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“No. They’re chicks who like hanging around the Bulls.”
“Groupies.”
“I guess. But … I don’t know. Every club has them. They cook and clean, they serve at dinners and parties, and yeah, they’re pussy on tap.”
He should have chosen those words more wisely, he could tell.
“Holy shit.” She crossed her arms, hooked one leg over the other. When that top leg started swinging, Eight knew he was in trouble.
“I don’t fuck with ‘em anymore, Marcella.”
“I’m just trying to get my head around the idea that you have a whole fucking harem of women you treat like servants andpussy on tap. What do they get out of this arrangement? Are there women who like biker dick so much they’re okay with this? Or do you have some kind of leverage? Do they have a fuckingchoice?”
“Of course they do!” Getting angry felt a hell of a lot better than feeling in trouble. He stood up and crossed to his desk, sat down so he could look her straight in the face. “I don’t know all the reasons why girls come to the clubhouse. Some had trouble with a guy and came to us for help. They stayed for protection, and then they just stayed. Some just like biker dick, I guess. But nobody’s here who doesn’t want to be. They have a choice.”
“How can you be sure? How do you knowtheybelieve they have a choice?”
He had never considered that question even once. “I don’t know. Am I supposed to know that?”
“I don’t know. It’s just … weird, Eight. And I haven’t even dug down into my feelings about you being fucking surrounded, daily, by women you’ve fucked.”
“Yeah, but that’s nothing but fucking. You and Dash, I have to deal with that.”
She got a look he tried to read, but it was so busy and conflicted he wasn’t sure he had it. It seemed a little guilty, though, and the way he was feeling, he grabbed that and let it bake in his gut. “You and Dash are done, right?”
“Yeah, of course,” she said. But she didn’t quite meet his eyes. Fuck.
“Marcella? I’ve been straight with you. You be straight with me.”
Her eyes came up and focused where they should. “We’re done. We’ve been done for years, except for occasional booty calls, but we haven’t done even that in almost a year.” Her eyes slid away and came back. “But this video …”
“What about it?”
“I told you that Wes Brown is bankrolling it. He’s dictating a lot. He had to approve the script, the set, the costumes, everything, and he wants it sexy. We wanted to get actors, but Wes said it would sell better if it was us.”
She’d been working on the video for weeks. He hadn’t asked about it much, because he wasn’t all that interested, and he preferred not thinking about her buddy Dash when he could help it. But now … holy fuck.
“You’ve been fucking Dash on camera all this time?” Now he was full of knots. He’d never felt like this in his life. He wanted to kill Dash. And everybody else in the whole fucking world.
“No!” she claimed. “Ofcoursenot. But … it’s gonna look like it.”
Eight thought of the sexy scenes he’d seen in movies and TV. Simulated sex. But not simulated kissing or touching or grinding. All that was the real thing.
And she was doing it with a guy she’d been involved with. The guy she called her best friend.
He rubbed his hands over his head and face. Fuck, he was shaking. “Are you fucking serious?”
She came over and knelt before him, setting her hands on his thighs. She had beautiful hands, with long slim fingers. One heavy gold ring on her right middle finger. Her nails, a little bit long, were always polished. He’d always been fascinated, watching those pretty hands working her guitar. And he loved the feel of the callused fingertips on her left hand.
“Baby, it’s nothing. It’s just the video. It means nothing more for either of us. I swear. I’m with you. I want this.”
Eight could only stare. He was too full of feelings he’d never experienced before to do anything else.
Then a heavy fist pounded on the door, and Zach called, “Eight! You in there? We got a situation out back!”
‘Situation’ could mean anything from a too-rowdy drunk to a full-on attack. If they needed him, then it probably was not a rowdy drunk. Shifting into president mode at once, Eight pushed Marcella off and stood. “Stay here,” he said.
He grabbed his Walther from its holster before he opened the door.
