Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“I don’t fucking care. It’s over. You’re done for the night.”
“I’m lonely,” she whines. If she went home to her kid, she wouldn’t be. Liquor steams from her breath.
“You’re drunk,” I correct.
“Why won’t you fuck me?”
For fuck’s sake, not this shit again.
“Claire…” I warn.
“We’re married, Cutter. I didn’t ask you to love me, but you give me nothing. We live one life in front of people and another behind closed doors.”
“Because this isn’t a real fucking marriage,” I bark. It’s never been more than what it was when I first took the bullet and married her. I’ve never fucked her, shared a bed with her, or given her any illusion this is real.
Laughter carries across the street from a group of teenagers, drawing her eyes toward them.
“Get on the fucking bike. I’m taking you home.” I grip her under the arms, and she begins crying.
What the hell is happening?
“Claire, don’t fucking do this,” I plead, releasing her.
“You didn’t even care that I had surgery.”
“You had a stitch to fix a scar.” I rub at my temples.
“So?”
Fuck my life. “So, you’re already out partying. How bad can it be?”
“That’s not the point.” She folds her arms, black streaks running down her face.
“What is the point?”
“That I need more. I want more from you.”
No. I have nothing more. I pace the space between us.
“I gave you my life, lied to my pres for you, raised your kid. Is that not enough?”
“That’s not true. We saved each other.”
“How’s that?” I ask, my tone bitter.
“You saved me from Jericho, and I saved you by keeping the secret that could get you killed.”
Ice slips down my spine, eclipsing all warmth from my body. “Is that why you came here tonight—to remind me?” My eyes narrow.
“No.” She shakes her head vehemently.
I clasp her arms and bring her nose-to-nose with me. “Did you think you’d find him in there and maybe get cozy with him?”
She scoffs, spitting out, “It’s not me you should worry about him getting cozy with.”
“What does that mean?”
Silence.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I roar, shaking her.
“Everything okay?” a passing stranger asks, stopping a few feet from us.
“Fuck off if you value keeping your teeth.” His boots pound away in the opposite direction.
“What do you mean by that?” I say more calmly.
Her expression turns sour. “Your precious Kitty. Seems Carnell has taken a liking to her.”
Recoiling, I ask, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
She smirks, seemingly proud of herself, and nods toward the club. “She’s inside.” My eyes shoot toward the club, the name an illusion of gold dripping down the front of the building. “With Michael.”
CHAPTER 22
NEW FRIENDS
KITTY
Dark walls dripping with gold liquid surround us like a moving canopy. Black marble bars speckled with gold and diamond jewels line all four walls. Giant chandeliers made up of coins dangle from the raised ceilings over golden suede couches segregated by frosted glass walls to give the illusion of privacy. Bodies move to the pulse of music coming from all corners, reverberating across the lit-up dancefloor.
“It’s great, right?” Rose giggles, ushering us over to an empty table surrounded by stools next to the dancefloor.
It’s something.
She got us in the door by flashing her Kings insignia on her wrist, the top rocker reading “The property of,” and the bottom reading, “Daddy.”
“You did good.” I nudge her with my shoulder. “I hope you pumped enough of that baby juice from those tits so you can get fucked up tonight.”
“I did.” She waggles her perfectly shaped brows. “I’ll pump and dump later.”
“I need to get my tattoo,” Claire inserts herself, running a finger down her cleavage. I think I’ll get mine here.” She settles on her left tit.
Rogue winces, mouthing, “Sorry,” once again.
Rose got the invite to join us from Rogue, which was overheard by Maggie, who then invited four others, including Claire. I would rather shit in my hands and clap then spend the night with her. Waiting until they’re all seated, I announce, “I’ll go get the drinks.”
“I’ll come with.” Rogue hops off her stool and follows me.
“God, I’m really sorry. I can tell her to fuck off if you want.”
Biting my lip, I sling an arm over Rogue’s shoulder. “Fuck her. I’m not letting her ruin our vibe. We’ve never actually been clubbing together. You know that, right?”
“This place is huge. We can easily lose her.” A group of men wearing overpriced shoes, too-tight shirts, and overpowering aftershave follow our path with hungry eyes as we pass their table.
“Why hasn’t she gotten the wifey tattoo?” Rogue asks, oblivious to the eyes on her.
“She hasn’t even gotten a cut.” I crack up laughing. “I guess Cutter doesn’t want her having it.”
Most ol’ ladies wore a “Property of” cut, and wives got the tattoo. They were a sign of devotion, love, and respect for their man and their club. Claire doesn’t have either. My dad wouldn’t allow it when she was his girl, and I guess Cutter won’t either.