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So I couldn't ask them to get behind me on a personal vendetta.
My teeth clenched together when I looked at him.
“She. Fucking. Screams.”
Cash's eyes flashed and he sighed, running a hand across the shaved side of his head. “So he has to pay.”
“He has to pay.”
“When are you telling the men?”
“I'm not. They don't need to know this.”
“Reign...”
I knew that voice. The 'you're being an idiot' voice.
“They don't need to know this. They know this, they'll want in and I'm not bringing another war on them. The new guys might not remember, but the last war cost us huge. It cost us Pops, man.”
Cash ducked his head, nodding. “And now you're asking me to let you go ahead and get yourself killed. Think of the club, man.”
“I die, the club has you. Case closed. But I ain't dying so stop worrying like a woman over it.”
He sighed and his mouth opened, wanting to say more, before he closed it again. “So what the fuck we doing up here gabbing like bitches then?” he asked, giving me one of his lazy, easy grins. “There is whiskey and pussy down the hall and I got a taste for both,” he said, wrenching the door open. “Ever lick whiskey off pussy, man?” he asked casually, walking back down the hall. “Fucking heaven.”
Cash was back.
And there was nothing standing between him and his booze or his bitches. So I let him go, standing back against the bar, nursing my whiskey.
“Hey, Prez,” Wolf said, moving to stand next to me. Wolf was a huge wall of a man. My height, but solid. He ran into a brick wall, the wall moved. He was a few years older than me, his brown hair kept in some obnoxious undercut style with a massive, but carefully groomed beard. His honey-light eyes caught mine and held. “What's going on?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Hear things?”
“Feel it,” I half lied.
“When you need me,” Wolf said, tipping his beer at me.
Wolf was a quiet fuck. Never had more than five words to rub together at a time, but he was as loyal as they came. And he was his own brand of ruthless that came in handy in a lot of operations.
“I know, man. Appreciate it.”
“Need a bitch?” he asked, no doubt sensing my sour mood.
I needed the bitch back at my house. In my bed. Holding my gun that I had shoved at her and told her how to use it just in case. I needed her. But I wasn't gonna get her.
“Yeah,” I said, throwing back my drink.
Fuck it.ElevenSummerHe left me.
I spent a full day with my 'ass planted on his bed' watching endless hours of television and falling asleep out of pure boredom. I only went out once, to use the bathroom and shower. And there he was with his 'ass planted on the couch', wide awake, staring out the backdoor into the yard. He didn't so much as glance my way.
He didn't offer me food and I didn't ask.
I had already eaten enough to hold me over for a week.
He didn't come in to change or sleep in his own bed.
I smelled coffee in the morning, but I didn't go out to grab any. I heard him downstairs, the chain on the punching bag clang, clang, clanging away for the better part of an hour. Then he came up and showered. Then I found myself wondering what he was wearing since his clothes were in the bedroom and he hadn't come in.
I got a strong mental picture of him walking around naked and I didn't exactly push that thought away. Okay. I kinda relished in the thought for a few minutes. Alright. Maybe like half an hour. But no one would blame me. Knowing how good that man looked shirtless, one could only assume he was good looking everywhere.
I wasn't a man-crazy girl. Before V, before I was taken, before everything... I worked long hours and then made a lot of time for girlfriends. Shopping. Socializing. Coffee dates. Midnight margaritas on Thursdays. Pedicures on Sundays. I kept my time full. But very rarely with men. I dated casually when someone acceptable showed interest. But it usually didn't get very far. I had three relationships. And by “relationships” I mean we dated for an appropriate amount of time and then became exclusive and then had sex.
I wasn't a fling girl.
And I wasn't a girl who drooled over the opposite sex.
But I was drooling.
And I didn't understand it.
Maybe it was because he swept in all badass Prince Charming and saved me. Which was sort-of the truth. Even if his brand of saving came with threats of war and disappearing me.
Whatever the hell it was, it would pass.
Whatever my weird infatuation was, it would pass.
It wasn't like Reign No-Last-Name was a suitable choice for me.
Far from.
And I was ever practical about things like intimacy.
So it would pass.
I hoped.
And then around seven o'clock, after literally not a peep all day and half of the day before, he walked down the hall.
I felt my heart skip into overdrive as I frantically made sure my hair was an alluring kind of wild not the 'I rolled around in bed for an entire day and now birds could lay eggs in my hair' kind of wild.
Then he was in the doorway. Dressed. And I mean dressed. Black jeans, black tee, boots, and his cut. He also had a nasty looking gun in his hand.
“I have to go to the compound,” he said as if it explained why he was approaching me with a gun.
I felt myself scramble up on the bed, slamming my back up against the headboard as he sat down on the mattress by my legs.
“I said I wasn't going to hurt you,” he reminded me, holding up the gun by the side. “I'm going out and Cash has to go with me so I have to leave you alone. No one knows about this place but me and Cash. No one. So you won't have a problem. But for my peace of mind, I'm not leavin' you defenseless. I'm guessin' you ain't never used a gun before.”
