Drifter walks over to his desk, plonking himself onto his chair and opening the drawer, grabbing two glasses and his bottle of Jack.
“Now, sit the fuck down,” he grits out, pouring us each a double shot of whiskey.
I drop onto the couch. I knew the minute I set foot through those doors that I’d fucked up, but I couldn’t stop seeing the pain in Belle’s eyes when I dragged her over that railing, and it’s all because of Brandy.
“What the fuck did I tell you, Clay?” he bellows, knocking back his own whiskey and refilling it. I pinch the bridge of my nose, resting my head back against the wall.
“I fucked up, Pres,” I say, defeated with the way I’ve handled this whole situation.
“You’ve royally fucked up. I expect this shitty behaviour from our prospects, not my VP.”
“Sorry.”
“Is that all you have to say for your fucking self?”
“I needed to do something. I can’t stand to see her hurting like that.”
“It’s not our fucking place, Clay. She isn’t your ol’ lady, and Brandy works for the club. You can’t just start throwing your weight around.”
“She’s a dirty fucking stripper, hardly a contributing member of society,” I spit, his unwillingness to see my point getting on my fucking last nerve.
“She’s contributing more than that stray you brought in,” he growls, picking up his drink and pushing mine towards me. I stare at it, but don’t take it. I clench my jaw in irritation, angry he’s not backing me and pissed he’s referring to Belle as a stray when she’s clearly a lot more than that to me.
“Fuck it,” I mutter with a shrug. “I’m claiming her as my ol’ lady then. No fucker will touch her, not even that piece of shit playing mother to her children.”
I want her as my own. This wasn’t the way I expected this shit to go down, but it makes sense. The club will have no choice but to protect her once she’s mine.
Drifter nods, lifting my glass and offering it to me. I take it and chink it against his. I briefly close my eyes, instantly regretting it when I feel the swelling, but at least he didn’t kick my arse completely.
“You need to ice that,” Drifter offers, nodding at the offending eye.
“I deserved it.”
“Too fucking right you did,” he says, standing and making his way to the office door.
“You coming?” he asks, opening it, and I frown in confusion. “You need to claim her,” he reminds me.
Shit.I haven’t spoken to her about any of this.
“Can we hold off?” I ask, but I already know the answer. He doesn’t owe me anything, especially after I went against his order.
“Not a fucking chance,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “You fucked up tonight. You wanna claim her or not?”
I nod.Fuck.
Drifter makes his way to the bar with me following behind like a fucking scolded puppy.
“Get him some ice,” Drifter orders. Hazel wraps ice in a tea towel before passing it over the bar to me. I hold it on the swelling, grimacing as it pushes against the bruising that I know will be evident. Drifter wolf-whistles, and everyone in the bar goes silent, all eyes on us.
“Can I get everyone’s attention?” he hollers. “Clay here has some news. He’s claiming the lovely Bella.” I scan the room to find her sitting with Red and Rochelle. I fix my eyes on her, waiting for her reaction. The whole room erupts into congratulations, but I can’t take my eyes off her. She whispers something to Red, and I see her expression change from confusion to fury. Her eyes meet mine, and I mouth ‘I’m sorry’. She stands abruptly from the table as the brothers come over, clapping me on the back. I place the ice back on the bar and watch as she storms past me. I make a grab for her arm, but she snatches it out of my grasp.
“Fuck, you kept that one secret,” Slayer says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She visibly tenses.
“Yeah, he sure fucking did, even from me,” she spits, turning on her heel and making her way for the stairs. I’m relieved she’s heading upstairs instead of leaving.
“Belle,” I shout after her, but she ignores me. “Belle.” Nothing. She continues to take the stairs two at a time. “Bella,” I yell. She stops, turning slowly.
When her eyes finally land on me, I regret my tone immediately. She looks fit to murder. “Clay, go fuck yourself.”
