“You can find somewhere else to fucking stay,” she yells before disappearing from view.
A second later, she’s back, launching a pair of my boots down the stairs. They bounce and skid across the floor.
“I don’t want you and those filthy fucking hands anywhere near me.”
She vanishes again. The bar stays silent, everyone watching like it’s a spectator sport. I drag my hands through my hair, exasperated.
A few minutes later, she reappears carrying a box. She stomps down the stairs and drops it at my feet with a heavy thud.
She plants her hands on her hips, her chest heaving, daring me to say something.
“Why don’t you go sleep on the whore floor with the dirty little tramps?” She pauses like she’s thinking then adds with a smirk, “Oh, wait, you already did that.” Her words cut me like a blade. “I’m surprised you could even pull yourself away from the fucking bar to come find me.”
“Hell,” I mutter, my voice breaking into something close to a plea. I reach for her hand, but she jerks it away like my touchburns, stepping back out of reach. “I thought we’d be okay,” I say, confusion bleeding into my tone. “I just saved you from Reaper.”
She lets out a hollow, disbelieving laugh. It’s sharp, ugly. Nothing like her usual one. “You thought that fixed it?” she snaps. “You thought bursting in with a gun like a damn hero makes up for the fact you were fucking Siren over the pool table?” Her eyes blaze, glassy but furious. “You really think I’m that fucking gullible?”
She steps into my space, closing the distance until there’s no room left to breathe. Heat radiates off her, sharp and electric. Her breath fans across my face, fast and uneven, as her chest rises and falls. “You’re not suddenly the hero after playing the villain so fucking perfectly.” She folds her arms across her chest. “And I would rather have Reaper fuck me and kill me than spend another night in the same bed as you.”
My fists clench at my sides. The thought of another man’s hands on what’s mine twists something dark inside me.She doesn’t fucking mean that.My nostrils flare, and she sees it.She fucking sees it.
A slow, cruel grin spreads across her face. “Not fucking nice, is it?” she whispers. Then she turns on her heel and heads for the stairs.
“Hell,” I shout. She stops midway up but doesn’t look back. “Hell!”
She stays still, rigid, so I push on. “You don’t mean that. Not now you’re carrying my kid.”
The words hang there. Her shoulders drop, and her head bows slowly to her chest, like I’ve knocked the fight clean out of her.
I head down the dimly-lit stairwell to the basement, each step echoing off the concrete walls. The air grows colder the further I descend.
I flex my hands. I need to take this shit out on someone.
By the time I reach the bottom, my muscles are coiled tight, and my heart is hammering against my ribs. The need to hurt something pulses through my veins.
I linger in the shadows for a second, letting my eyes adjust.
Rock stands off to the side, arms folded, keeping watch over our latest guest.
The VP of the Steel Delinquents.
He’s tied to a chair in the centre of the room, blood dried at the corner of his mouth. When I step out from the shadows, he lifts his head slowly and glares at me. There’s no fear in his eyes. Not a flicker.
“You think it’s okay to take my ol’ lady?” I growl.
The fucker laughs. “Didn’t look like she wanted to be your ol’ lady to me.”
I bring back my fist before landing it square on his nose. It busts, pissing with blood, and he spits on the floor beside him.
“Hit a nerve, did I?” He sneers, his smirk antagonising me further. I land another punch, and his head whips back from the force. He shakes it off, laughing. “Is that all you’ve got?”
I release another heavy blow to the side of his body, and he hisses out a sharp breath. I take a step back, inhaling a calming breath.
I can’t let this fucker get under my skin. It’s what he wants.
“I want all the details on your patch. Who are your runners?” I demand, wiping the blood from my knuckles down my jeans.
“Not a chance,” he spits.
