What the fuck?
“That was nice.” She giggles, and I smile over at her, adjusting my hard-on.
“You’re a wild one.”
“I think you can handle me. Let’s get out of here.”
“You sure? I can go in right now and end this.” I have a blade and a gun in this truck.
“Let’s not give him the mercy of a quick kill.” There’s determination in her eyes.
Fuck. I think I love her.
Starting up the truck, she drives us back to Kirby’s without another word. Parking next to her car, she pulls the keys from the engine and drops them in my palm.
“Why haven’t you sold the place?”
Her lips thin as she shakes her head. “Because it’s evil.
My prison. No one should have to live there.”
“Do you have insurance?”
“Yeah, of course. Why?”
“Because squatters may get in there with it being empty.”
“I never thought about that.”
Changing the subject, I say, “What you shared with me tonight will never go any further. I know what it cost you to tell me, probably more than most.”
“I’ll meet you here tomorrow at six and we can scope the club.” Before I can reply, she’s out of the truck and rounding her car.
A second later, her headlights beam across the lot, and she punches on the gas.
I sit for a few minutes, trying to wrap my head around everything that happened tonight. I glance back, seeing where the bottle of Jack landed, and switch into the driver’s seat.
Minutes later, I’m back at her grandparents’, parking a few houses away. Grabbing the bottle of Jack, I keep to the shadows and jog to the house, pouring the liquor along the porch and up the front wall. Taking out my lighter, I spark the flame holding it against the wall, watching as the house ignites, burning into the night with an orange glow. It sharply gains momentum, the wood creaking and moaning as it turns black.
“Burn in hell, you motherfuckers.”
Soon, their priest will join them.
CHAPTER
TEN
Lily
Walking back into the clubhouse, Rage sniffs my food out like a dog. “You better have something for everyone.” He bounds toward me, snatching the fast-food bag from my hands. Opening it up, he looks inside and beams. “This is why you’re my favorite.”
“I thought it was because I gave you an alibi when you crashed Jameson’s bike?”
“That too,” he grunts.
A grin spreads up my face as my brother marches up behind him.
“I fucking knew it was you.” Jameson snatches the bag from him and helps himself to a burger.
“Fuck.” Rage points a finger at me. “Trouble—that’s what you are, Lilith.”
“You owe me three grand,” Jameson informs him.
“Yeah, yeah.” Rage narrows his eyes at me and stalks off, taking my food with him.
Lines crease Jameson’s forehead.
“You okay?” I ask.
“We just got a call. Your grandparents’ place…there’s been a fire.”
“What?” I bristle. Goosebumps sprinkle over my skin. I was just there.
Zane.
Jameson’s warm hand comes down on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, kid. I told you not to leave it sitting empty.”
“How bad was the fire?” I cross my arms, not knowing how I feel. Or why I didn’t do it years ago.
“They’re still there now. It’s just happened. You want me to take you?”
“No.” I shake my head. “There’s no point. I’ll go over tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m beat. I’m going to crash.” I wave a hand and brush past him.
The clubhouse is quiet tonight. The soft thrum of music sets a chill vibe. Some brothers gather around a pool table. Club sluts put on a show, bending over the table and flashing ass while they take a shot. I ignore a couple brothers propped up on the bar, drowning their sorrows, talking about a game their team lost today.
“Where is everyone?” I ask Trixie, a new girl who comes to parties and helps behind the bar.
Her bright blonde hair hangs in ringlets around her shoulders. The bubble gum pink lipstick across her lips glistens under the lights as she says, “A run.”
“All of them?”
“Apparently.” She shrugs. “You know they don’t tell me much.” She pops the top off a beer and places it on the bar. “You look like you need this.”
“Do I?”
Leaning over the bar, she whispers, “I heard about what happened with Milk. I hate that creep.” She winks, sliding the bottle toward me.
“Thanks.” Taking the offering, I exit the bar and head down the hall to my room. It took a year for Animal to relent to my whining and give me a place to crash here. The club is overrun with testosterone. Lucky for me, his wife, Drew, is a badass and has been a biker brat her whole life. She agreed we needed more women living here.
Milk rounds the corner, and my feet falter. He freezes, purple and blue bruising marring his face. “Lily…” He nods, ducks his head, and darts past me. Looks like I’m not the only person he pissed off today.
I enter my room, place the beer bottle on my dresser, kick off my boots, and shimmy out of the jeans rubbing against my cut all night. I need to think before acting.
Heading to the floor-length mirror on the back wall, I lift the hem of my panties and hiss, peeling back the small band-aid. Dried blood pulls on the stitches, but thanks to Monroe, the scar will be minimal.
There’s a soft knock at the bedroom door before it opens. “Lil, you decent?” Ezekiel calls out, stepping through the threshold.
“A bit late if I wasn’t.” I raise a brow and chuckle, hurrying over to him and throwing my arms around his neck. “I missed you guys.”
“We didn’t plan on being gone so long.”
He pushes me back and scratches the back of his neck.
“Where’s Ruby?” I ask, looking around him for my sister. They went on a run for Animal over two weeks ago.
“She’s going to come by tomorrow.” He nudges his head toward the door. “I heard about what happened with Milk.”
News travels fast. My eyes drop to his hand, and I shake my head. Going over to my dresser, I pull it open, fish a pair of sleep shorts out, and drag them up my legs. “I take it his face is your doing?” I signal toward his bloody knuckles.
“He deserved worse.”
“And he got it. I don’t need you, Jameson, or Rage fighting my battles.”
He scoffs, folding his massive arms over his chest, his muscles pulling his t-shirt taut. “Might not need us but that doesn’t mean we won’t. You’re family. Nothing will ever change that. And I’ll be damned if that fucking pervert thinks he can start shit with you and won’t catch it from all sides.”
“It makes me look weak,” I snap, slamming the drawer shut. The beer teeters on the edge as the dresser wobbles.
Taking the drink, Ezekiel tips it to his lips, draining half the bottle before wiping his mouth with the back of his arm and handing me what’s left.