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“You’re not a club whore, am I right?”
It’s my turn for my eyes to widen as I scramble for a response. “Uhhh…”
“I’m just saying, you’re way too pretty to be, and you’re not sizing me up like I’m competition, so I can only assume I’m correct.”
Still speechless, I panic that I’m not doing a good enough job as a newly assigned club whore. I don’t want questions being asked, and I don’t want to face the chopping board just yet, so I need to up my game.
Thankfully, my stuttering is forgotten when the blond Viking walks in with an angry look on his face. His jaw is tense, his brows furrowed, and his nostrils flaring as he points a finger at Emily.
“What have I fucking told you about coming here without me? You can’t just walk around here like it’s a fucking theme park, Em. Get your shit and let’s go.”
Before I even realize it, my slice of pizza is back in the cardboard box as I rise to my feet and move toward the girl I don’t even know.
“Don’t fucking speak to her like that.”
The Viking, whose actual name is Emmett, goes from glaring to wide-eyed surprise, before glaring even harder once again.
“I didn’t ask for your involvement, so back the fuck up and carry on offering your pussy out to anyone who wants a lick. While you’re there, keep your nose out of my family’s fucking business.” His words are harsh, but they go over my head as I double down, folding my arms over my chest as I move to step in front of Emily.
“You can direct your anger at me. I can stand here all day and take it, but leave her the fuck alone.” I have no clue who I’m actually defending, but she’s too damn sweet to take his bullshit, and I really do have all day.
I feel a hand at my arm, a gentle and calming touch that makes me tilt my head to look back at Emily. “It’s okay. He’s my brother,” she explains.
Looking between them, my anger and annoyance don’t waver as I shake my head. “Honey, he could be God himself, but letting him speak to you like that and get away with it only teaches you to allowanyman to take the same tone, and I’m sure that’s not Mr. Viking’s intention. Is it?”
The bite in my tone has me practically grinding my teeth as I settle my glare back on Emmett.
He stares me down, and to my surprise, he wipes his hand down his face before scratching at his beard. The tension from his shoulders relaxes as his gaze softens toward his sister before he glances my way.
“Mr. Viking, huh?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as I cringe at the nickname slip, but the room is filled with chuckles coming from the three of them as I finally peel them open again. At least it broke the fucking tension. Although, Emmett’s eyes are still fixed on mine, waiting for some kind of response.
With a shrug, I take a step to the side again, relaxing my stance around Emily as I grin. “You look like a Viking. I’m not the first one to say that and you know it. But don’t think changing the subject is going to make me go easy on you if you keep being an asshole to Emily. Understood?”
His gaze intensifies for the longest moment, until he offers me one simple nod. “If that means I have someone else looking out for Emily, then the only thing I can do is understand,” he states before waving his arm at her, and she moves to his side instantly.
I can sense the love between them, the care, and even if it is harsher than necessary, it's still there.
As Emily moves to leave, she pauses mid-step, turning back to face me with a curious glint in her eyes. “Hey, I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Scar.”
“Scar as in short for Scarlett?” she clarifies, and I nod.
“Then I’m going to call you Scarlett because that’s a pretty name. Scar sounds like a nickname in a biker club.”
“Are you forgetting where we are?” I smirk as I cock a brow at her, and she rolls her eyes at me.
“As if this bigVikingwould ever let me.” Her grin is infectious as she turns to leave. Emmett hovers for a split second, looking at me strangely, before he rushes to catch up with her.
Once the room is quiet again, I turn back to the sofa to find Gray assessing me in very much the same way as Emmett had.
“What?” Grabbing my slice of pizza, I stare at him inquisitively, but it seems to take him a moment to figure out what he’s trying to say.
“Nothing, you just have a way of leaving an impression on everyone you meet.” It’s a statement, not an opinion. One I’ve heard before, but pretend doesn’t exist in my memories.
“So it seems,” I mutter, taking a bite of the pizza and turning my attention to the television.
