Fuck it. This is for Naomi. Gritting my teeth, I shove my hand in the air.
“Fuck,” Palmer mutters, slowly raising his hand. Buster glares around the table.
“Fuck all of you,” he growls, barely raising his hand off the table. It’s grudging, but it counts.
“All in favor,” Holton decrees, smacking his palm on the table. Buster is out of his chair, striding out of the room almost before the sound dies. Standing, I clap Strafe on the shoulder, nodding to him and Bullseye as I leave. I need to get home to Naomi.
Chapter 22
NAOMI
Lisa and Shelley fall silent as the door creaks open. They’re giggling and poke their head out of Viper’s closet. He raises his eyebrows, taking in the scene of them standing in the closet, having rearranged his clothes to fit mine in. I was against it, but they insisted.
Vicky looks up from where she is combing my hair, having redone her blow-out from the day Joey put me on that bus. She was super disappointed that Viper never got to see it and was determined to redo it today.
Viper’s eyes dart around, slowly raising, and he jerks his head at the door.
“Everyone the fuck out.”
Laughing, the three women pack their things – mainly Vicky’s home hairdressing kit – and leave. Viper waits until we hear the front door slam shut and Lisa’s SUV pull out of the driveway.
Turning to me, his eyes drink me in. “You look fucking gorgeous.”
My cheeks heat as I blush, ducking my head. “I was at the salon that day. I was going to surprise you with a pretty hairdo.”
Crossing the room to me, Viper slides his fingers through my hair on either side of my head, tipping my face back so he can see my eyes.
“It would have been a good surprise. Definitely better than the one I got.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault your sister is a fucking psychotic cunt.”
“I know.”
Viper’s eyes search my face, and he sighs, stroking his thumbs over my cheeks.
“Come with me, Peaches.”
I silently follow him to the garage, where he retrieves my helmet and leather jacket from his saddlebag. I stand still, letting him help me into the coat and fix the helmet on my head, our eyes burning together.
“Sorry about your hair,” he murmurs, clipping the helmet and running his thumb over my chin. I shrug.
“It was only for you to see, and you’ve seen it.”
