Drifter steps closer and reaches out for me. I glare at his outstretched hand with contempt. “Don’t even think about it,” I hiss. “I know exactly where those hands have just been. Don’t ever touch me again.”
He runs his hands through his hair, his eyes still darting around the room, only now, his expression is full of shame and embarrassment.
I turn to face the crowd. “I’m no longer Drifter’s ol’ lady,” I announce calmly, even though every fibre inside me is screaming with rage. “He decided he would rather slip his dick in some dirty little whore than respect his wife and his marriage vows.” I bite the last sentence out as I look over my shoulder, taking great pleasure in his discomfort.
“Hell, you’re making a scene,” he growls.
I scoff, barely able to hold my rage inside. “You want a fucking scene?” I ask. “Cos this is nothing.” I make my waytowards the bar, leaning over to grab two bottles of wine. I don’t bother to hide my backside from the dozens of eyes watching as my skirt rides up.
I catch a glimpse of Red watching from the stairs. Her brow is furrowed, silently asking if I need her to have my back. I give my head a shake because I don’t need her fiery words right now, I pass her the bottles and mutter, “Follow me.”
I go back to where Siren is still sitting on the floor. The blood from her nose is now running down her chest, staining her skin.
I grab her roughly by the arm, bringing her to her feet and pulling her towards the main entrance, ignoring her protests.
I hear Drifter’s impatient exhale, like he’s already tired of my antics. “For fuck’s sake, Hell.”
I shove the door open then push Siren out. She tumbles down the steps, landing in a heap at the bottom.
“Now, fuck off, and don’t come back here,” I order.
Her jaw drops, and she looks past me to Drifter, her eyes pleading with him. I laugh. “You honestly think this cheating cunt will stop me throwing your worthless whore ass out?”
She swallows, glancing down at her naked body. “But . . . I need some clothes,” she says, getting to her feet. I give her the same smug grin she’d given me when my husband was hanging out the back of her. “You fucked my husband. Not only that, but you found it amusing when I walked in. Do you think you deserve any ounce of respect from me?”
“But—”
“Bye, Siren,” I interrupt, refusing to give her another second of my time.
I turn, grabbing the wine bottles from Red.
The crowd has followed us out, spilling around the courtyard with curiosity.
Drifter notices too, squaring his shoulders. “Everyone, fuck off back inside,” he commands, and although people shiftuncomfortably, no one makes a move. His hands curl into fists, the lack of control irritating him.
I lean in close, pressing my mouth to his ear. He inhales sharply, like having me this close is what he craves.
“Remember, baby, you did this,” I whisper, my voice laced in venom. “Please, don’t leave on my account.”
I rush down the steps, heading straight for his bike. I look up at him one last time. His eyes widen, like he can read exactly what I’m about to do. He shakes his head, and his jaw locks tight.
I set one of the bottles at my feet and drag my hand slowly over the polished chrome.
If there’s one thing Drifter loves more than anything, it’s his Harley.
He’s about to learn what heartbreak feels like.
Adrenaline surges through me as I lift the wine bottle and swing. The crack is deafening as it smashes into his headlight. Glass explodes, wine sprays everywhere, and shards scatter across the courtyard.
I glance his way, checking whether my little stunt hit its mark.
It did. His jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised it hasn’t cracked. His eyes blazing with fury, and for a split second, I feel almost satisfied.
I crouch, gripping the jagged neck of the broken bottle and pressing it against the chrome of the petrol tank. The screech of glass against metal cuts through the air, shrill and deliberate, echoing around the courtyard like it’s taunting him.
There are gasps from the crowd, and when I scan their faces, most of them look uncomfortable. But I don’t care. I keep my eyes locked on his as I drag the glass the length of the bike, digging deep into the paintwork. He lifts his hands to his head, fingers threading into his hair in pure, helpless despair.
“Hell, what the fuck!”
