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Holy fucking shit.If I'd sat in that fucking room with this mystical being a minute longer, then I’d have been pulling her onto my stiff cock and claiming her as mine. My chest constricts at the thought as my hand instantly flexes around hers.
That’s not what I do and it’s most certainly not who I am either.
I don’t claim anyone. I don’t settle down. I don’t do any of that righteous shit.
She remains quiet at my side as I lead us down the hallway, and I reluctantly force myself to let go of her hand. I might not be one for claiming people, but I sure as shit still want her in my vicinity. I want her right by my side.
Straightening my cut, I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and the same thoughts continue to race through my mind.
How the hell does a hot-as-fuck chick who has no idea how goddamn alluring she is, who eats pizza like a champ, and beats me at my favorite fucking video game, end up in a motorcycle gang as a whore? An Ice Reaper whore, nonetheless.
Not anymore. I refuse to associate her with those two sickly words that we’ve brought to an end. She’s a Ruthless Bitch now, whether she likes it or not. I may not be willing to claim her for myself, but for the club, definitely.
Fuck.
I need a beer and a distraction from her, but all my mind and body can think about is her porcelain skin and pouty lips.
I’m screwed.
Fucking. Dead.
Cracking my neck, I push open the door into the bar area and the music instantly kicks up a notch. It’s surprising how much quieter it can be with the door closed, but at least it seems like everyone is having a good time.
The bar is brimming with members and whores, while some have taken to dancing in the middle of the space. Ryker’s in the Prez’s booth at the center of the wall to the left, which has a perfect view of the room and exits.
Draping my arm around Scar’s shoulder, I steer her toward him as eyes start to glance in our direction. I keep my grin frozen in place as I nod and wave at those who call my name over the music, but I don’t offer any more than that.
I need to sit down and hide this boner I’ve been sporting for the past forty fucking minutes, yet I get the sense it won’t be going anywhere any time soon.
“Whatcha drinking, sweet cheeks?” I speak into her ear, and she shivers at my side. My cock pulses against my jeans, begging for attention, but I sink my teeth into my tongue instead, the taste of copper distracting me for a minute.
“I’ll take some water.”
I frown at her as we come to a stop by the booth. “Water? There isn’t any fucking water here.”
Her eyes dart around the room for a moment before she sighs. “Fine, I’ll have a beer.”
Ryker must hear her response because he waves three fingers across the room to the bar staff before shuffling around to make space for us.
“Where have you been, man? You know parties aren’t bearable alone,” Ryker grumbles as I encourage Scarlett into the booth first.
She’s nestled perfectly between us as I sit down and lean back, taking in the room for myself. As the newly appointed treasurer, I was never a part of Banner’s inner circle before Ryker, so I’ve never been privy to sitting here before.
I like it.
“We were hanging out, playing my new video game and eating pizza, weren’t we, Scar?” I extend my arm around the booth behind her, my body unable to keep distance between us, and I swear she inches closer to me too. Fuck. I’m either imagining shit or it’s getting crazy hot in here.“Besides, I thought you were with Axel,” I add, noting the way his brows pull at the mention of his name.
“I was, but when something went wrong on the bike he was fixing up, he got pissed and stormed off.” The pain in his eyes is noticeable, no matter how much he tries to keep it at bay.
He may be our Prez, and he may need to keep up a hard front, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying about his friend, his fucking brother.
“It’s the anniversary, man, it’s fucking with his head.” I’m acutely aware of Scarlett’s presence during a private conversation, but instead of jumping in like most women around here do, wanting to know all of the gossip, she just continues to glance around the room.
“I know. He’s just hitting the hard stuff more than ever and I fucking know he’s going to go to far. I can feel it in my bones.”
Fuck.
If Ryker is worried, we all should be, but none of us are familiar with helping someone like this. Our attempts at an intervention have failed miserably and mentioning a therapist or counselor only sends him into a deeper spiral.
