Page 22 of Contracted to the Bikers

“Yeah,” I say, a humorless huff leaving my chest. “You kind of do.”

The tension spikes again, sharp enough to really draw blood this time if it breaks. “You stay the fuck away from Sloane,” Rook says. The words are an order, not a request, flat and final.

“There it is,” I murmur, dejected.

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.” He’s my friend, my president, our leader, I can’t refuse. I nod once. “Fine.” The words taste wrong, feel wrong, but I say them anyway. “I’ll leave her alone.”

His gaze doesn’t soften or shift. “You better.”

I hold his stare for a second longer. Then I shrug slightly, putting back on my nonchalant, uncaring armor. “Your call.”

I turn, starting toward the front door. I need to go for a ride to clear my head. As much as I don’t want to tell him this, because I know what will happen next, I have to if we stand a chance of moving forward. “Sloane told me something else about you.”

His eyes lock on mine. “What did she say?”

I exhale slowly. “She said… If you want her, you should claim her.”

There’s a flicker of surprise and determination in his eyes. “Well then, maybe I will right now.” He turns toward the stairs, ready to go upstairs and claim his woman. Not mine. Never mine.

Defeated, I continue my slow walk toward the front exit, aware of the eyes boring into me like knives. I’m almost at the door when I stop. I can’t quite let it go. I’m not one to give up so easily. Even when I’m in the wrong. “Just one more thing,” I say without looking back.

“Yeah?” he asks gruffly.

“You don’t get to blame me if you lose her.”

I don’t wait for his answer, but I hear the creaking of the floorboards as he starts to climb the stairs. I head outside, squinting in the late afternoon sun that glints off the chrome of my bike. The blood is still drying at the corner of my mouth, jaw aching just enough to remind me of the punch. I deserved that—every bit of it.

I told Rook I’d stay away. I meant it when I said it, I think. But as I climb into the familiar leather saddle of my bike and rev the engine, my mind wanders to what I know is about to happen, to Rook claiming Sloane as his own, and one thought sits heavy in my chest—I don’t know if I can actually do it.

Chapter 9

Rook

I take the stairs two at a time, worried that if I don’t do this quickly, I’ll lose my nerve. It’s not a concern I’ve ever had before, and the feeling sits strangely, like wearing a pair of shoes worn in by someone else. I’m still pissed at Cruz for claiming Sloane before I had a chance, just when I was finally making progress with her. She’s my old lady, no matter who she wants to fuck. I guess I should be grateful it was one of the men I’m willing to share with. Anyone else would have gotten a lot worse than a couple of black eyes.

Loath as I am to admit it, Cruz did make some good points. I have been off my game around Sloane. I’ve never met a woman who challenges me like her. Who drives me crazy in all the good ways, and the bad ones. Not to mention the fact that she has a kid and is under Iron Vale’s protection, my protection, it’s held me back. I was surprised that she hooked up with Cruz. Perhaps that’s part of why I was so angry, because I don’t like getting caught off guard. Sure, I knew there was something there. I see the way she looks at him and Boone, but she has made no signs of being interested in anything sexual with them. I knew there was chemistry between us, yet she made it clear that nothing was going to happen.

But now I know that what I felt between us is real, that she wants me too, I’m gonna claim what’s mine. I know that Cruz doesn’t want to give her up. Boone won’t admit it, but he’s got it bad for Sloane. I see it in his puppy-dog eyes every time she walks into a room. If what she told Cruz wasn’t just dirty talk, could I share Sloane with them both? Would she even want that?

I shake that thought away. I don’t need to worry about it now. Sloane is my old lady. Not Cruz’s. Not Boone’s. If she wants me to come and claim her, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

I consider knocking on her door, but I’m worried that if I have to wait, even for a second, I’ll not be able to do what I came here for. I barge into the room, the door creaking on its hinges as it swings open wide. The room smells of sex, a smell that both enrages me and arouses me. Her scent is intoxicating, but it wasn’t me who made her cum.

“Jesus, Rook, don’t you ever knock?” Sloane demands as she comes out of her ensuite bathroom to see who it is.

She looks startled and downright irresistible, wearing only a towel, her hair is still damp, hanging loosely, just grazing her collarbone. I realize that it’s the first time I’ve seen her hair down. She always has it scraped back in that no-nonsense lawyer bun, which is sexy as hell in a domineering way, but this is attractive in a whole different way. She seems softer, more vulnerable, more real. I’m momentarily rendered speechless by the sight of her, my eyes following a bead of water that runs down her shapely calf.

“Well, are you going to tell me what you want or are you going to stand there and gawp?” she asks, adjusting the towel tighter around herself. Her voice lacks its usual bite.

“You saw me in a towel, only fair,” I manage to stammer out, trying to mimic Cruz’s casual flirtation. I’ve been able to flirt with her before, to make my intentions clear. Why am I failing to express what I want now?

“If you came to taunt me, I’m not in the mood,” she says with a sigh.

“Sounded like you were in the mood to everyone in the bar earlier,” I snap, unable to stop myself, still wounded from her rejection, choosing Cruz over me.

Her expression hardens. “How dare you try to shame me!”