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I snorted. “Thanks.”

Her gaze lingered. “Thought you’d be home.”

Home. I hated how everyone thought me and Maria were a thing. We were just hooking up, nothing more.

I reached for my glass. “We’re not together.”

Brandi raised an eyebrow. “Right.” She laughed and immediately stole the fresh whiskey the bartender had just put down in front of me. I watched her take a sip before she pushed it back across the bar.

Normally I would’ve told her to get her own drink, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

The whiskey burned all the way down, which was good because maybe it’d burn everything else away too.

I should’ve left then. Should’ve got on my bike and gone back to the apartment, to Maria. Should’ve walked through the door and apologized for snapping at her. Should’ve acted like a grown man instead of whatever the fuck that was.

I ordered another drink and Brandi’s hand settled lightly on my arm. When Brandi touched my thigh, I didn’t pull away. She tilted her head toward the hallway, and I followed her gaze. Then I followed her. Because Brandi was easy and didn’t ask questions, she didn’t look at me like she could see every ugly part underneath and at that moment, easy felt a hell of a lot safer than going back to Maria and having to explain.

22

MARIA

By the time I pulled into the clubhouse lot, I’d graduated from worried to irritated. It had been hours since Riot had walked out. I’d spent half the drive wondering if something had happened and the other half imagining all the ways I was going to strangle Riot. Because as far as I could tell, the man had stormed out of his own apartment after having an orgasm and then acted like it was somehow my fault.

Reaper had called twenty minutes earlier asking if I could come look at Boxer’s shoulder because “the dumb bastard probably tore something again”, and apparently, nobody had thought to mention it to Riot first. Which was strange because Riot usually knew anytime one of the brothers called me out, mostly because he was the one telling them to.

Rain drizzled lightly over the lot while music pulsed from inside the clubhouse, low enough to vibrate through the wet night air. Bikes lined the fencing beneath yellow security lights, chrome gleaming wetly while laughter drifted from somewhere near the garages.

Everything looked normal. So why did my stomach feel tight?

I climbed out carrying my medical bag and headed toward the clubhouse doors while cold rain soaked through my sleeves. The second I stepped inside, heat and noise wrapped around me all at once, bringing with it the familiar smell of smoke, beer, leather, and whiskey.

“Nurse, thanks for coming, he’s back here.” Reaper called, leading me to the back of the club near the pool table instead of the medical room.

Boxer sat on a chair that looked way too small to hold a man of his size, with a drink in one hand and nursing his left one.

A few brothers called greetings when they spotted me.

“Nurse!”

“Maria!”

“Boxer finally lose the arm?”

I rolled my eyes automatically. “Still considering it.” I finished putting Boxer’s arm into a sling and warned him that he had to take it easy for a few weeks.

I looked around the room, usually by then Riot would’ve appeared. Somehow, he always seemed to know the second I walked into the clubhouse, like some possessive sixth sense kicked in whenever I was nearby.

That night he didn’t, and the uneasy feeling squeezed harder beneath my ribs.

Ghost appeared near the bar holding a beer, but the second he noticed me, his expression changed completely. He froze mid-step, and something about the look on his face made my pulse stumble painfully.

“Hey,” I said slowly.

Ghost rubbed the back of his neck once. “Maria . . .”

The tight feeling in my stomach turned sharp instantly. “Where’s Riot?” I asked, walking up to the bar.

Ghost hesitated just a little too long, his eyes flicking to the back rooms.