I surreptitiously adjusted myself and got more comfortable on my stool. No way in hell was I attempting to leave until my sudden stiffy went down.
It had taken me a few seconds to place the gorgeous blonde as she sauntered toward the bar. She was wearing dark makeup, and her short hair was in a messy rock-chick style. I wanted to run my hand through the soft strands, mess it up even more, maybe grab a fistful and pull until her mouth was turned up to mine. I’d make her tell me exactly how much of a bad girl she was.
I blinked, forcing the sudden and vivid fantasy from my mind. She was on her way over, and I had to remember who I was dealing with. Come Monday, she’d still be perfect princess Donna, and she’d still be responsible for making my life at Fulton hell.
But as it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about what I’d say to her. She changed direction and went up to a guy ordering at the bar. I frowned, confused. Maybe it wasn’t her after all.
But then I dismissed the thought. She’d seen me, recognized me. There was no mistaking the rage-filled glare she’d thrown my way. I’d been on the receiving end of it countless times now.
A pang of annoyance had me grinding my teeth. It was the bullshit from school all over again. She was determined to make me feel as if my very existence was of no consequence to her.
I wanted to just get up and walk out. If she didn’t give a shit about why I was here, then I wouldn’t give a shit about why she was.
Instead, I found myself waving the waitress over and ordering another soda.
A few feet over, the bastard who looked like an enforcer for a motorcycle club handed Donna a drink and wrapped a meaty hand around her delicate waist, leaning in to whisper something in her ear. She smirked, a devious glint in her eye, and ran her hand up his massive arm as she murmured a reply to whatever vulgar shit he’d surely just said to her.
My hand tightened around my drink as I sized him up. I wasn’t sure if I could take him. We were about the same height, but I’d only just gotten back into the gym that afternoon, and he looked as if he bench-pressed his Harley every damn day.
His hand lowered to her hip, and Donna took a drink before lifting her gaze. Our eyes met, and she frowned slightly—at the fact that I was still there? Had she forgotten I even existed? Bitch . . .
I looked away first and mentally slapped myself. Why the fuck was I letting her get to me like this? And why the fuck was I thinking about the best way to put a guy—who I was positive was armed—on his ass? Especially considering I’d vowed never to throw another punch for the rest of my life.
Better to leave Donna to whatever fucked-up game she had going here. This was exactly the kind of drama I didn’t want. That guy was exactly the kind of trouble I was trying to avoid.
Shady had left for the night. The vague excuse he’d given made me think he was up to shit I didn’t want to know about. But I couldn’t be mad. He’d spent nearly two hours with me at the bar, talking about three times as much as I did, pointing people out, giving me his opinions on movies and recent events, making vulgar commentary on the women. He’d even managed to make me laugh a few times. It had taken my mind off my problems and made the risky decision to come here worth it.
If only I’d left five minutes earlier. If only I hadn’t seen her . . .
Now I couldn’t leave, couldn’t tear my gaze away as she finished her drink and let the biker dude lead her out to the edge of the dance floor.
Shady had pointed out a lot of people, and I wasn’t really trying to remember names, but this guy’s towering frame and mean mug had stood out. One of the very few times Shady had lowered his voice was when telling me to avoid this fucker—Bronson. He’d made it clear, in that way criminals had of speaking without coming right out and saying anything concrete, that Bronson was a murderer and basically untouchable because of the “people he rode with.” Yep—definitely an enforcer for an MC.
“But don’t sweat it!” He’d slapped me on the shoulder. “Davey’s is a neutral place. Only a select few people are permitted to do business here, and no other bullshit is tolerated. We don’t need the pigs sniffing around because some dickhead couldn’t take his fun elsewhere.”
He probably hadn’t meant to conflate murdering people with fun, but that was Shady for you.
Donna didn’t strike me as the kind of chick who did anything without knowing exactly what she was getting into, but behind all the annoyance and frustration, there was a sliver of worry deep in my chest too—very deep, buried behind all the other not-so-favorable emotions I had for this infuriating woman.
She may’ve been a bitch, but I still didn’t want to see her end up dead.
I sat on the damn stool and sipped my drink, frozen in indecision.
It was none of my business. I didn’t need this shit. Hell, maybe I could use it to get what I wanted from her down the road—I was pretty sure she wouldn’t want her devoted followers, or college admissions boards, finding out she was hooking up with lowlifes and criminals. The scandal . . .
On the other hand . . .
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. That guy was serious trouble. And I really didn’t like how he was grinding his hips against her in time to the music.
It really didn’t fucking help that she kept glancing in my direction.
At first, her gaze held nothing but contempt, but as the flirting between her and Bronson increased, her glances became more neutral—as if she was simply checking I was still there. By the time they were pawing at each other as though moments away from fucking in a bar full of people, her glances were . . . well, if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said she was looking at me with heat in her eyes. And if they were brief glances, I would’ve put it down to her being really into her hookup. But the way she looked at me—it lingered, our connection across the crowded room palpable. It was almost as if she wished it was me palming her ass, that it was my neck she was placing a sultry kiss to. Her eyes stayed glued to mine as she dragged those full lips up the column of his throat.
I was torn.
I didn’t come here to watch my new nemesis get it on with some douche—the anal kind, as Mena had put it. But my dick was convinced I should go over there and pull her out of his arms and into mine.
I forced myself to turn away. Placing both clenched fists on the bar, I took three deep breaths of the sweaty, smoky air and focused hard on the peanut shells littering the chipped wood.
You’re going to get up off this fucking stool, and you’re going to march to the exit. You will not look in her direction, and you will not stop until you’re in the goddamn car.
I gave myself a mental slap, then chugged what was left of my flat soda. Determined, I got to my feet . . . and my eyes immediately met her mismatched ones.
She smirked as she passed within a foot of me, her hand tucked into Bronson’s as he led the way past the bar.
My whole body tensed, refusing to do as I’d just decided. Instead, I stared like a creep after them. For a second, I was worried he was about to drag her to the back—where even Shady told me to avoid. But they didn’t turn down the dark corridor. He pushed open a back door, giving me a glimpse of the night sky and a dumpster as they made their way through it.
Just before the door swung closed, Donna turned her head and looked at me again.