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“What are you doing here?” I ask on a growl.
“I wanted to be here when you got home,” she purrs.
Pressing my lips together, I try to keep from calling her a few names. I have no fucking clue why she’s here. This is not her place at all. In fact, this is the last place she should be. She should be in her apartment I paid for.
“Why?” I ask.
She takes a step forward and touches the center of my chest with her palm. “Because,” she exhales, her eyes widening as she attempts to look so fucking innocent. But I know bitches like this, and innocent does not compute—“I want you to know how much I care for you.”
Her words are spoken just above a whisper. She’s trying hard to appear sexy and sweet at the same time. Wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I tug her off me, then open my mouth to speak when she takes a step closer, her body touching mine. Her tits are pressing against my arm, and if I were a lesser man, that move would make my cock twitch, but it doesn’t.
“Tempt,” I warn, “you need to back the fuck up.”
“I know that I should, but it’s you,” she breathes.
She’s trying to be sexy, but her pouty lips are a little too overboard. I don’t know why she is acting as if we have a connection, as if she knows a single fucking thing about me other than I wear a Devil’s Hellions cut, but she doesn’t know shit.
Arching a brow, I stare are her, wondering what the fuck she thinks she’s going to accomplish here, because I have no fucking idea what shit she thinks is going to happen. I am not her man, she’ll never be my woman, and that is fucking that.
“It’s me?” I grunt, wondering what the fuck she means.
Her lips curve up to an enormous smile, her eyes searching mine, and she shifts even closer, almost as if she’s trying to become one with me. I don’t like or want any part of it. She opens her mouth to speak when there is another voice behind me.
“Itch, I know you’re busy, but I need to speak with you.”
Fuck.
This looks so bad, this bitch pressing her entire fucking body to mine, wearing practically fucking nothing at the same time. Lifting my eyes over her shoulder, I see my wife standing behind her, watching us.
I can’t discern the look on Piper’s face, mainly because she’s giving me absolutely nothing as she stares at me. I open my mouth to say something. What, I’m unsure. I can’t explain this away, and honestly, I’m not going to, because I didn’t do shit.
But when Tempt turns her head and speaks, it’s my duty to step in. “We’re busy, bitch. Go home.”
I wrap my fingers around the bitch’s throat and push her backward, just enough to get her off me, but not hard enough to send her flying to the ground the way I want, just in case she’s not lying about the pregnancy.
“You better know your fucking place,” I growl as I extend my finger, pointing directly into her face. “And your place is not to talk to my old lady in any kind of fucking way, but especially not the way you just did.”
Her eyes are wide, and for a moment, I detect fear behind them. Good. She should be fucking scared, because I’m about two seconds from not giving a fuck if she’s really pregnant or not and ending all the drama right here and fucking now.
“Itch?” Piper calls out, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s that insistent on talking to me or if she’s trying to save me from beating the fuck out of Tempt right here and now.
“Babe?” I ask, turning to her.
“Can we talk somewhere privately?”
PIPER
I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone before. But I hate this woman. If I had the time to stand here and verbally spar with her, I think I just might. But I don’t. Itch clears his throat, then jerks his chin toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.
I follow behind him as he moves through the hallway, then stops in front of his door. He pushes it open and slips inside, his back to me as I close the door behind me. I don’t lock it, but I do call out his name as I wait for him to turn around to face me.
Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly, clearing my throat before I speak. I’m so nervous. I don’t want to do this, but I have to. I can’t be vulnerable again, and I will not be taken by Dutch or anyone else to be traded or bartered again.
Twice is enough in my life, and I refuse.
“I need keys to the house and a gun,” I announce.
He dips his head when I say that I need keys, then his eyes widen when I mention a gun. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, and when he speaks, I’m a bit surprised because he’s been completely absent for days, and I’m shocked he even gives a shit at this point.
