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“That it does.”
I sniffed. “As if you even know what it feels like to be poor.” I raised my hands, encompassing the massive apartment that was as big as my father’s mansion, just in the sky instead of on the ground.
“I can imagine.”
“You can’t. Not knowing where the next cent is going to come from, working so hard you cry yourself to sleep at night from exhaustion, but even though you spend every hour you’re awake working, it’s never enough.” I grimaced at the memories. “I did it for four years—”
“So long?”
I nodded. “Better that than the life Father wanted for me.” I tipped my chin up. “I’d gone to quite a few parties at the MC over the years, but only to check things out. I knew, if Father ever sniffed around, I had to look as though I was one of them, but Nyx...” I cleared my throat, trying not to show the pain that speared me in two at just thinking of him. “...he’s the MC’s Enforcer, well, he was back then—”
“I know who he is,” Brennan rumbled.
“He’s very protective of women. You could dance naked on the snooker table and every court and jury in the land might tell you that you deserved to be attacked, but on his watch, you were safe. I went to two other clubhouses while I was with the Sinners, and I saw how they treated the women, like they were animals.” I shook my head. “I was fortunate.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Maybe,” I conceded.
“What made you turn to them in the end?”
“A roommate who ran off with her boyfriend and that month’s rent, then a further two late payments. I was on my ass. I could either go back to Father or I could try something new.”
“You say that like it was a different recipe for cookies.”
“Maybe it was. You think in those four years I had much of a life?” I sneered at him. “I was working every moment I had awake. When I...” I straightened my shoulders, ready and waiting for him to mock me or, worse, to call me a liar. “When I went to the MC, I was a virgin.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me. His expression of bland interest didn’t change until something flared in his eyes. “They should be shot.”
Surprise had me flinching. “Why?”
“Passing around a virgin—no wonder you’re frigid at first.”
“Ouch,” I bit off.
He wafted a hand. “You make chalk look slick, Camille. There’s no denying it. You have issues with sex.”
“I don’t,” I denied.
“You’re an ex-clubwhore. You’re used to spreading them for any two-bit fucking biker—”
I growled at that. “Whether or not that was how I spent the past few years, they were my choice. For the first time in my life, I was free.” I didn’t tell the prim bastard that that wasn’t how I’d spent my years at the clubhouse. For over eighteen months, I’d been Nyx’s girl, which meant I was hands’ off.
“Nobody is free,” Brennan countered. “And lying on your back and spreading your legs to pay for your rent isn’t what I call free. Sounds more like prostitution.”
“Thinking of getting an annulment?” I snapped, but the second I dropped the words, I regretted them. I clapped a hand to my mouth, wishing them back, dreading his answer because why wouldn’t he say no when he thought I’d gone through a chapter of bikers faster than Chlamydia?
Fire danced in his eyes, which was ironic because shadows seemed to crawl over his face. It sounded like something from a nightmare, but instead, that darkness called to me.
I was used to the dark.
The light was what frightened me.
He strode forward, not stopping when he met me, pushing me backward, further and further until I bumped into the nearest wall. He collided with me, his body against mine, his hardness against the little softness on my frame. My hands automatically went up to stop him, to push him away, but he was like a Mack truck. Intent on one thing, and one thing only.
Making a point.
He grabbed my hands but before he could raise them high, I threaded my fingers through his. It derailed him, my acceptance of his desires flashing him out of his mood for a split second before he lifted our joined hands and pinned me to the wall, binding me in place for the fourth time since we’d met.
