this room, preferring to spend nights with her at my house. I’d never brought her here, never wanted her to see this part of my life. I’d kept her separate, clean, away from the club girls and the business and all the shit that happened in these walls.
“Where you going?” Handful called out. “We got a run to discuss for tomorrow.”
“Discuss it with Holden,” I barked without looking back.
