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“What are you doin’, Niki?”
“None of your fuckin’ business, asshole.” Niki yanks her hand free of mine and takes a staggard step backward, her other palm remaining on the wall for stability.
“You wanna go somewhere and talk?” I gesture toward my old clubhouse bedroom not far from here. Adam might’ve claimed it but gettin’ her some place private where she can sleep off the alcohol is for the best.
“With you?” Throwing her head back, Niki barks a dark, humorless laugh. “Hell no.”
Well damn. Someone doesn’t like me much today, does she? I dunno what I’ve done to warrant this kinda attitude, but I’m about to find out.
“What’s wrong?”
Her nostrils flare. “I wanted dick. You stole my ability to get said dick. Dick.”
Knowing she’s not in her right mind, I ignore the disdain. “Let’s go to my room and chat. Sober you up a bit. Maybe sleep off whatever this is. Yeah?”
“No! I’m sick of all you bikers thinkin’ you have a say in what I do, or I don’t do!” She sways on her feet. “You, of all people, don’t get a say in anything anymore! You made your choice. You picked her. Just like Big picked Bink. All you assholes find someone better than me. Someone you can love. Oh, I’m good enough to spread my legs for you. I’m good enough to let you stick your dick in my ass. But I’m not good enough for love. Not that. Never fucking that.”
Okkkay… I didn’t see that one comin’.
Niki’s right, though. But we’ve never lied about it. Not once. Club whores often become club whores ’cause they desire to be claimed, to wear a “property of” patch. It’s their way into the fold, to feel special. The sad truth of it is, we don’t want long-term with a woman who’ll open her legs for everyone. We want our woman to be ours. One we connect with. Sure, my brother, Brew, claimed a club whore. Lots of other brothers have put babies in ‘em. They still won’t commit. Most of ‘em end up deadbeat dads. If they claim one, they usually stray, and end up with an entire fuckin’ harem of whores beatin’ on their door. There’s too much drama in that game.
Still, none of what I’ve done was ever meant to harm anyone. Just ’cause I can’t love you, doesn’t mean I don’t care. Obviously, I give a shit, or I wouldn’t be standin’ here havin’ this conversation. Make sense? I think so.
“I am sorry that hurts you. We’ve always been honest about our intentions,” I explain as nicely as I can, knowin’ it’ll likely mean fuckall to her.
My suspicions are confirmed when Niki’s eyes narrow into tiny slits. “You can lay in bed with me for hours talking. Fuck me time and time again. Face fuck me on your bed, looking in my eyes like you care. Like I matter. Come down my throat. I swallowed you. All of you. But nooo… I don’t deserve your fucking love.” Spittle flies from her lips.
“I don’t love. I can’t love. Not like that. You wouldn’t want it if I could. Nobody would.” Truth. Every. Single. Word.
Niki growls in frustration. “Lies! You love her!” She throws a hand up.
“It’s not like that,” I defend, ’cause it’s not.
“Stop lying! Just. Stop. Lying!” She slaps one side of her bald head on repeat as if she can’t stand to hear me speak another word. “You went to her after the warehouse! You held her hand and you comforted her. Not once did you hug me. Not once did you stay long enough to see if I was okay!”
Fuck. This isn’t going anywhere.
I inhale a long, deep breath. On my exhale, I do my best to set shit straight, calmly, yet to the point.“Niki, please. I’m sorry I hurt you. Let’s go drink some water, maybe grab a bite of somethin’.”
Whipping her head violently back and forth at my suggestion, Niki plucks her purse off the ground, still using the wall as her anchor. She hooks the leather strap over her shoulder, reaches into the brown bag, and pulls out the small silver handgun I bought her years ago. Swaying on sock-covered feet, she points the thing straight at my forehead.
Fuckin’ goddammit.
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure nobody’s around to witness this, I put both hands up, palms out. “Niki—” I start, only to be cut off by the red-faced, sweat-coated, tits bouncing with each pissed-off breath, woman.
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” Niki punctuates each word with a firm shake of the gun. “I. Don’t. Want. Your. Water. I. Don’t. Want. Your. Food… and I sure as shit don’t want your apology!”
I say nothing.
This has gone from bad to epically fuckin’ worse.
She’s not done.
On an endless inhale, Niki’s chest expands, and she blows out a loud breath. The bottom lip I’ve sucked a million times wobbles as tears well in her eyes. I know this is hard. Maybe I should’ve gone and checked in. Bein’ shot isn’t an excuse. I could’ve done better.
Tears cascade down her blotchy face.
“I hate you.”
