Page 7 of Not Your Romeo
People flooded around us with fake smiles and obnoxious cheer. Congratulations were being hailed, champagne was brought out on platters and hands were thrusting at me for shaking.
I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted to know my son was going to be safely released.
I wanted everyone to be out of Sean’s reach, and more important yet, out of this Double Nickel prison.
“I’m dying to get inside this one. I’m out,” I crudely announced, hauling Roisin toward me in a possessive-looking gesture that left several over-powdered noses turning up. I was counting on my lack of manners to scatter most of the well-wishers and those swarming us, and as usual, it worked.
Cane snorted and Roisin covered her face with one hand. I wasn’t sure Sean would let us out the front door, but I hightailed it across his foyer, ready or not, style. Thankfully, the butler opened the door for us without argument.
I breathed easier on the other side of it.
A little.
Halfway down the stairs, a hot-pink Viper whipped around the circle drive and stopped in front of us. The doors were left open, and the valet nodded as he scrambled toward the mansion.
“What– in the ever loving– fuck– is that?” I gawked at the hideous thing.
“Your chariot out of hell.” Roisin patted my chest.
I glanced down at that condescending hand, shook my head and grunted, “Long as you realize I ain’t Prince Charming, and I’ll never be your Romeo, I guess it’s acceptable this once.”
I stepped off the curb only to eat her hair when she flounced off as well and sprang in front of me. She hopped into the driver’s side, leaving me to stare at her through the windshield.
“You coming?” she called.
I had no idea where my son and the guys had parked, but I distinctly heard Talon howling somewhere on the lot as I stiffly walked to the passenger side and got in.
The seats were not made for man ass. They were made for narrow waists and short legs, if my comfort was anything to judge by. I grunted and subtly squirmed, to the best of my ability. She watched me struggle for about thirty seconds, before I stopped and looked dead at her.
Her pink lips flipped into a smile, and she swung to my side of the car, making me duck back toward the seat and draw in a quick breath in anticipation of our heads colliding. Instead, she jerked the seatbelt over my shoulder and snapped it into place, sealing me in that godawful position.
“I know. I know you’re a big tough biker, but I’m a girl who has no traffic violations, and that isn’t something that’s going to change just so I can fit your ego in this car. So– from now on– buckle up, big guy,” she chirped, before winking and throwing it into gear.
I wasn’t used to random women speaking to me that way. I mean she wasn’t random, she was my wife, but fuck– She didn’t know me! She was also my daughter’s age and still had that way of making her voice all catty and bobbing her head when she thought she was telling someone about something.
Before I could articulate a good cuss, she stomped the accelerator, and we were off. I slapped my hand out and pinned my palm flat to the window as she slung us into traffic and my life flashed before my eyes.
Just when I was about to let her have it, the car slowed to a respectable speed for the next ten minutes. It wasn’t long enough for me to get comfortable, but it was enough for me to calm myself a little.
Unsure of what to say, but hating long, silent car rides, I eventually cleared my throat and made myself look her way. I could have sworn I saw a smile twitching at her lips. Her knuckles tightened on the wheel, her leg snapped for the brake and the tires locked. My head snapped forward to see what we were about to die from, and the damned seatbelt locked, too!
I gagged hard, even though it had caught just beneath my throat. I clawed at the thing and scrambled, while she gunned it again, catching the curb as she pulled onto the interstate exit.
“What the hell?” I managed, whipping myself left and right.
“What? The Dirty Savages clubhouse is in East Alton, right?”
I glared at her until she hefted her brows in question, that antagonistic smile meeting her blue eyes again.
“Was that your son?”
“One– One of them. Keep your eye on traffic, yeah? We can chat when we get there. Matter of fact, slow down a little, damn girl.”
“Oh, he really is your son.” She kept her poker face on, but I could tell she was disturbed.
“Stop playing, that dude was my age.” She glanced toward me, all but pleading for me to say I was teasing.
I snorted, more amused by her discomfort than I should have been, “I kind of figured he lied about your age, but God I hope not. Sauce is my youngest.”
