24. Bad Friends
BAD FRIENDS
KITTY
“No fucking way!” Green jumps to his feet then sits back down in the next breath.
Rogue holds up her hands. “Beginner’s luck,” she defends, scooping the pile of cash across the tabletop toward her.
Turning his drunken glare to me, he accuses, “Have you been teaching her? Was this a setup?”
Paranoid asshole.
“No, you just suck.” I slap his arm when he tries to take some money back from her winnings.
“I bite,” she warns, snapping her teeth. Monster’s deep, dark laugh draws her eyes, a smirk curling her lips. Rogue has a tell, tapping her finger when she has good cards, but I thought it would be funnier watching Green squirm.
“The pack is unlucky,” he declares in a huff, folding his arms over his chest.
“Or you suck,” I reiterate.
Stroking the pad of his thumb over the ten of clubs, Monster says, “Did you know the colors represent night and day?”
“Really?” Rogue questions.
“Cards symbolize the calendar,” he informs us.
“Bullshit. If they did, why are there fifty-two cards and not twelve?” Green scoffs, twisting his lips.
“There are twelve court cards for the months and fifty-two for the weeks, genius.” Monster hands the pack to me, keeping his gaze fixed on Green. The bastard is scary when his focus lands solely on you.
“How do you know this stuff?” Green asks, lines crinkling his eyes. I search for similarities to his brother but find none.
“I know everything,” Monster says, matter-of-factly. His phone buzzes, and he puts it beneath the table surface to read the message. “I have to go.” Scooting his chair back, he gets to his feet.
Rogue tracks his departure, the mirth gone from her pretty face. “I’ll be back,” she says before taking off after him.
“What’s that about?” Green screws up his face in confusion. “One more game?” Green jerks his chin toward the cards I’m shuffling.
Callan’s shadow creeps over his form, big hands resting on his shoulders, making him startle. “I need to talk to my sister.”
Green gets to his feet and joins his brother at the table behind us without a word.
Looking around the room, Callan frowns. “Where’d Rogue go?”
The truth is on the tip of my tongue, but I find myself lying on her behalf. “Bathroom.” I don’t know why I lie. There’s nothing going on between them, but there is something she’s not letting on about. I can feel it.
Spinning the chair around, he straddles the seat, folding his arms on the backrest. “Anything you want to talk to me about?”
Leaning back, I pick up my drink and swirl the ice in the glass. “Since when do we talk?” I snort. Dark eyes bore into me, the vein in his neck throbbing.
“I’m your brother. You can come to me with anything. You know that, right?”
“You’re being weird. What’s going on?” Unease settles in my stomach.
His eyes flick over his shoulder to Chris and Green. “I heard the new brother may have a thing for you.”
Thud.
“Who told you that?” My brows lower.
“Does it matter?”
Slamming the glass down, I lean toward him. “I don’t know, does it?”
Taking a measured pause, he cranks his neck. “Claire said there’s some friction over you with Cutter and Wheels.”
My hackles rise, every hair follicle pimpling on my skin.
The pulse of my heart hammers in my ears.
What the fuck does the bitch know about Chris and me, and how did she get to him and Cutter having friction?
I rack my brain for an answer, glancing at Chris.
He’s nursing his drink, lost in thought, and Cutter left twenty minutes ago. Not that I’m paying attention.
“Claire’s a fucking asshole. Since when do you listen to anything she has to say?”
“It’s reckless to play brothers against each other, Kit. You’re a beautiful girl. Of course new members or prospects are going to show interest, and Cutter’s protective.”
“Fuck off, Callan,” I snap, furious heat racing through my veins. “I don’t need a lecture from you. I’m a grown woman.”
“Calm down. I’m not lecturing you.” His lips press into a thin line.
“No, you’re gaslighting me, as usual.” My nostril flare. My hand tightens around my glass, pain shooting through my cuts.
“I didn’t want to argue with you.”
“No, you want to tell me to stay away from the brothers because you and Dad decided I’m allowed to be raised by them, live with them, but god forbid I fall in love with one.”
“Whoa.” He flinches back as if I struck him. “Who the fuck said anything about love?”
I feel the color drain from my face. Fear climbs up my spine, curling around my neck. “No one.”
“Kit.” He places a hand on my arm, long, thick fingers squeezing in reassurance. “Do you love him?”
My pulse pounds against my temple, and I stare at my big brother, desperate to lay it all out on the table. “Kit…” he says again, “do you love Wheels?”
A puff of air chokes past my lips as my eyes close. He’s not talking about Cutter. Of course he’s not. Gathering my thoughts, I swallow down the stone wedged in my throat. “No. Claire is wrong about Chris. We’re just friends.”
Tugging my arm from his hold, I slip from my chair and don’t stop walking until I’m in the hall outside Cutter’s room.
My hands splay against the wall, my forehead resting between them.
What happened between him and Chris? Exhaling a breath, I brush down my dress and move to his door, raising my hand to knock. It opens before I make contact.
Instant regret grips my heart in a punishing hold.
Sickness burns a torch up my throat. Stepping backward, I allow him to step out.
The glimpse of Claire buck naked and covered in his fluids scorches a scar into my brain.
I knew they fucked. They’re married and have a kid, but it’s never been right in my face.
“Kitty…” My name is strangled on his lips. Wild, panicked eyes study me.
Doing up the buttons on his jeans, he shakes his head. “I can explain that.” His voice shakes and slurs.
Straightening my spine, I will my voice not to break. “There’s nothing to explain. I don’t give a shit if you fuck your wife, Cutter.” Lies. Lies. Lies. “But tell that shit-starting bitch I’ll bust her face open the next time she runs her mouth to my brother about shit she knows nothing about.”
“Kit, wait…” he pleads, reaching out for me. He’s such a beautiful man, it’s almost devasting to look at him. Then Claire’s image replaces his, and my heart hardens.
Side-stepping him, I cringe. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Navigating the halls, my legs weak and heart bleeding, I stop at the threshold of the bar and swallow. Sierra is straddling Chris’s lap, her tongue down his throat like she’s trying to taste what he had for dinner.
Pulling my phone from my boot, I bring up the new name added tonight and type out a message.
Me: Night cap?
A couple of seconds pass, then three dots appear, bouncing across the screen.
Michael: Sure. Your place or mine?
I sweep my gaze around, checking my surroundings, and type back.
Me: Definitely yours.
Pulling up to the apartment building, I rake my eyes over the glass giant and step out of the car, leaving the empty bottle of vodka I killed on the way here. “I’ll wait here for you.” New Tim nods his head out the window.
“No. I’ll call if I need a ride,” I call out to him, lifting a chin to the doorman as I enter the building, feeling a little lightheaded.
I enter the lobby, and Michael’s domineering presence hits me like a wave of heat.
His frame is even more impressive under the bright foyer lights.
His tidy hair from earlier tonight looks disheveled, and I want to run my fingers through it.
Smoldering green eyes travel over me with a hunger that makes my nipples hard beneath my dress.
“What a gentleman.” I smile, taking his offered hand, ignoring the assessing eyes of the woman manning the desk.
Guiding us to an elevator, Michael swipes a key card across the screen. The elevator begins ascending, and alcohol sloshes around in my empty stomach.
“What made you change your mind?” he asks, referring to the fact that I blew him off at the club.
The space is small. A table along the back wall with a large vase of flowers forces close proximity.
He smells expensive, like cigars and spice, and it intrigues me to know what he will taste like. I’m drunk.
“I don’t abandon my girls for a man friend,” I tease, stroking my eyes up his frame blatantly.
A sexy smirk kicks up the corners of his mouth. “Lucky me, they seem to have gotten home safely.” The doors open with a soft ding, leading straight into the penthouse apartment.
White marble floors spread out into an open space with a living room, dining area, and kitchen.
Every wall is dark gray and blank, apart from the one with an L-shaped couch in front of it.
Slipping my hand from his, I saunter through the apartment, stopping in front of the huge ass painting of a naked woman reaching from floor to ceiling.
“Classy.” I muse. “Is that an ex-girlfriend?”
His long strides eat up the space to a counter with canters of whiskey.
Pouring the liquid into two glasses, he holds one out to me, summoning me to him.
“There’s something profound about the female form.
I like to celebrate it when and where I can.
” Nodding at the painting, he says, “A very famous artist created that. It took her over twelve months. The model lived here for the duration of the time.”
“Impressive.” I know nothing about art, and although it’s pretty, it’s nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times over. Though, maybe not to this scale.
“Would you ever let someone paint you?” he asks, eyes watching me over the lip of his glass.
“Are you propositioning me, Mr. Carnell?”
Chuckling, his teeth scrape over his bottom lip, and my eyes home in on the action. “Depends on your answer.”
“Would you hang it on the wall if I did?” I raise a brow.