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“That’s why I’m so upset I have to let you go,” he continued, and my heart stopped beating in my chest. My mouth fell open, and I gripped the chair beneath me so tightly I knew I was going to break a damn nail.
“I’m s-sorry. What?” I stammered, fighting to get my tongue around the words. “Are you kidding? Is this about the other night up in the VIP area?”
He shook his head back and forth with a deep accentuated frown as he flopped back into his leather business chair. “No. No, babe. Trust me. I fought for you. I really did.”
I sprang to my feet, storming toward his desk with purpose, my anger rising. I needed this job, and you know what, I kind of liked working here. If I was going to be fired, there needed to be a damn good reason. “What do you mean? You own this place. The decisions about who works here are yours, so don’t try—”
“Actually, he doesn’t own this place,” a gravelly voice said from behind me. “I do.”
I spun around in my shock and outrage. I hadn’t noticed the door open behind me.
Talk about a knife to the gut. Bikers didn’t scare me, not usually, not like they should, but there he was standing there in all his glory, his club cut worn proudly across his shoulders and the fierce glare on his face which told me he had balls bigger than a fucking elephant.
My heart skipped, and I unconsciously took a step backward, the backs of my thighs hitting Dave’s desk. Two more men stepped into the room behind him, one older with long gray hair that was plaited tightly and hung over the front of his shoulder. Huntsman may be one scary bastard, but this guy made my stomach churn for a different reason, one I couldn’t quite pinpoint. His eyes looked haunting but familiar, and the way he watched me sent a sharp shot of electricity up my spine, forcing me to stand a little straighter.
The second guy closed the door before turning to face the room. He was younger, mid-twenties. He had dark, almost black hair which was long but swept back from his face to reveal a deep-set brow. He stared on with more curiosity than anything else, but I could tell he was a serious kind of guy, one that didn’t smile often.
I needed to say something, and I needed to say it quickly.
Licking my lips, I tried to find the words on the tip of my tongue. My brain couldn’t figure out why the hell he was here, in this office, basically telling me he’d had me fired. Most likely he was just pissed that I’d almost castrated one of his men. He’d seemed pretty unimpressed at the time, and I’d been home in Athens since that happened. This was meant to be my first day back at work. The whole situation was almost laughable.
Almost.
I was pretty sure they wouldn’t see the funny side.
Sweat was building even faster. My body growing hotter and hotter by the second as all the eyes in the room stayed glued to me, just waiting, ready to pounce. My gaze drifted to the tattoo on the back of his hand, the one so detailed and so unique there was no mistaking who he was.
“I… I don’t underst—”
“You know me somehow,” he interrupted, the statement one I couldn’t argue with even though he gave me a few seconds to do just that before he continued, “Why are you so interested in my tattoo?”
I pressed my lips together.
This was bad.
This situation was really bad.
The Exiled Eight Motorcycle Club wasn’t one to be fucked with.
I’d Googled them, and while my uncle's club—The Brothers by Blood MC—were a prime example of don’t believe everything you read in the press, I couldn’t help but be floored by these men and their reputations.
The question now was, how much did he know already? And did I go with the truth or risk trying to talk my way out of this, and hope he really had no idea who he could be talking to right now.
“A picture,” I croaked, before taking a deep breath. “I saw your tattoo in a picture.”
“And where did this picture come from?” Huntsman enquired with not a change in his voice.
I screwed up my nose, staring directly across the room at him, noting that even in my heels I was still nowhere near his height and stature.
He raised his eyebrows. “You either tell me now, or we can go somewhere a lot less comfortable and make this experience one you won’t want to ever remember.”
The man behind him with the long braid grew a grin, his eyes lighting up at Huntsman’s words.
They should have scared me, but all they did was light a fire in my gut, and suddenly I couldn’t stop myself from saying the words. “My mother gave it to me. Apparently, there was a time where you stuck your dick in her and left her high and dry.”
He took a step forward, I stood my ground. “Excuse me?”
Now, I wanted to vomit, but there was no going back now. “I have a picture, and you have your arm around my mom down at the Las Vegas strip.”
