Page 25 of The Price of Love

“With the history between the Thorns and Graces, no way can Wiz stick near Storm,” Edge says.

“I’ve never met her.” As soon as it comes out of my mouth, I know how ridiculous it sounds.

“That’s even better,” Wiz says.

“What do you want me to do?” I say with resignation. Club members don’t say no to the president and VP.

“Watch her. Stay close. Alert us if you sense any trouble,” Wiz says.

What the hell kind of trouble are they expecting? Something else I don’t ask.

“Okay.” I’ve been looking forward to the poker run, but shadowing another aggressive, power-hungry woman who’s likely worse than Margot makes my stomach turn. “I suppose you chose well since I just want to get through life without drawing attention.”

“It’s serving us now,” Wiz says. “But someday you’ll need to be seen…and heard.”

Heat crawls up my neck. Edge saves me from a response when she slides a manila envelope down the table. The other girls push it along until it’s in my hands.

I pull an eight-by-ten photo from the envelope, and my eyes widen. The first thing I notice is Storm’s eyes—steady, hard to read. A hint of a smirk tugs at her mouth, making me wonder what thoughts are swirling in her head. Her dark, shoulder-length hair falls in loose, wild waves, giving her a softer appearance than I’d expected.

While her face holds a softness, there’s nothing soft about her body. Her tank top clings to her lean, powerful build, showcasing her well-defined muscles and broad shoulders, which I suspect comes from years of riding.

Ink covers most of the exposed skin on her arms. No doubt the black and blood-red lines tell many stories, especially the swirling crimson fire wrapped around her forearm.

Her faded denim jeans ride low on her hips, and a wide black belt keeps everything in place.

Nope, Storm is nothing like what I’d expected. I continue staring at her photo, blocking out the conversation around me.

CHAPTER 12

STORM

“Get your ass up” cuts through the fog in my brain. “Damn it, Storm, you can’t sleep until noon.”

“What the fuck time is it?” I say once I realize it’s Dimples, not the hang-around I’d shared my bed with last night. I glance at the empty pillow next to me. “Where’d Nancy go?”

“Naomi. Her fucking name is Naomi.” The irritation in Dimples’ voice makes me take notice. Last night’s meeting must still be eating at her.

“Jesus. Chill the fuck out.” I plant my feet on the mattress and push myself into a sitting position against the headboard. “The fuck. I need water. My tongue’s stuck to my teeth.”

“Bullshit. You’re talking.”

“Still. I need some water.”

She thrusts a bottle into my hands. “Drink up. Then you’re getting your ass out of bed.”

“What’s the rush?”

“You and I are gonna take a ride over to Lake Placid, and then you’re gonna buy me lunch.”

I yawn. “What the fuck for?”

“I got the itinerary from the Steel Graces, so I wanna talk about it.”

“Now? We have all week.” She doesn’t mention last night, which I’m sure is her real reason for yanking me out of bed.

Dimples picks up my jeans and underwear from the floor and throws them at me. “Get dressed.”

“The fuck. You’re bossy this morning. You never said what time it is.”