I don’t remember everything after that.
I remember more tequila.
I remember Vice putting a bottle of water in my hand and me calling him my least favorite mother hen.
I remember Amour standing outside the back door with Alpha, her face tilted toward his while the whole club roared behind them. I remember him touching her wrist like she might vanish, and her letting him for exactly three seconds before stepping back.
I remember thinking, poor bastard.
Then remembering I have no room to talk.
At some point, I stumble toward my room because the floor starts making choices I don’t agree with. Vice Ink has bedrooms in the old rectory wing, half clubhouse, half barracks, all a setting for our bad choices. Mine is at the end of the hall, because I like exits and hate people.
A blonde club girl trails me halfway.
I turn at my door. “No.”
She pouts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“You were going to say something that ends with me hating myself and Lady hating me more.”
“Glitter girl’s not here.”
“Why do y’all call her that?”
She raises her shoulder. “Cherry said it first.”
I shut the door in her face.
Then lock it.
Or I think I do.
Alcohol is a lying little bitch.
My bed catches me hard. Boots stay on. Jeans stay on. The room spins once, then twice, then decides to leave me alone.
I dream of Lady.
Not sweet.
Nothing about that woman belongs in sweet.
She is in my bed wearing nothing but her black cuffs and that dangerous smile, bruises gone, eyes bright, hair falling around her shoulders like dark silk. She climbs over me like she owns me, palms on my chest, thighs bracketing my hips.
“Still mine, gringo?” she whispers.
I try to touch her.
She catches my wrists and pins them above my head.
In the dream, I laugh because of course she does. “Bossy.”
“You like me bossy while I’m riding you.”
My whole body burns.
She moves over me, slow and cruel, taking what she wants, giving only enough to make me beg. Her mouth dragsover my jaw. Her nails bite my chest. The moon tattoo on my arm glows black under her fingers.
