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“I wouldn’t say that. You and Marilyn are pretty close these days,” Skid points out, and I notice how Tac turns a little red.
“We ain’t exclusive,” he quickly shuts him down.
“So why the low numbers? Prez usually likes to keep his runs here tight,” Autumn asks, and all my brother's eyes fall on me. I nod my head, happy to let them do the explaining.
“We were meant to be saving Storm’s sister from Raphael Verretti,” Thorne starts.
“The nonce’s brother, right?” Autumn checks.
“Yeah, the nonce’s brother,” Thorne confirms, “Turns out we had a false alarm, and well… Screwy here decided to play hero to someone else instead.” I don’t miss the look of shock on Autumn’s face as he takes it all in. “And now we’re sitting ducks waiting for Verretti to realize who was behind it and retaliate. The guys with girls didn't want them being at the club alone. So the ones who haven't retired their fucking balls are here.”
“Well, I’ll toast to that.” Autumn lifts up his glass and clinks it against theirs.
The thought of home puts that sinking feeling back in my stomach. I want to see Lydia again. To be there to watch her eyes open for the first time in the morning and thread my fingers through hers while she’s sleeping. Appreciating her while she sleeps has become my favorite time of day.
It’s been seven days since we left, and she’s been infesting my mind every second that I've been away from her. Squealer telling me how sad she’s been has had me questioning if coming here was the right thing to do.
But how am I supposed to do the right thing by her when I haven’t got a clue what that is?
“Remember me?” a husky female voice whispers into my ear, and a hand slides around my chest. I take a glance over my shoulder, vaguely recalling the face. She’s a redhead, probably the one I shared with Squealer last time we were out this way.
“Just you this time, huh?” Her tongue glides over the curve of my ear, and I take a deep breath in. Maybe this is what I need. I’ve avoided all-female contact since Lydia came into my life and had to endure 24 7 permanent blue balls for the pleasure of it.
But here, in Nevada, with Lydia all those miles away, this could ensure I do the right thing.
Fucking this bitch would seem like a betrayal to her. I’d struggle to look into those beautiful blue eyes, knowing that I'd thought about her while being inside another woman. I’d hate myself.
And that is what fucks me up the most. The fact I fucking care. This was never a path I wanted. I like not giving a shit and being ruthless without a care about hurting anyone. But since I saw her on the podium, she is all I’ve cared about.
I swivel around on the barstool, and the redhead sees the gap between my legs as an invitation, her slim, toned body occupying the space immediately. Her open palms slide over my chest, lowering until she’s palming my cock through my jeans. Naturally, it reacts, and I wet my lips when I think about Lydia’s hand touching me there. When I close my eyes and feel her breath touch closer to my face, there's something not right about the gloss-covered lips touching the skin on my neck.
“You gonna fuck me, handsome?” The voice snaps me back to reality, and I immediately grab at the girl's wrist and force her away from me.
“I’m going to bed,” I tell the boys, getting up, heading toward the door, and surprising Autumn for the second time tonight.
“Wait, now he talks?” I hear him question the others as I slam through the doors and out into the open. The Nevada heat is still sticky, and suddenly I feel like I'm suffocating in my own body.
The warm air fills my lungs as I inhale through my nostrils and try to get her out of my head, and I have to crouch forward and rest my hands on my knees to try to catch some breath.
I want to ignore the vibrating in my pocket. If it’s Squealer calling telling me how miserable I’ve made Lydia again, I swear I’ll get on my bike, ride back to Colorado and kick his fucking ass.
I tug my cell out of my back pocket and hit accept before checking the caller ID.
“What?” I growl, trying to pull myself together.
“Screwy, I got something for ya,” the voice on the other end is wheezy from years of smoking.
“What you got?” I ask Roswell. He sure has taken his time getting back to me, but I understand why. He needs to be sure. Sending an innocent man to his grave is something no one wants on their conscience.
“How do three rape allegations and assault on a minor sound to you?” he asks me cleverly. Roswell may be as dodgy as they come, but he’s a good man. He got into law because he wanted to serve and protect, the same as most officers do. He just does it in a more efficient way than his peers.
“Proven?” I check.
“Yep, DNA evidence, the lot. But he got himself the best attorney in the state and a judge that coincidentally is a member of the same golf club as him. Never even made it to trial. He’s had loads of reports against him in the past, too. This guy is a predator for sure.”
“Name?”
“Donald Fistler.” I pause at the name because I’ve heard it before. I swear Maddy mentioned it when we were travelling to the auction, and she’d reeled off some names of the buyers that were gonna be there.
