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So, Oliver didn’t have a lack of interest in sex, but a lack of interest in sex with her, which did wonders for a girl’s self-esteem and led her down a path of insecurity and ruined confidence.
As she drove, Brenna’s mind became a runaway train of random thoughts, as it tended to be when faced with extreme stress. For her, dwelling on the ridiculous, like her ex-boyfriend’s cheating habits, was easier than focusing on the immediate problem. And going to the home of some random, intimidating guy in a biker gang hit the top of the stress charts.
What the hell was she thinking? She’d agreed to be Lock’s girlfriend, or toy, or whore, whatever these guys thought of their women. Basically, she’d agreed to serve as a loan repayment.
Real smart, Brenna.
Not that the bikers had given her much choice. As stupid as this decision was, going to Lock’s house seemed safer than going to their clubhouse. At least she’d only have these two bikers to contend with instead of the entire gang. The stories she’d heard about what went on at the MC’s headquarters were enough to turn her stomach and make her wish she could glue her legs together—the drugs, the violence, the orgies, and most of all, the way women were treated like objects.
Property.
Just last week, a client had regaled her with a horrifying tale about a bare-knuckle boxing fight on the MC’s property that ended in a man’s death and the wild party afterward where any female was fair game for any sexual advances just by being present. As though walking through the door gave the men an automatic green light for, well, whatever the hell they wanted. Another popular rumor had to do with an initiation ritual. According to the buzz around town, a woman wasn’t considered an ol’ lady until she slept with all the members of the club’s executive board— the president, vice president, enforcer, and whatever other positions they had.
Brenna wasn’t a prude, but she had no desire to go somewhere where women were passed around like live sex dolls.
The bike ahead veered toward an exit ramp, leaving the highway. Brenna followed closely as they navigated the streets, aware of the additional bike on her tail the entire time. After a few minutes, they turned into a residential neighborhood. Modest houses with neat lawns and charming flower beds lined the suburban street, not unlike hers. Her development had a more modern and newer flair, but this neighborhood appeared so normal. She frowned as she rolled past a house where two children chased a puppy on the front lawn while a young woman watered the plants. This was where a criminal biker lived?
“Not what I expected,” she mumbled.
What the hell had you expected?
A poorly maintained trailer park at best and a crack den at worst. People lived in those, didn’t they? He parked his bike, then turned and waved her into the driveway. After pulling in, she glanced in the rearview mirror. The giant who’d shadowed her the entire way revved his engine and shot off with a two-fingered salute for Lock.
Guess I’ve been upgraded to only requiring one warden. Lucky me.
Brenna exited her vehicle with a heavy sigh and a queasy gut but didn’t walk up the driveway. She stood there, taking in the simple home that could have belonged to any suburban Florida family—palm trees, a few flowering bushes, and a neatly manicured lawn matched most of the other homes on the block.
As she met Lock’s dark gaze, nausea morphed into a flutter of rabid butterflies. Nerves. Just nerves. Of course, she was nervous. She was seconds away from walking into this man’s home—alone and without protection. What if he tried something? What if that green-light rule applied here as well?
Fighting wasn’t one of her skills. Knocking clients on their asses with her killer home designs? Sure. But not fighting. She scolded herself for begging off those self-defense classes her best friend had tried to rope her into.
“It’s not pointless, Bren,” Lauren had said. “Even though you’re in a relationship with Oliver, you never know what situation you’ll find yourself in. Learning to defend yourself is just good sense.”
Now she was back in the singles market and still helpless. “Well, screw you and your rational thinking,” she muttered to an invisible Lauren.
“What’s that?” Lock said, breaking their odd staring contest.
“Oh, nothing.” Her face heated. She’d die before admitting she’d be at his mercy if he turned on her.
Before he could question her further, the front door opened, and a young, maybe late teens, kid walked out onto the porch. “Hey, Lock,” she said with a familiar smile.
“Hey, Alison, everything good?”
She wore jean cutoffs and a cropped tank top, showing her flat stomach. “You bet. He was an angel as usual.” She jogged down the steps leading to the front door.
“Right,” Lock said with a chuckle.
Alison’s gaze landed on Brenna, and her lips quirked in amusement as a twinkle entered her eye.
Yeah, sister, not what you’re thinking.
“He’s sleeping, but it’s been a while, so he might wake up and… interrupt you at any moment.” The girl winked.
Oh my God. Brenna’s face burned. “No. We’re not—”
“Don’t you have a psychology class to get to?” Lock asked with a roll of his eyes.
“Yes, I do. Same time tomorrow?”
