Page 11 of Riding Dirty

I honestly don’t want to ask too many questions, mainly because I don’t want to hear the answers to what it could be. I would rather live in the land of denial. I don’t need to know what I’m touching or how long it’s been there.

Ever.

Lowering down to my hands and knees, I take my nylon scraping tool and begin to attempt to get the layers of… whatever off the floor before I mop it. And I have already decided that I can’t use just any kind of floor cleaner. It has to be industrial.

I’m just glad I thought about that before we came out here. I knew this was going to be a big job, likely one that was extra dirty, so I made sure to buy the strongest cleaning supplies I could find. It was the right choice for sure.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice hisses behind me.

My entire body freezes. I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is. I can tell just from his low voice. I only talked to him once, but that doesn’t stop the thrill of desire that dances up my spine.

Letting out a long exhale, I close my eyes and just breathe for a moment, then I dip my chin and push myself up to my knees. I start to stand, but the man behind me makes a tsking noise.

“Don’t get up on my account. I just came in to check on you.”

There’s no way I’m going to stay here on my knees and attempt to have a conversation with this man. No way in hell. So instead of staying where I am, I stand to my feet, then turn around to face him.

He is watching me.

Wrath.

God, what a stupid name, but for some reason, it does actually fit him. Not that he scares me, but I can see it working behind his eyes. He’s holding back, but it’s still there—an unharnessed anger, rage, uneasiness. Whatever you want to call it, he’s got a handle on it… but only barely.

I bet he’s even sexier when he lets it take over. Not that I want to be around to witness it, because I’m pretty sure nobody would ever be safe if he truly lost his control.

“I’m doing okay. Alex is finishing up in the hallway, and all I have left to do is scrape up whatever is on the floor, then I’m going to mop it, and we’ll be finished until next week. If you want, you can look around the place and let me know what you think and if you want me to do anything differently.”

CHAPTER

EIGHT

WRATH

Elodie shifts from foot to foot, seemingly nervous while standing in front of me. She’s sexy as fuck in her skintight exercise shorts and a somewhat oversized T-shirt that reads: I’m here because someone made a mess. And she would be absolutely correct. We didn’t just make a mess; we made a goddamn disaster out of the place.

My lips twitch into a smirk at her shirt because it’s so fucking true. She’s adorable with her dark hair pulled up into a messy pile on top of her head. I know how long that hair is, and my fingers want to be buried in that hair.

I want to twist my fingers around the strands as I pull her head back slightly, arch her back, and watch her lips part for me. I want to slip my cock past those lips and sink down her throat.

I do none of those things. At least not yet. I need to remind myself that she’s here to do a job and I can’t fuck her, at least not until I don’t need her anymore. And judging by the way she’s made this disgusting-ass kitchen look brand fucking new, I don’t think I’ll be firing her anytime soon.

“I’ll take a walk around. Don’t leave until I’ve talked to you again, yeah?” I ask.

She nods once, her teeth tugging on the corner of her bottom lip, which is doing absolutely nothing to make me want her less. It’s cute as fuck and only makes me want to be inside her more.

“Your friend who let me in, Dare, showed me around again. I hope we got everything we were supposed to do.”

I flick my gaze over to the digital clock on the microwave and wince. It’s after eight in the evening. They’ve been here for almost fifteen hours cleaning this fucking place. I didn’t imagine it would take this long, and now I feel bad. Also, she’s going to need to leave soon, before the booze and bitches start to flow, and they will… freely.

“I’ll let you know. I won’t keep you. I’m sure you want the hell out of here.”

She lets out a breath and tilts her head to the side, her eyes widening, but doesn’t say anything immediately. Before she does speak, I turn around and walk out of the kitchen.

Making my way into the bar, I look around, not at the people, but at all the tabletops, the bottles along the back of the bar, the floors, and the furniture. It fucking sparkles. I move through the clubhouse but don’t bother going into anyone else’s room. Instead, I walk into my own.

I’m not as much of a slob as some of the other guys. I throw my trash away and hang up my clothes, but I’m definitely not the cleanest person on earth. This bedroom looks better than it did the day I moved in. And I’ve lived here for twenty-six years, since the night I got my patch, and I haven’t had a reason to leave.

Some of the other guys have houses in town when they need to get away. Some of them have day jobs and shit. But I’m an officer, and the vice president—that is my job. This club is my life, and I love everything about it.