My jaw clenches as I battle with the urge to smother the bitch. “Because if you don’t, you’ll never fucking dance again. Shit, you’ll probably never walk again.”
“Does Pres know you’re down here threatening his dancers?”
“I don’t need Pres to know shit. I need you to stay the fuck outta her life. Do I make myself clear?”
The door crashes open, smashing into the same piece of plaster. Pres is standing in the entrance, and he looks positively pissed. Brandy screams, and I turn to look at her. She’s playing the victim like a pro. I roll my eyes.Surely, he won’t buy this shit.
“What the fuck is going on?” he bellows then puts his hands up. “Actually, I don’t wanna fucking hear it. Get your arse back to the club, now.”
Brandy runs up to him, her fake sobs filling the room.
“Oh my god, Pres, I was so scared,” she cries dramatically. I grit my teeth, preventing me from making this shitshow any worse, and walk towards the exit. He puts his arm out to stop me, and I look up at him.
“I fucking expect this from the prospects, not my VP.”
I push past his arm and storm out. Pissed at him. Pissed at myself. But more importantly, pissed that I can’t fucking fix this shit for Belle.
I clench my fist, ramming it into the brick wall, the pain ricochetting up my arm.
“Ugh! Fuck! Shit! Stupid fucking arsehole,” I shout out. I clench my fist, inspecting the damage.
“Shit, that fucker’s gonna hurt,” Jackson interjects.How long’s this fucker been watching me lose my shit?
“I’m good,” I say, swinging my leg over my bike. I rev the engine and grimace as the pain radiates through my arm. I turn the engine off because there’s no way I’m going to be able to ride back with my knuckles beginning to swell.
I sit on my bike ‘til Drifter appears. “What the fuck you still doing here?”
I lift my hand up as a way of explanation, completely deflated. He shakes his head.
“Get the fuck on,” he grunts as he gets on his own bike. I follow suit like a scolded child.
Chapter Eleven
Bella
I stare into my drink, watching as the condensation runs the length of the glass and collects on the table. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here staring at it. The murmurs of the bar all merging into the distance.
“You going to drink that or just stare at it?” Red jokes, pulling me out of my haze.
“Sorry,” I murmur, picking the glass up and taking a sip. I circle the ice around the glass, watching as it clinks together. Red reaches over the table and grabs my hand.
“You okay?” she asks, her brows knit together, the worry evident on her face. I nod as I squeeze her hand in silent thanks. She was mortified when Brandy turned up last night and wouldn’t stop apologising. I initially thought she must have known, considering she had bumped into her with me at the park, but realisation didn’t hit her where she knew her from ‘til she walked in.
She explained that Brandy was a dancer at the strip club owned by The Broken Iron Demons. She said the ol’ ladies have no say in the running of anything. Red had spent most of the day explaining how the entire MC ran and that she wasn’t originally from this world either. You wouldn’t believe it looking at her now, though.
“What the fuck has Clay done now?” Rochelle asks, placing another round of drinks on the table. I look up at her as I pull my hand away from Red, knocking back the rest of my drink. They share a knowing look.
“Spill it,” Red probes, pushing the fresh whiskey towards me.
I run my hands over my face, sighing. I’ve gone over last night in my head hundreds of times and still can’t understand why Clay would leave.
“It’s nothing.” I offer a weak smile as I pick up the fresh drink.
“Is it?” Red laughs. “You wouldn’t have been staring into that glass for the last forty-five minutes, in your own world, if it was nothing.”
I look around, making sure none of the brothers are within earshot. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m gossiping. “We had . . .” I nod my head, not wanting to say the words out loud. “You know . . .”
Rochelle throws her head back laughing, and I feel my cheeks instantly turn a bright shade of red.
