23. Sharing Isn’t Caring
SHARING ISN’T CARING
CUTTER
“There’s a dress code, Cutter,” Claire huffs, the tapping of her heels chasing me toward the entrance of the club. “What the hell are you going to do?” Her voice is shrill, drawing attention from the teens loitering near a bus stop.
“Go home, Claire.”
What the hell am I going to do?
“Are you forgetting who he is?”
Has Kitty? She has to remember the shit she got when she brought Nicolas back to the club. Pres doesn’t want anything interfering with our relationship with the Carnells—pretty sure that includes his daughter fucking around with one.
“Go home.” I jab a finger in her direction when she continues to follow me.
Whining and rubbing her arms to ward off an imaginary chill, she complains, “You’re supposed to take me home.” The air is stiff, a wall of heat hanging like a blanket above us, making me sweat.
“Get a cab or fucking walk. I don’t give a shit.” I don’t stop my approach even as my brain roars at me to think about this before going in there without a plan.
“Yeah—that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t give a shit about your wife.”
I stop at the door by two men with fists bigger than my head wearing all black, complete with suit jackets and earpieces. Two sets of eyes flash to my cut then to each other. “We can take your jacket for you, sir.”
“Not if you want to keep your hands,” I warn.
No one touches a brother’s cut. “Move,” I order.
Kings are welcome at all Carnell clubs but club colors aren’t allowed inside.
Too fucking bad. Conflict flashes across the bigger one’s face.
Before we can get into it, Rogue and Kitty pour out the double doors, giggling about something I don’t catch.
Kitty looks fucking incredible in a skin-tight dress showing off every delicious curve of her body. My gaze sweeps over the length of her. She cut her hair…
“I need to check with the manager to see if you are allowed in with your jacket on,” the big guy says.
“Don’t bother. I’m not going in,” I say, shaking my head and taking a step back.
“Cutter?” Rogue spots me, surprise in her tone. Kitty’s head whips in my direction. Her smile drops, and so do my balls. The air is knocked clean out of my chest as she curls into herself, the happy buzz from seconds ago replaced with something else: sadness, anger, hurt—all of the above.
“Do you not see her drowning?”
Rubbing a hand across my forehead, I say, “I came to pick up Claire.”
Rogue’s eyes narrow, pointing a finger behind me. “She’s over there.”
I flit my gaze over my shoulder, nodding. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Turning on my heel, I start thinking about what Kitty needs for once, and it’s not me ruining her night. Grabbing Claire by the arm, I take off walking away from them.
“Are you not going to say anything?” Claire scoffs, having to jog to keep up with my pace, her tits almost bouncing out of her top.
“Shut up,” I growl, focusing on the asphalt in front of me to prevent myself from looking back.
The full moon hangs low in the sky, shining almost silver, lighting the path to my bike. The sky is so clear you can see the craters in its flawed surface. I’ve always been a creature of the night, fueled by its darkness. Kitty is the sun, and I have no right trying to dim her glow.
“You humiliate me,” Claire announces breathlessly.
Spinning her to face me, I grit, “How the fuck do I humiliate you?” Every brother in our club thought I’d lost my damn mind marrying her. They’d all fucked her before the pres claimed her as his favorite slut then I put a ring on her finger.
“The way you look at her, everyone can see there’s something there.” Her eyes flit to the silhouettes in the distance.
Bullshit . Callan has never picked up on it, even when I’m suffocating with the need to go to her any time she’s in a room with us.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grunt, nodding toward my bike. “Get on.”
“Do you honestly think Jericho will ever let you two be together?” I already know he won’t, and she’s picking at a wound that never heals.
“He doesn’t want this life for her.” She laughs without humor, her pretty features screwing into an ugly sneer.
What the fuck would she know about what he wants?
Jericho used her as a cum sock and was going to kill her.
I close the space until there’s nothing more than an inch of air between us. “That’s too fucking bad. She loves the club. It will always be a part of her.” And she will always be part of me.
Glaring into my eyes, she stills her features. “What would he do if he knew?”
My hands fist, the blood boiling through my veins bubbling to the surface. Grasping her jaw, I bring us nose to nose. “Are you threatening me? I’ve warned you what will happen if you do.”
Tiny hands punch at my arm. “Let me go,” she mumbles, spittle covering her lips.
Releasing her with a shove, her ass hits a car. The alarm blares, and lights flash over her disgruntled form.
Fucking perfect .
Gathering herself, she holds a hand to her face. “You’re an asshole.”
“Don’t I fucking know it.” I reach a hand out. “Let’s get out of here.” She doesn’t move, so I take the step toward her, jolting when she throws herself against my chest, her arms wrapping around my waist.
“I wouldn’t threaten you,” she chokes out.
“Yo, they’re fucking up a car,” some punk ass kid shouts from across the street. Hoots and hollers follow. My head darts toward where Kitty came out of the club, but she’s gone. Two different security guards start heading our way.
“We need to go.” I force her off me and take her hand, practically dragging her to my bike.
The last thing I need is to get into it with Michael’s staff after doing the right thing with Kitty.
Giving Claire my helmet, I swing my leg over and wait for her to awkwardly climb on the back.
I’ve been married to her for nearly four years, and this is the first time I’ve put her on the back of my bike.
She doesn’t belong there.
Pulling into the clubhouse behind an SUV, I follow it to the garage and park in my usual space, dismounting as quickly as possible and helping Claire off while ignoring her smiling at me like the cat who got the cream.
The new Tim climbs out of the SUV and opens the back door for Kitty, Rogue, and Rose. They climb out one after the other, chatting about the prices of drinks at club Twenty-Four-Carat Gold.
Lead fills my boots. I can’t fucking move. Kitty’s eyes slice to me then Claire before eventually landing on my bike. Rogue tugs on her arm, and she jerks away.
“I saw you getting friendly with Michael Carnell,” Claire says, her voice sugary sweet, like they’re best fucking friends and she hasn’t been bitching me out about her all night.
“That’s funny because he said he knew you.” Kitty arches a brow, walking past us.
My gaze whips to Claire, alarms bells blaring. What the fuck?
Shaking her head, she frowns, forcing out a laugh before taking off to walk with them. “I met him a couple times years ago. I’m surprised he even remembered me. Really, my friend knew him, not me.”
Not once has she mentioned knowing Michael.
When I killed Nicolas, she knew he was a Carnell, but I never asked how she knew.
Following them through the clubhouse to the bar, I grip Claire under the arm and steer her away from the girls to a corner out of earshot.
“You want to explain to me how Michael recognized you?”
Blowing out a breath, she leans into me, whispering, “I met him through a friend years ago. I honestly don’t know why he would remember me.” She shrugs.
I take a moment to study her features, looking for any deception, then release her, jerking my head toward the door we just came through. “You have makeup all over your face.” The black smears from her tears have dried like zebra stripes.
“Oh my god.” She swallows and covers her face with her hands, rushing toward the exit.
“Damn, what did you say to her?” Dodger slaps me on the back. “Never seen a woman haul ass out of here so fast.”
“That’s a fucking lie,” I scoff. “They leave your room like that every time they see your tiny dick.”
Moving to the bar, I wave Jess over. “A bottle of whiskey.”
“I’m glad Jess is back behind the bar. These prospects are fucking useless.” Dodger holds up two fingers when she only brings back one glass.
I hadn’t really noticed she’d been gone. “Where has she been?”
“Fuck knows. Europe, I think.” She places the glasses down and uncaps the bottle. “You been traveling, sweetheart?” Dodger asks, looking down her top when she leans over to pour the bourbon.
“Until I ran out of money.”
“Well, let me add to your fund.” He beams, digging into his pocket and reeling off a couple twenties.
“Thanks, Dodger.”
“Any time, gorgeous.”
“She won’t fuck you.” I snort as he cranes his neck to watch her walk away.
Jess doesn’t fuck anyone. She came here to earn cash and see her uncle, a nomad who would drop in every month.
“I can live in hope, brother.”
Downing the amber fire in my glass, I pour another and knock it back just as quickly. Alcohol is going to be my crutch tonight.
“Rough night?” He takes the bottle and adds another serving to my glass.
“You have no fucking idea.”
“I might,” he grunts, nodding over my shoulder to Claire reappearing, her face freshly washed and free of makeup. She shimmies her ass as she walks, joining us at the bar.
“I need to drain the snake,” Dodger grunts, side-eyeing her.
“You mean tadpole,” I call after him.
“It’s a grower, not a shower,” he calls back.
Helping herself to his abandoned stool and glass, Claire pours herself two fingers. “How did Kitty get so good at cards?”
I follow her gaze to the woman in question, fighting the smile wanting to curl my lips. “She learned to play when she was young. Being surrounded by these assholes, she caught on quick to their tricks and learned how to read people.”