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Assured of her safety from more creepy bikers, Jennings followed Cole to the bar. His muscles were still locked for battle. His chest on fire with anger.
He might be playing a role, but his reaction to that bastard touching Wren wasalltoo real.
* * * * *
As a rule, Wren didn’t drink. But she accepted the cheap wine cooler a woman named Tilly placed in her hand. She brought the sour apple drink to her lips and downed a big swallow.
After having that man’s hands all over her, she needed the numbing of alcohol.
She twisted to glance at Jennings. His broad back faced her, the leather straining across the width. The tension in his shoulders was unmistakable even to her, and she didn’t know him that well.
My property.
She didn’t belong to anybody and would fight tooth and nail for that truth. But in this case—coming from Jennings—the words impacted her in a totally different way.
Almost as if…shelikedit.
She needed more than alcohol. Hell, a therapist probably couldn’t even help her now.
Tilly and some of the other ladies were comparing notes about who’d slept with Darius Dark and how handsy he was with them too. Wren nodded and tried to focus on what they were saying, but hearing that she was just another of the biker’s conquests didn’t make her feel any better.
“Hey, everyone!” The tall guy roped in muscle bore the vice president patch on his vest, along with a lot more patches that showed how deeply involved in club life he was. “Jay and I are heading to Shadowlands. Who’s with us?”
A cheer went up. Wren’s mind flinched away from the harsh noise. She glanced at Jennings just as he started toward her.
When his rough, warm hand closed around hers, she clung to the solid strength of the only person in the place she wasn’t afraid of.
She tipped her face up to his. “You’re leaving?”
“We’releaving.” He leaned in, lips brushing across hers in the scantest caress. “I’m not leaving you behind. I’m sorry—I can’t do it.”
The pain in his tone had her lifting a hand to cup his stubbled jaw. What was she doing? She couldn’t believe she was trying to offerhimcomfort.
Minutes later, she was on the back of his bike, flying through the city. Purple shadows played over the streets of Spring Valley. Lighter violet shades kissed the sky as night fell. The scenery and the fingers of wind teasing her hair made her question if she was dreaming or all this was real.
It wasn’t her life. Last week she was simply working to get by like anyone else. In hours, her entire life flipped upside down, leaving her questioning if she’d made the right choices from the get-go.
If she had let her brother deal with his own problems…if she had continued with medical school…things would be very different.
She wouldn’t be wrapped around a man masquerading as a member of the deadliest biker gang in this part of the country.
But he made her feel safe too. Jennings had proved he had the means to protect her.
My property.
Were those lines from the role he was acting out? If so, he was more skilled than she ever guessed, especially since the dark fury flashing in the depths of his eyes was so believable.
The bar was situated on one of the streets she’d never visited before due to the bad reputation, but the inside had a warm, pub feel that put her more at ease. Before Jennings left her with the ladies, he pressed his lips to the side of her throat.
“Be on watch.”
Before she could ask what she was watchingfor, he drew away from her and joined the guys at a long table near the bar.
Tilly seemed to enjoy her company and took a seat next to Wren. She was grateful for any distraction from the strange world around her, and luckily, Tilly kept up enough conversation for the both of them.
“Have another drink, sugar.”
She wrapped her fingers around the cool bottle Tilly offered. “Thanks.” She didn’t bring it to her lips but let her gaze roam around the bar. A cute blonde server laughed and joked with all the Disciples and the rest of the customers. Wren noticed that she tried to coax a smile out of Jennings, but he wore a stoic mask that even her flirtatious manner couldn’t soften.
