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“I understand making mistakes more than most,” I confess.
Disappointment washes over me as he takes another step back.
“Just don’t,” he says, his tone laced with exhaustion.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words not tasting as bad as they should. “And I mean it this time. I’ve wasted precious hours looking in your direction when there’s proof you weren’t involved. If anything, you’re a victim—”
“Swear to God, baby girl, finish that sentence and see what happens.”
“I can see my mistakes now,” I say rather than challenging him. “I taunted you. It was unprofessional.”
His eyes are locked on my lips, and I’m left wondering if I want to taunt him again in some way just to have the opportunity to watch his lips move when he threatens me again.
“My sister was murdered in Farmington,” I confess, having no clue why I’m telling him any of this. “The lackluster police work on another murder left the killer out long enough to get to my sister.”
“Can’t project that shit on me, baby girl.”
“I know.”
This time when he steps forward, I don’t flinch. I fight the urge to roll my face toward his palm when he pushes a lock of hair that has fallen out of my bun behind my ear.
“I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of your coworkers.”
“They know better than to think I’m capable of doing something like that,” he says, but I don’t miss the quick twitch of his jaw the memory must invoke. “But I forgive you.”
I know his declaration of forgiveness should make me see red. I never asked for it, but I can’t lie and say that I’m not glad he’s offering it. I nod my head, his hand now on my cheek where I wanted to rub against it earlier like a lazy cat in desperate need of attention.
His throat works on a swallow, and I know what he’s doing the second his face moves a fraction of an inch closer to mine. I have several guesses as to why I wait until the faintest brush of his lips on mine to pull away, but those are things I can lose sleep over at a later time.
I expect irritation on his face when I look back up at him, but he’s smiling despite the rejection.
“That ship has sailed, buddy.”
The look in his eyes, the sparkle in the corners, reeks of challenge, but I’ve spent hours naked with this man once before. I know better than to argue because he’ll only force the issue, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to resist him a second time today.
I walk past him toward my side of the car, praying he doesn’t notice the goosebumps on my forearms from the thrill I get.
I have so many damned things to think about, most importantly, why it took him pressing me to the side of the building with his fingers around my throat before I could accept that this man wasn’t involved in Elizabeth’s murder.
On the one hand, I’m glad he wasn’t. On the other, it means I’m right back at square one, needing to pour back over every inch of the evidence to make sure I didn’t miss anything, all the while praying I didn’t fuck up so bad that another woman ends up dead because of me.
Chapter 12
Ugly
I don’t have a problem with anyone. I’m a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Live and let live and all that jazz, usually.
Bishop, one of the newer guys to the club, is one I try to skirt around. I know he isn’t a bad guy. He just isn’t a happy guy. He’s sullen and quiet until you piss him off or there’s something he feels he needs to voice his opinion about.
I nod at the man when I enter the kitchen. I don’t openly avoid him. I just don’t usually take extra steps to interact with him. Like now, there’s something in the kitchen I want and he happens to be in here.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
“Sure,” I respond, wondering if this is going to be one of those times that he’s going to give an opinion I don’t want to hear. I’ve tolerated enough of the mumbled unpleasantness since he arrived at the clubhouse.
Both Stormy and Legacy are at another table, and I have to wonder if they’re just sticking a little closer to him because they truly like the guy or if they feel a sense of camaraderie for joining the team at the same time.
Bishop tips his chin forward, indicating the chair across from him.
“Let me grab a beer,” I tell him. It’s been a long-ass day, and I’m drained from the interaction I had with Lennox outside that abandoned building. “Anyone need a fresh one?”
Everyone shakes their heads, and I dart my eyes to the door. I’m not a stranger to confrontation. It’s literally our job to go head-to-head with people, but a heated conversation with someone else on the team, when anyone else could walk in and witness it, is never a good idea.
