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I wasn’t surprised that he still smelled like a brewery when he finally came into my room a little before noon. “Get your ass outta bed. We need to go to the bank. Now.”
Climbing off my mattress, I dressed, then grabbed a thin cardigan from my closet and pulled it on. The sleeves were short, but they were just long enough to hide the bruises on my arm. The last thing I needed was for someone at the bank to ask awkward questions while I filled out the paperwork that would give my dad access to my college savings.
When I got downstairs, he was already waiting at the door for me. “Hurry up, Tessa.”
“I’m almost ready to go, but I don’t—”
“You don’t, what? Want to give me back my hard-earned dollars when it’ll save my life?”
“Your life?” I echoed, glancing down at my bare feet. All I’d planned to say was that I just needed to put on a pair of sandals.
“I’m still not sure how it happened. I never would’ve put so much on the line in that poker game if I hadn’t been up by a fuck ton.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “But then I was on a losing streak, and before I knew what happened, I was in too deep. Now because some asshole had better luck than me, I need to come up with sixty thousand dollars before my bookie takes it outta my hide.”
My dad had a bookie. And he owed the guy the equivalent of three years of my college education. All from one poker game, if my dad’s irate muttering was to be believed.
I was still trying to wrap my head around the bombshell of information he’d just dropped when he yanked the door open and stomped outside, yelling at me to hurry up again. I didn’t feel as though I had any other choice, so I slipped on my sandals and grabbed my purse. Then I headed off to the bank with my dad…to destroy my future.
The old saying about what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you wasn’t true in this situation. I had no clue that my dad had a gambling problem, but I was the one who would pay the price for his mistake.
2
PHANTOM
“I don’t take checks,” the florist snapped as she guarded the door to her delivery van.
Rom growled, and I grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Calm the fuck down, brother. You think not having flowers will upset your bride? How ’bout if her groom is in jail?”
“Jail?” the young, pinched-faced florist squeaked.
I shot her a warning glance. “Relax. No one is going to do shit to you. I’ll run to the bank and get cash.” I pointed my finger at the uptight woman who had shown up to deliver the wedding flowers. “But you better unload and get everything set up, or that might change when I return.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, but then they went wide when she glanced to my side. I followed her gaze, seeing my prez, VP, and a few other brothers in the Silver Saints MC standing beside us. “Um…okay…just be sure to bring—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I cut her off, already stomping to my bike parked a few feet away. “Just get your bony ass to work.”
I didn’t hear if she responded over the roar of my motorcycle engine starting, and I didn’t give a fuck. With a chin lift from Mac, the president of my MC, letting him know I’d handle things from here, I pulled out and headed into town.
I was already irritated from coming to Layla’s rescue when her overbearing mother wouldn’t stop driving her crazy. I’d stepped in and practically dragged her to her seat where her husband waited and ordered him to keep her ass there.
Every patch in my MC was like a brother to me, and that made their old ladies like sisters, so we were all invested in what made the women happy. But I’d always been closest with Rom, and Layla had wormed her way into my heart, becoming the annoying little sister I never had and never wanted. But I’d be damned if some uptight florist ruined her wedding.
There was a short line at the bank, so it didn’t take me long to withdraw the money. I stashed it in the inner pocket of my suit coat—I still had no idea how Rom talked us all into the monkey suits—and strode purposely toward the revolving door.
A woman dashed into one of the compartments, and I quickly slipped into the one behind her as she pushed frantically to get the glass moving. I was in a hurry too, but it didn’t stop me from noticing that she had a spectacular ass for someone so small. Her jeans molded to the perfectly rounded globes, and her long auburn hair fell to just above them.
When fresh air hit me in the face, it broke my focus on the woman. I shook myself, surprised at how my body had reacted to just the back of some chick’s body. Especially when my dick had basically taken a leave of absence a long time ago. Casual sex had never been my thing, and I’d joined the CIA when I graduated from college at twenty-one. Being a spook wasn’t exactly conducive to relationships, then when I left The Company almost two years ago, I hadn’t found a woman who’d interested me. Yet this stranger—the back of her, for shit’s sake—had made my cock stir.
I shook my head, then grunted when I walked into something soft standing in my way.
I glanced down just as the woman hissed and bent over. Her breathing was suddenly labored and recognizing the sound—having caused it often enough during my years as an operative—concern had me rapidly moving so I was facing her.
She was still bent over, her arms wrapped around her torso, and her beautiful face contorted with pain.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I rasped, trying to focus despite being awestruck by how fucking gorgeous she was. “Are you okay?”
From what I saw, she had at least one broken rib and probably a few bruised ones.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” she wheezed, although her breathing wasn’t as shallow. and color was returning to her pale face. “I didn’t mean to stop so fast. I was looking for…”
