Then I scowl as Victor turns around and starts dry humping Pope’s ass, raising his arms in the air and pumping his fists to the beat of the song.
I’m not scowling because I’m jealous or something, Victor is clearly doing that to get a rise out of his brother, butthat’sexactly what has me scowling.
The man—themurdererI’ve been sleeping with for the last couple weeks is a member of the Wulven Kings,brotherto the patches in a rival club, and he never even hinted at it during any of our conversations. And maybe I’m reading too much into the situation, but I’d like to think all of the proclamations of ownership while he was balls deep inside me meant there was a little more to what we’ve been doing than just having sex, which means mentioning his affiliation with the Kings should have absolutely come up at some point.
But maybe… maybe that’s all it is between us?
Maybe this thing we share is just about the sex. Banging the daughter of the president of another MC, the enemy’s little girl, the Demon Seeds’ princess. Maybe I was stupid to think what Victor and I are doing is anything more than a taste of forbidden fruit, walking a dangerous line to get his rocks off.
He’s a serial killer, for Pete’s sake.
Victor is probably a bit of an adrenaline junkie; someone who thrives on chaos and breaking rules. How could he not be? He’s been avoiding the police and death penalties for years, and while he’s admitted he enjoys what he does to a degree, I have a hard time believing Victor would keep doing it if he didn’t find it exciting in some way.
Jesus, he all but admitted to me that sex and violence go hand in hand for him, so why would this situation be any different? MCs are full of violence, we’re affiliated with two separate clubs, and we have sex every time we’re together. Throw in the secrecy and risk of our relationship and it’s a cocktail someone like Victor couldn’t turn down if he wanted to. And that’s not even including all the other shit I’ve had running through my head since I saw him at the bar.
God, how could I be so stupid?
How didn’t I see it before?
I should have known it was too good to be true. Too fucked up, but too good. A man like Victor isn’t one I should entertain the crazy ideas about like I have been—ideas of thereal thingand amaybe future.It’s naive—naive and stupid—and definitely unhealthy to go down the road I was when it came to my ghost, and maybe it’s for the best that I found out this way so I can end things before I go off the deep end completely.
But the idea of ending things with Victor makes me feel sick.
Hell, it physically hurts if I’m being honest with myself, and that’s probably all the confirmation I need to end things. I’m already in way over my head with the charming man who kills people for fun, and I need to stop this before I’m driving his murder van and helping him dump bodies on our honeymoon.
I turn away from Victor just as he starts trying to take Pope’s shirt off, my gaze clashing with the bright blue one belonging to Cal Moreland. “You gotta use the bathroom, princess.”
It’s not a question but a directive, and judging by the way my father is nearly purple from how pissed off he suddenly is, using the bathroom is something I need to do or else I’ll find myself getting that lecture tonight.
So, I give them a curt nod, avoid looking directly at my father, then get to my feet and round their seats in search of the bathroom.
Probably should have asked that before I got up.
Ha, fat chance.
Asking Beau or Cal anything when they are clearly discussing bad news is not a good plan, and I’m not looking to get punched in front of all these people.
I could ask Ember.
But that probably isn’t a really great idea either after the chat I just had with my father. He wasn’t really a fan of her, or of the fact that I talked to humans with penises and WKMC patches while chatting with her, so I doubt going all the way across the room back to the bar just to ask about a bathroom I don’t actually need to use is a very good idea either.
Looks like I’ll be finding the little girls room on my own.
As if this night couldn’t get any better.
Quickly, I push my way through the throngs of idiot DSMC members cat calling the dancers, barely avoiding getting sandwiched between two of them that lunge toward the stage as the current girl takes her top off before darting in and out of the crowd that rushes behind them.
It’s like these guys have never seen a naked girl before.
Hell, I’ve seen more than my share of naked girls thanks to being homeschooled at the clubhouse, so I know these morons have seen at least double those numbers easily.
Then again, The Dollhouse really is different and these women don't give the same vibes as any of the hangarounds at the Seeds’ headquarters.
Probably because these women seem smart, healthy, and not at all like they’re going to shank you the second your back is turned.
I smile to myself as I walk along the wall with dark-red fainting couches and thick tapestries, almost giggling over my ridiculous thoughts. In any other scenario I’d say I was being judgmental again, that I was feeding the stereotype and reputation that women affiliated with motorcycle clubs get; but unfortunately, in this case, it’s one hundred percent true and completely verified by my own first hand accounts.
It’s sad, but very true.
