Blondie blinks at me in the mirror, brain visibly buffering, and I almost laugh.
Almost.
I flash her my brightest, most innocent smile—the kind that really should come with a warning label if you’re paying attention.
“And trust me—” I give a tiny shrug. “You’re not taking home the gold. He always ensures he comes first.”
There it is. That microscopic fracture. That tiny, glorious crack in confidence.
It’s more beautiful than it should be.
Mission accomplished, I push off the counter, satisfied.
“Good luck, though,” I add cheerfully because I’m incredibly polite like that.
Plus, I can spare a little sympathy for her.
Then I drift out like the emotionally unstable little phantom menace I was clearly destined to be.
The noise of the bar crashes back in full force when I step into the hallway. I pull my hood up and melt into the crowd. Tomcat still stands at the bar, gaze fixed on the hallway with expectation.
My chest tightens in that stupid, fluttery way I absolutely refuse to examine too closely as I sit back in my booth.
Annoying.
Blondie emerges a few moments later, and oh, she’s changed. Her shoulders are tight, her smile brittle. She radiates the energy of someone already plotting her escape.
I lift my drink slowly and sip with pure satisfaction.
Tomcat leans toward her and says something in a low voice.
Probably something charming or sinful. Definitely something that would normally melt panties straight off bodies.
Frustration nips at me when I can’t hear them, so I slip from the booth again, letting the crowd sweep me closer.
Then I hear the magic start.
“Oh, um, I actually think I’m gonna call it a night.”
Confusion crashes over Tomcat’s face so fast it’s almost art. His brows knit, his posture shifts. There it is. That perfect flicker ofwhat the fuck just happened?
Goddess, he’s adorable when his plans turn on him.
Blondie flees in a quick exit, without explanation or closure, leaving Tomcat standing alone at the bar, annoyed, confused, and gloriously sexually frustrated.
I smile into my drink. It’s soft. Probably possessive. Definitely completely unhinged. Because honestly? I did him a favor. She looked like she’d be absolutely boring in bed.
And I’m nothing if not considerate.
Chapter Six
There’spowerinthechapel.
It thrums under my skin, heavy and electric, coursing through the air like a living thing. The executive board sprawls around the long table, chairs tipped back, boots outstretched, bodies draped in that languid posture that fools the clueless and unnerves the wise. Every man here is a weapon. Every single one.
My club brothers are volatile as hell when provoked, but right now they’re loose, easy, trading sly smirks and lazy glances. It’s almost laughable, considering the collective body count lounging in this room. We’re fucking insane. All of us. Still, we’d be the first bastards to strip the shirts from our backs if someone truly needed it.
Maybe that’s why my little shadow never feels out of place in my mind. Hell, if they ever show themselves, they’d fit right in with this crew.
