“Not mine,” she reminds me. “Sammy abused me on our wedding night.”
I swallow my anger. I’ve never hurt a woman. “I’m sorry, Starlet. Some men…”
“Deserve to die?”
I consider it, then nod. “Yeah. Some men deserve to die.” I mentally run through the names of all of the losers I’ve offed. Eighteen, maybe more. I lost count years ago, the dark moments blending together like days and nights on the road.
“I spent years waiting for him to get killed. The one perk being married to an MC president, a lot of people wanted him taken out.”
“Why didn’t you divorce him?”
“I tried.”
Never understood a man keeping a woman against her will—old lady or not. Variety is the spice of life.
“He beat me, had sex with me in front of the brothers, used me as a drug mule, and beat me some more.”
“Your father didn’t intervene?”
She snorts. “Give me a cigarette.”
I reach in my vest pocket, pull out two smokes, put them in my mouth, then light them both. I stand and cross the space, offering her one. She takes a deep drag, then blows a smoke ring. “Tastes horrible,” she complains but doesn’t put it out.
“You’re a lifer, Starlet. And if your husband and father are dead, that means the new president is responsible for your welfare.”
“Silver is a selfish sonofabitch. I’d rather stab myself in the eyes with forks than marry him.”
“Marry him?”
“That’s the plan,” she says, meeting my gaze. “I’ve been ordered to have babies.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I shouldn’t have asked the question—her scowl is answer enough.
“If your prez told you where to stick your cock, would you do it?”
“Depends on where he told me to put it.”
She looks like she wants to throw up. “That’s the very attitude I’m trying to escape. The sexism and violence.”
I look around the room. “And you think you’re safe here?”
“No necessarily,” she says. “If you found me, how long do you think it would take for a Devil’s Crusader to come blazing into town? I’ve found a piece of myself, though. And in time, maybe I’ll recover more of my shattered life. I don’t expect you to side with me, or even understand why I ran away. But can you just forget we ever met?”
Forget? That face? Those legs? That perfect, heart-shaped ass? Her smile? Our easy conversation, even when we’re sitting on opposite sides of a serious issue? Not a chance, Starlet. “No.”
“What?”
There’s an ashtray on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I rub my cigarette out and stare down at her. “Did I stutter?”
She extinguishes her smoke, too, then stands up. “I guess we’re done here.”
“Not even close.” I snap, pulling her into my arms, claiming that goddamned mouth. Our tongues roll together and she sighs, leaning into me. “That’s better,” I growl against her parted lips.
“Please…” she begs.
“Please, what?”
She pulls away and grabs a fistful of my cut. “Fuck me.”
