“Bet you can’t even spell IQ.”
We’re grinning like a couple of schoolgirls as a shadow falls on the table, drawing our eyes.
“Oh God, don’t tell me you’re getting along,” the guy says with an eye roll as I read his vest: Kooper. I know he was there the night all this started, but I didn’t pay him half as much attention as others got then. He’s tan and built, but so are half the guys in this damn place. His stubble is tasteful, and the thought of what it would feel like between my thighs passes through my brain for a second before I see he’s only looking at Ruby and doesn’t spare me a glance.Interesting.
“Okay,” she says with a shrug.
I grin, because maybe I do like to cause more trouble than not. “We won’t tellyou.”
“Fuck,” he says on a groan that has him leaning his head back in defeat. “Not another one.” He walks away, and we laugh as we see him head to the bar for another drink.
I take another drink and then pass the bottle back to Ruby. When she takes it in hand, she gets a tug back from me not releasing it.
She raises an eyebrow, and I match it, adding a tilt of my head to it.
She shakes her head and gives one last tug for me to let go of the bottle before she takes another long drink.
“Don’t you start. You’re as bad as the other old ladies. No, before you ask, Koop and I ain’t a thing. Never were, never will be. He’s the annoying stepbrother who thinks he owns me and can tell me what to do. Nothing more.”
“Stepbrother romance books are making a huge comeback.”
She spews her drink clear across the table, some landing on the couple that’s full-on fucking. Well, they were till they got sprayed with spit-up whiskey. Apparently, that’s something they find disgusting, since they look at us like we have two heads as they get up and walk out.
If I knew that would stop them, I would have spit in their direction a long time ago.
“Oh God, I don’t have enough alcohol or time to deal with you tonight,” Ruby says as she wipes the dribble off her chin with the back of her hand. But she isn’t getting up, so I take that as a good thing.
I grab the whiskey and take a long pull before passing it back to her. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere. I’m the kidnapping victim, remember? Got nothing but time.”
Chapter 13—Bass
Laughter pulls my head in the direction I’m doing a terrible job of not looking at, no matter how many times I tell myself to man the fuck up and ignore it. It’s fucking crazy that I can tell who’s laughing and where they are in a place this crowded. Maybe because it’s a new laughter that’s drawing my ear.
Yeah, and growing a bionic dick along with bionic ears is a thing.
I scowl at my thoughts as I finish my beer. It’s one thing when my brothers call me out on my bullshit, another when I’m calling myself out.
“Come on, baby. It’s been too long. Let me make you feel good.” The whispered breath at my ear, followed by a moan of their own as they paw at me, should get my dick to stand at attention, but it doesn’t. Not like it used to, anyway.
I plaster a smile on my face as Torie gyrates against me. She’s not a bad lay—does a great little twist thing with her hips—but I’m not in the mood for it. Not tonight. Not last night. And not the night before. Got half a mind to think my dick’s broken.
Then why are you walking around home with a permanent semi going?
Fuck.I stand, pushing Torie off me with a small smile and a shake of my head as I head to the bar. Not saying no out loud, just not now. Maybe I can get my dick in order after another beer.
Right, and maybe you’ll suddenly grow a third arm.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all saw this coming. If there was a bet going on that I would only get hard for the girl who’s sleeping on my couch, even I would have bet against myself. It’s the classic move that I’ve seen happen to better men than me. Bulldog, Flint—hell, even Chains, to an extent. Even if he and Mama Bear didn’t start connecting on that level for some time, it happened because of the close-proximity bullshit. It’s a legit thing that happens, hence the killing the romance books are making. Yeah, I watch TikTok; I know what’s trending. That and Ghostface. Not sure why having a psycho dude in a mask is hot, but to each their own. Hell, who the fuck knew I would get off being yelled at fifteen hours a day? Only reason it’s not more is because the woman sleeps. Not well, but it happens.
I nod at the prospect behind the bar to get me another beer as I stretch out my neck with a twist. The last few days have been interesting, to say the least. The club is digging, but nothing is coming up. I don’t think she’s lying simply to pull the wool over our eyes and hurt the club. She doesn’t trust us. I get it. I really do. We don’t trust her either, which is why they’re staying with me. I might not agree with how Law is running this, but I’m not going to disagree with him out loud. Watching over her and seeing if she slips up is the better chance of getting something out of her than asking for the truth. She won’t talk—not more than she already has anyway. She gave us just enough that first night to get us interested, but Flint and Gator have done enough checks to know her story doesn’t add up. If it did, there would be a digital fingerprint, something that makes her story true. Well, truer.
We all saw the guy shoot at her. We know that ain’t a lie. I can attest that both she and Ollie react on instinct to protecteach other based on how often my kitchen knives go missing. I don’t bring it up—don’t need to. That first day in my garage was the warning it was meant to be. Milly wanted me to see that her kid was packing, that he would always protect himself when alone. But I also noticed that when she was around, she would take away whatever weapon he had after a while and keep it to herself. I appreciate that. Not only does she still try to keep Ollie a kid, removing the need for him to protect himself, but she takes on the role for him every chance she can get. That level of dedication is not something you overlook. It might seem common for a mom to do that, but I’ve been around for a while and have seen some of the worst this world has to offer. The club’s old ladies are the rarities, not the norm. Each one protects with a fierceness that so many want to have and claim they do but rarely show when forced to stand up and prove it.
Another laugh has me looking in the mirror behind the bar and seeing Milly once again. Can’t fault her for having a good time. Hell, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen her laugh. She’s fucking beautiful. I refuse to touch my dick, even if it’s just to adjust it for comfort, so I shift on my feet instead. The woman is an enigma, and damn if I don’t want to find out all her secrets.
But I don’t. I hold myself back. Fucking a girl at the club is one thing. Fucking one at my house, with her kid there and me being the one to both protect her and find out her secrets, is something else entirely. That’s not something you walk away from, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of complication in my life.
Sure, I’ve seen a few of the other brothers get tangled in their webs, and they seem happy enough. I just never thought I would be one of them, at least not foranother twenty years. Not saying I’m falling for the New York girl, just that I don’t like when shit gets complicated. Pussy should be easy, not with strings attached. If there are strings, you can bet your ass I’m out the door before any of them get close to me.
