Page 88 of Playboy’s Purgatory

Lola’s eyes roam over my outfit and when she takes in my tattooed shoulder, she turns chartreuse. It’s not a good color on her.

“What the fuck is that?” She steps up to me, her finger jabbing toward my shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’ve given up on your sweet act and have decided to try and be me?”

Her eyes bore into the tattoo. Envy might as well be a mist around her. I’m sure she’s seen the framed art at Playboy’s station the same way I did.

My lips part and I’m about to fire off, something, at her, but before I can, a large body steps in front of me. Jettson’s chest is heaving and his entire back is tight, like he’s coiled and ready to strike. There go my panties; wow.

“Lola,” Playboy—because he is every inch the enforcer right now—barks.

I don’t have to see him to know his eyes are blazing. She shrinks back slightly but then squares her shoulders like she’s not really worried.

“You will not speak like that to someone who is here as a guest of the club,” he says the words like they mean something else. I narrow my glare at his back and Opal covers her mouth. “You need to remember your place,” he growls the words. “The countdown has already begun,” the warning is very fucking clear, “and if you keep pushing your luck, it’ll turn ugly.”

Oh, okay.

Lola’s face goes pale, which is kind of a feat considering how much makeup she’s wearing. When she scurries away, the only thing I can do is sigh. How utterly ridiculous and pointless. The world is big enough for both of us. Maybe.

Opal talks out of the side of her mouth, “I know now isn’t the right time, but that ink is fucking sick and looks smokin’ on you.”

One side of my mouth tips up, but it’s the only reaction I have time to have before Jettson turns around and looks down at me. His eyes search my face, looking for the crack, looking for the pain. He won’t find it. I’m used to her bullshit.

He doesn’t say anything, he just leans down and kisses my shoulder. I’m up and in his arms before my next heartbeat. I wrap my arms around his neck with a yelp of surprise.

Behind us, Opal murmurs, like she’s wiping away a single tear, “He protected her and now he’s carting her away to defile her.” She sighs, “That’s hot.”

I look up and catch Sidewinder scowling and looking away, just as Graycie, who had moved in our direction when Lola started her bullshit, lets out a cackle. My head tips back and I giggle while looking up at Jettson.

He really is handsome; it’s not even fair how handsome he is. Some of his dark hair has fallen forward and I reach up to brush it back without even thinking.

The soft smile he gives me feels sweet…and terrifying.

Sounds from the party get louder even as we move away. Good. Omen should be celebrated.

“Did you get to congratulate your brother? We can go back,” I tell him and gently push on his shoulder like I’m going to be able to steer him to turn around.

“I did,” he assures me, rage flashing across his face, “then I turned around and heard Lola spewing more bullshit.”

“It’s fine,” I dismiss automatically.

He opens a door and steps into a clean and simple room. I guess it makes sense. The man makes his living in an industry that relies on sanitation and working clean.

When he puts me down, I grip the edges of his cut. “You stepped in front of me,” I don’t pose it as a question because it isn’t one.

“Yes.”

“You stepped in front of me against someone who is considered part of this club.”

I stare at him. Waiting. Needing to hear it.

“Yes.”

My hands are gentle and slow as I push the cut back off his shoulders. He takes it from my hands and hangs it on a hook. After closing the distance between us, he strips us both. His movements are precise, like he doesn’t want to waste a single second.

He holds me in his arms like I’m made of glass. My heart stirs.

“Why?” I ask the question before I really mean to.

“Because you’re club too,” he murmurs.