Chapter 5
Five
Melissa
Wind rakes through my hair as Phoebe downshifts, taking a sharp corner as we head toward the clubhouse.
“Zane's going to lose his shit if we're late again,” she yells over the music, tapping her bright red nails against the steering wheel. “When the president calls, we answer.”
“Speak for yourself,” I say, trying to sound lighter than I feel. Last night's encounter still burns beneath my skin, both the pleasure and the rejection afterward.
Phoebe glances over at me. “I still can't believe Three hundred thousand dollars!” She whistles low. “That's some serious faith in little Cyanide the fight-or-flight response never shuts off.
I force my lungs to expand, exhale slowly through my nose. Normal. Look normal. The girl laughs again, but I don't flinch this time. I've had years to perfect this mask.
Hella's gaze lingers a beat too long before he claps Beast on the shoulder. “Later,” he mutters, pushing back from the table.
He leaves without another word, without a backward glance. The dismissal stings worse than it should. What he saw during those unguarded moments. What pieces of me just gave themselves away.
Beast's gaze holds mine as he stands, his hand already reaching for Yana. “We gotta go meet with the Russians. Be back soon.” Their voices fade as they move away, leaving me staring at the table's scarred surface.
I turn to Phoebe, but she’s already locked in on me, all teeth with a wide smile.
“You. Are. Fucked.”
My mouth opens. “What?”
“I know 'owned' when I see it, especially when it's coming from a man wearing a cut.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Last time I checked, you were dating a rock star. You can't talk.”
She flicks her fingers dismissively. “Yeah, whatever. Go get us drinks. No more orange juice! I need alcohol.”
I swallow past the sandpaper feeling in my throat.
As soon as I reach the bar, I lean over the sticky counter. “Hey, could I get one orange juice and something strong for Phoebe?”
His face creases with smile lines. “Yeah, no problem.” He cocks his head to one side. “I'm Travis. New here.”
Clearly.
“Melissa. How old are you?” The question slips out as I take in his boyish features, his frame not yet filled out like the others.
“Old enough,” he says with a wink.
Cute. Probably won’t last, but cute to think he could try. “How about I tell you my age and you tell me yours?”
“What?” His smile stretches further as ice cubes clink into a glass. “Like, you show me yours and I'll show you mine?”
I throw my head back, laughter bubbling up from my chest. “Something like that, only less pedophile-ish.”
“Hi!” Lisha claims the stool beside me, her white-blonde hair cascading down her back.
I pivot toward her. “Can I help you?” She and I aren’t exactly friends.
She tosses that impossibly long hair with a laugh. “Nope, not unless you have a cock.”
“Wow.” I glance back at Travis, whose eyes dart nervously between us before he disappears into the back room.
I turn back to Lisha with a tight smile. “You really take the whole...” My fingers flick toward the room full of leather and testosterone, “club whore thing seriously.”
She lifts my orange juice and pushes it into my hand. “Oh, you have no idea.” Then she sashays back to her table where the rest huddle together, their whispers punctuated by pointed glances in my direction that make me wonder whose man I fucked.
I pale. No. No. Hell no…
I shrug. “Probably.”