She squinted, lips twisted into an irreverent smirk. “You’re not taking me to bed, man whore,” she slurred, swaying into my side.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t flatter yourself, doll. I’m not trying to get into bed with you. You can barely stand.”
I guided her to the stairway that led to the loft bedrooms above the clubhouse. She staggered on the first step and tripped on the second. I grabbed her arm to steady her before sweeping her into my arms bridal-style.
She swore at me as I carried her up the stairs. “Put me down,” she muttered, her protests countering the way she snuggled into my chest.
I tried to ignore the way my body reacted, the scent of vanilla and sweet magnolia overwhelming my senses. I kicked open the door to the suite across from my room and laid her gently on the bed. I pulled off her shoes but thought better to remove anything else. She mumbled between breaths, sounding bitter and tired—like a grumpy toddler after a birthday party.
Her phone pinged seven times in succession, and I fished it out of her pocket.
Luca: You’ve made your point. Call me back.
Luca: Honestly, you’re making too big a deal out of this. You’re not perfect either.
Luca: You’re really going to throw away everything we built over one tiny mistake?
Luca: Don’t ignore me. I deserve a chance to explain.
Luca: No one will ever love you the way I do.
Luca: Are you with your biker buddies? You better not be fucking one of them.
Luca: I knew you were a slut. My mom was right. You’ll always be biker trash.
Molten-hot fury boiled in my chest. Instead of smashing the screen, I deleted the messages, blocked his number, and plugged in her phone. She didn’t need to wake up to his bullshit.
I pulled a blanket over Merci’s curled-up form, and she buried her face into the pillow with a contented sigh. I stood over her for a moment, trying to make sense of the conflicting feelings coursing through my chest. I wanted to protect her from every bastard likeLuca. She’d laughed with us tonight, but it wasn’t the same I’d heard before him.
I couldn’t remember a single woman I’d seen tonight besides Merci. I’m sure there were plenty—our parties brought in bold, beautiful women who’d been upstairs in my bed more times than I could count.
But the only one I saw tonight was her. And she was my best friend’s little sister.
Off-limits. Against the code.
A fucking death wish.
Chapter Three
It had been years since I’d woken up in the clubhouse. As a teenager, I’d spent most of my time sequestered at home with my books and homework. During my undergrad, Merrick shooed me away whenever I visited for the weekend. When I did make it to a party, he made sure every one of his men knew I was his sister.
After a quick shower, I strolled down to the clubhouse bar where a freshly brewed pot of coffee sat steaming, cutting through the scent of stale smoke and spilled beer. Thane and Reaper hunched over mugs, their faces grim.
“Morning, darlin’,” Thane said, missing his usual warmth and affection.
My stomach dropped. Had Merrick and Kenna been in an accident? Did Hatchet crash his bike again? My mind whirled to carnage, chaos, and worst-case scenarios.“What’s wrong?”
“ICE arrested Doc’s wife this morning while she was dropping their kid at daycare,” Reaper explained.
My stomach dropped. I’d met the club doctor, a gruff Mexican-American man who’d once let me practice stitches on one of the club brothers while he chain-smoked and cursed in Spanish.
“Can the club’s lawyer help?” I opened the bar refrigerator and pilfered a Red Bull.
Thane grimaced. “We’re trying. She has a green card. She’s lived here since she was fourteen. But she’s not at the detention center closest to us, which means they’re transporting her to one further away.”
“So, why’d they arrest her?” I cracked the can and took a long sip.
“She wrote a bad check eight years ago.”
