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“Silver’s the vice prez. Where’s he again?”
“On a… leave of absence. He’s going through some personal shit. Divorce and custody battle with his old lady.”
“Which is why you’ve become acting prez.”
“You sure you’ve never been involved with an MC before?” He raises a suspicious brow that could trigger a guilty conscience.
…if I had one. I don’t as far as what I’m doing. I roll with the punches and play along.
“Remember that ex-husband of mine? A Hellrazor.”
It’s a risk.
With how paranoid and suspicious Mason is, how he’s distrusted me from day one, and how intense the rivalry between the two MCs has become, it’s a joke that can backfire big time.
A second goes by where Mason stares and then husks out another rough laugh. He grips my chin and plants a kiss on my lips.
“Let Velm tell it… your ex-husband was scum. If he was a Hellrazor, I’d handle him myself. I’d handle him if he wasn’t. If he comes trying to start something or make trouble for you.”
My pussy throbs.
It shouldn’t turn me on. It shouldn’t be hot as hell that Mason’s willing to handle my imaginary ex-husband should he ever come looking for me.
But itdoes.
There’s a primitive, territorial tone to his rough voice that does things to me.
Looking him dead in the eye, he’s serious. He’d handle any man who comes for me.
At a time where I feel alone and unprotected, in the wake of losing Pop, itmeanssomething. Even when I tell myself it doesn’t—that this is just an act. I’m in Mason Cutler’s bed to find out more about Pop’s murder and get him the justice he deserves.
I should be able to block out these conflicting thoughts and feelings. Yet I couldn’t fail more as Mason leans over and kisses my neck.
“You know, some old ladies get their own club tattoo.”
Why are you telling me this!?
“They do?”
He nods, grabbing my hand and intertwining our fingers. “You’re not my old lady and I don’t expect you to be. You’re not even my girlfriend.”
Gee, thanks…
“But,” he goes on, “I don’t want you with other men, Syd. I don’t want you flirting with them. I don’t want you touching them. I damn sure don’t want them touching you. You good with that?”
“And the Tits on Heels? Sandie?”
His normally serious and tense face eases up with a slight smile. “You’re the jealous type, huh?”
“Fair is fair.”
“Alright. Fine.”
“So…” I say slowly. “We’re exclusive? But I’m not exactly an old lady?”
A sudden fire lights in Mason’s gaze. An idea’s running loose in his head, though I have no clue what. He returns to hovering over me, entrapping me under him, as he peers into my eyes and lets the tension settle in.
I’m not sure if he’s about to laugh at my bold question or grow offended. Men like Mason rarely make a commitment, and when they do, they’re complicated about it. Calling us ‘exclusive’ might’ve been a bridge too far.
