Chapter 13
Ella
I slid into the booth, kicking myself for not asking Ryan more questions when he suggested coming here. Pop had talked about the club’s bar before, and I knew that Jagger managed it, but he’d never mentioned the actual name of it that I could recall. If he had, I would never have agreed to come here with Ryan.
It didn’t take long for a server to come around to take our drink orders, a rum and Coke for me and a local IPA for Ryan.
“We’re the only company distributing for this particular brewery,” he told me proudly as he took a sip from his tall, frosted glass. He offered to let me taste it, but I didn’t much care for beer. I was more than content with my drink.
I forced myself to relax, and the drink helped, as did the fact that none of the other MC members seemed to be here except for Jagger, and another man about his age who sported a blond mohawk. I’d never seen him before, but he was wearing the club’s cut.
The conversation flowed easily over the next half-hour as we discussed and compared various bars and restaurants around town. I agreed when Ryan suggested ordering another round – although I switched to plain Coke since I didn’t like to have more than one drink if I was driving.
I was laughing at a story he was telling about an employee’s ridiculous excuses for coming to work late, when I heard a deep, growly voice coming from behind me.
“Having fun, sugar?”
I jumped as King suddenly appeared next to the table, looming over us for a moment before shocking the hell out of me by bending down to drop a kiss on the top of my head.
He greeted Ryan curtly as he straightened to his full height, and braced his right hand along the back of the booth where I was seated.
“Simpson.”
“It’s good to see you, King. I take it you know Ella?” Ryan returned, looking uncomfortable at the scowl on King’s face.
“Yeah, Ella and I areveryclose.” My spine grew rigid at the implied intimacy in his tone. I watched as Ryan tried to decipher exactly what King meant by his response.
Before I could say a word, King laid his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently before sliding up under my hair to cup the back of my neck. Goosebumps broke out on my skin, and I fought the urge to shiver. I glared up at him, which did absolutely nothing to deter the man. He smirked at me, capturing and keeping my gaze as he directed his next words to Ryan.
“Jagger needs to speak to you about increasing the next order for Inferno, Fallen Angels, and the bar at our clubhouse, Simpson. I’ll keep Ella company while you’re gone.”
It was not a suggestion.
Ryan reluctantly excused himself, and I watched helplessly as he strode across the bar to speak with Jagger, who greeted him with a knowing smirk on his face. King released hishold on my neck, and I expected him to slide onto the bench seat across from me that Ryan had just vacated. But no, the cocky pain-in-the-ass sat down next to me, crowding me in the booth and giving me no choice but to scoot over to accommodate his bulky frame. I took a deep breath as I prepared to give him a piece of my mind, but I was momentarily distracted by the scent of warm leather and cedar that enveloped me.
“Do you wanna tell me why the hell you’re on a goddamned date in the middle of my bar, sugar?”
“Excuse me?” Yeah, that sure as hell snapped me out of my distraction.
King narrowed his eyes as he leaned in closer, trapping me between his body and the wall.
“How long have you’ve been dating him?” His accusing tone and scowling face made it clear that he felt that I was in the wrong here.
“I’m not dating anyone. I would never have had sex with you if I were,” I hissed.
King eased back slightly, giving me a little bit of breathing room. He looked at me speculatively, then arched a brow.
“That’s good to know, El. Real good. So, why the hell are you in the middle of my bar having drinks with that asshole?”
Well, now, that just pissed me off. I took a deep breath again, studiously ignoring the spine-tingling scent that I was coming to associate with King. Then I let him have it.
“First of all,” I started, ticking off the points on my fingers, “Ryan is not an asshole. He is a very nice man, as a matter of fact, and I enjoy his company.” I tried not to flinch atthe growl – the literal grumbling growl – that emanated from King’s throat at my words.
“Secondly,” I ticked off another finger, “I don’t owe you an explanation for anything I do. A random fuck does not give you any kind of rights where I’m concerned. And thirdly, how dare you imply to Ryan that there’s something between us. This isn’t high school, and I’m not the prize in some kind of ridiculous pissing contest between the two of you!”
He barked out a laugh, but there was no actual amusement behind the sound.
“First of all,” He mimicked my actions as he ticked off the points on his own fingers. “Ryan Simpson is an asshole who picks up women in this bar all the damned time.”
