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Grabbing her wrist, I firmly set her hand away from me, draining my whiskey.
“I think Naomi is done for the night. I’d better give her a lift home.”
“Oh, come on, Viper,” Paige whines. “You never party with us anymore. When did you get so boring? Someone else can drop Naomi home. I’m sure Crow or Ryder would be happy to.”
I step away from her, setting my glass down and shooting her a glare. Over my fucking dead body, will Naomi be getting on the back of either of those boys’ rigs. I have nothing against them. They’re good guys. But Peaches rides bitch for no one but me.
Nodding to Justice, who smirks at me, I stalk over to the bar table. Shelley and Vicky stop talking about lipstick shades, looking over at me. Shelley’s eyes dart between Naomi and me.
Only one person at the table doesn’t look at me as I stand here, and it’s the only one I care about looking at me. Fucking Naomi.
The growl rumbles out of me before I can stop it. “We’re going home, Peaches.”
She still doesn’t look up, twisting her dainty fingers.
“I can get a lift with Shelley. You should stay,” she mumbles.
What? Why the fuck would I stay without her? If she’s at home, that’s where I’m going to be, plowing that sweet pussy of hers. I have no idea what is causing this sudden attitude, but I don’t like it and want to know what is happening. I’m not going to get answers here.
“Goodnight, ladies,” I grunt, closing my fingers around Naomi’s wrist.
Leading her across the bar, I immediately pull the leather jacket I got out of her purse as we step into the night air.
“Here, Peaches.” I drape it around her shoulders. She pokes her arms through the sleeves, zipping it up, but she doesn’t say thank you or even look at me. This is bullshit.
When we reach my rig, I flip open the saddlebag, remove her helmet, and turn to face her. She stands there, waiting for me to set it on her head. Her eyes are burning into my chest. What. The. Fuck?
Putting the helmet on Naomi’s head, I place two fingers under her chin, lifting her face to mine. When her eyes lower, so her face is turned to me, but her eyes aren’t looking at me, I see red. I need to know what happened between her coming on my cock and right now. I need to know who the fuck touched her or said something to her. Why else would she be acting like this?
Quickly clipping her helmet, I throw my leg over my rig. My stomach untwists slightly as Naomi immediately slides on behind me, her arms snaking around my waist, her body pressed against my back. Whatever is eating at her, at least she’s still holding onto me like she always does.
She clings to me the whole way home, climbing off the rig as I pull into the garage. I take her helmet off – she won’t look me in the eye again – and move to close the garage door. When I turn around, she’s gone. Fucking hell.
Storming into the house, I catch sight of her disappearing into her bedroom.
“Goodnight,” she calls over her shoulder, the door snapping shut. I glare at the offending piece of wood. What the fuck is happening?
Crossing the living room, my hand closes around the doorknob, twisting it. My teeth grit as it rattles and doesn’t budge. What. The. Fuck. She’s locked the damn door.
Cursing low under my breath, I glare at the door handle for a moment, turning and striding to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I snag a beer, finding no satisfaction in slamming the door shut.
I lean against the kitchen archway, slowly sipping my beer, my eyes burning into Naomi’s door. It doesn’t open. She doesn’t come out to use the bathroom or anything like that.
What the hell could have happened at the clubhouse for her to start acting so weird? She talked to Shelley. I had my eyes on her for most of the night. Apart from Merch occasionally stopping by to check in with his wife and Vicky talking to them, no one else approached them.
She went to the bathroom, but I’m pretty sure she was in there alone. I have no idea what the fuck her problem is, and I’m determined to find out.
Raising my beer to my lips, nothing comes out. Crushing the can in my hand, I drop it into the trash, stalking across to Naomi’s door. The handle rattles again. Still locked.
I hesitate, my hand resting against my wallet. Fuck it. I need to know what Naomi is thinking, and I’m not going to find out with a locked door between us. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Sliding my wallet out of my jeans, I flip it open, extract the tool, and drop to my knees. Sliding the device into the lock, I quickly pick it.
Chapter 11
NAOMI
Slamming the door shut behind me, I turn to look at it, my eyes lingering on the lock. I haven’t used it the entire time I have lived here, but I want to be alone. With a sigh, I flip the lock, turning away to strip off my work clothes.
