11. Zeke
Isit up on the side of the bed, lighting a cigarette. Cleo is already up and getting dressed. No snuggling. No spooning. I don’t have an issue with that. We’re both getting what we want. No need to complicate things.
“So, what’s your deal?” I ask as she pulls her jeans up. “You fucking the guy at the strip club and Nitro, too?”
“Guess I just added you to my roster.”
I stand, walking over to her. Her gaze flickers down to my half-hard cock, then back to my face. I exhale and she doesn’t flinch at the smoke or when I wrap my fingers around her throat. She smiles.
“Long as I’m at the top of the fucking roster.”
“Ooh, the jealous type. I like it.”
This girl is seriously deranged. I like that. I lick the curve of her neck.
“What’s your beef with Nitro? I hear you shot him.”
I laugh, tossing my cigarette over to the ashtray. “Too bad it wasn’t fatal.”
She traces the scar on my abdomen. “Why?”
“He deserved it.”
“Okay, that’s a story you’ll have to tell me.”
I tug her earlobe between my teeth, sucking a moment before answering.
“Yeah. A long story. Not sure I have the energy to tell it. I’d rather spend my energy elsewhere.”
Not sure if I should. Her pussy is great, but that doesn’t mean I trust her. Whatever is going on with her and Nitro, she’s part of the Rebels. For all I know, she’s fucking me to get intel on the club. I wouldn’t put anything past them because I’d do the exact same thing.
“Next time, we’ll talk instead of fuck,” she suggests.
A small part of me likes the sound of that. Sitting there at the Broken Shaker, watching stupid videos on her phone, almost made me feel normal. Whatever the hell that is.
“Let’s stick to what we’re good at.”
I strip her jeans off and toss her over my shoulder, carrying her back to the bed. Whatever she’s doing with the guy from The Fuzzy Peach…with Nitro…doesn’t matter. I can guarantee they aren’t fucking her as good as I am.