Page 64 of Diary of a Biker Queen

Lynx just shook his head. “Stop being such an ass. She was completely fine when she left.”

I shrugged and took another sip of my beer as the door to Nyah’s bedroom opened. Dax walked out and found his spot on the couch again, a smug smile on his mouth.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “She good?”

Because for all my talk, I did actually care if she was sick. I’d been eyeing the door for the past thirty minutes, and I’d made up the hypothetical shit situation just so Dax would go in there and check on her.

I would have done it myself if that had been an appropriate thing to do for two people who had sex once, some foreplay another time, but spent most of their time arguing with or ignoring each other.

Dax grinned at me. “She’s good. She’s really fucking good, actually.”

His smile was all-knowing and smug as fuck. I had no idea what he was talking about, but it was vaguely annoying.

I swallowed another mouthful and tried not to immediately turn in the direction of Nyah’s bedroom. But when her door creaked open and she stood in the doorway, there was no stopping the swivel of my head. It moved like it had a mind of its own, one that only cared about where Nyah was and what she was doing, and if she was okay because she had been gone a really long time.

“Fuck me,” I muttered, hopefully low enough that Lynx didn’t hear me, even though he was sitting right next to me.

He glanced over, his amusement at my response written all over his stupidly attractive face.

I scowled at him. “Fuck off.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Your face did.”

He laughed and leaned back on the couch, putting his arm along the back of it.

It came so close to touching me. It was a maddening few inches away, and I fought the urge to shift closer to him so it was around my shoulders.

That would be so fucking pathetic. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t let myself do it.

Nyah walked over to us in one of the oversized hockey jerseys Lynx and X had ordered. They’d both insisted we needed everyone to get into the spirit and attend games, and hell, it was the only thing I had going on right now, the only thing my father had been oddly quiet about, and so I’d gone along with it, handing over my credit card.

A credit card I was surprised still worked, since it was linked to our family accounts. I hadn’t used it once when Isabella and I had run. But I had no problem using it now.

My father knew where we were. I might have hidden Nyah and Isabella away, behind the safety of these gates, but if my father wanted me, he could come get me.

He hadn’t. The weeks had rolled on into months, and other than a dead body dropped at the Slayers’ gates, that had resulted in all of us being dragged in for questioning that went nowhere, nothing had happened.

A little part of me had considered maybe he was actually sorry for his part in everything that had gone down, and that was why I still had access to the Guerra funds.

And yet that didn’t sit right with anything I knew about my father.

So then I’d decided he was doing this just to torture me. Because of course, that was fucking fun for him.

Always with the mind games.

Fuck him.

I had pissed myself off all over again just thinking about it, and not for the first time that night. My conversation with Nyah earlier, about our shitty families, hadn’t helped.

I tightened my fingers around my beer bottle and sighed out heavily, watching Nyah walk barefoot from her bedroom in the jersey that skimmed the tops of her thighs.

She had to know how good she looked in it. How seeing my team logo stretched across her perfect tits and her growing baby bump would do things to me.

And yet, it wasn’t me she walked to.

It was fucking Dax.