I groan, watching her leave. It’s best I leave her to calm down. Following her when she’s raging will only make her worse. Hell knows my duty is to this club and everyone in it. She wasn’t even in the direct line of fire.
I run my hands through my already dishevelled hair and pick up the barstools that were knocked over in the commotion.
The windows have been boarded up, and everyone has dispersed. After Hell’s little display, I haven’t got the energy to fight it out, so I opt to sleep in my office for the night.
I stare at the amber liquid in my glass, deep in thought, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The door opens slowly and Siren pops her head in sheepishly. “Sorry to bother you, Pres.”
“No, it’s fine. Come in.”
She steps into my office, shutting the door quietly behind her. “I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her words laced with emotion as she swallows hard. “Thank you for saving me.”
“No need, Siren. It’s my job as President of this club to make sure everyone is safe, including the club girls.”
She looks up, tears balancing on her lashes. “Nobody has ever put me first,” she explains, swiping away the tears. “Even my dad spent years abusing me. He’d often tell me I wasn’t worth anything and that I’d be better off dead, and tonight, I nearly was,” she stutters, her body shaking as she sobs.
I stand, making my way round the other side of the table and perching myself on the end.
“Siren, look at me,” I say, drawing her attention to me. “While you’re in my club, you’re my responsibility. I won’t let anything happen to you. Your dad was clearly an arse. You’ll never come to any harm on my watch.”
She smiles, sniffling. “Thank you. You’re a true gentleman.” She stands and leans in closer. “If I can ever return the favour, Pres,” she whispers, looking down at my crotch before running her tongue over her lower lip, “I can be very discreet. It’s the least I can do.”
I rest my hand on her shoulder, rising to my feet, “I’m all good. Thank you, Siren, but my ol’ lady is more than enough for me.”
She smiles and nods, making her way to the door. “If you ever change your mind . . .” She winks before leaving.
CHAPTER THREE
ROCHELLE
Iroll over, expecting Drifter to have snuck in later last night, but his side of the bed is empty. Unslept in. The coldness of his sheets replicates exactly how last night left me feeling.How could he choose a club whore over me?
Drifter and I have been together as far back as I can remember. We were both raised in the MC—his dad was president of the club when we were growing up, and my dad was his VP. I haven’t known any other way of life.
He’s always put me first. I’ll never forget when we were both in secondary school, Brody Jenson kept flirting with me, and I totally encouraged him because I wanted to make Drifter jealous. What I didn’t anticipate was Drifter following him out the school gates and busting his nose. From that day forward, I knew he would claim me as his ol’ lady one day.
A knock at the door brings me from my reminiscing, and my heart stutters in the hope that he’s come to check on me. But that hope soon turns to disappointment when Red pushes the door open with a peace offering.
“Coffee?”
I give a nod, sitting up in bed as she enters carrying two cups of coffee. She plops herself down beside me, handing me a cup.
“I saw Drifter downstairs wearing the same clothes as last night, so I thought you might need some company,” she says gently.
“Thanks.” I sigh. “I’m so pissed with him. He’s making me feel like I’m the crazy one. Like I’m being unreasonable.”
Red looks at me with raised brows.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap. “I’m not fucking unreasonable. He chose that dirty little skank over me.” I slam the coffee cup on the bedside table, pushing the duvet off me. “She’s already making a name for herself around here, dancing on the bar, practically stripping at every opportunity. She doesn’t respect the rules.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to. Your face says it all,” I snap, rummaging through my drawers to find something to wear.
“Rochelle,” she says carefully, “you know this life better than anyone. What type of President would he be if he just left her to get shot? He knew you were safe, but she wasn’t.”
