Chapter 22
I tossed and turned all night, the bed I slept in as uncomfortable and unforgiving as the truth.
I locked myself in the spare room alone, but I felt far from it—the voices on repeat in my head as annoying as if the one’s speaking were there with me. Hazel. Carmine. Even Twister taunted me, forcing me to accept the reality of my circumstances.
I walked into the clubhouse high on the promise of seeing my man. After the last couple weeks, I wasn’t prepared to see Cherry wrapped around him, the two of them nose to nose.
And the way she stared right at me as she reached for his dick…
It was humiliating to admit the way my heart sank like a stone toward my stomach.
Men like Pistol, like all the Wild Stallions, they weren’t complicated. They lived wild and free. They worked as hard as they played. They took what they wanted and didn’t bother with the rest. They were loyal to the ones they loved, and to hell with everyone else.
I was warned. Time and time again, they tried to tell me.
I was a wife, not an ol’ lady.
I was a good lay, not someone’s forever.
I was used up, and the only reason Riley had even looked at me twice was to cover his ass.
Stupid. It was so totally stupid—but I convinced myself they were wrong.
I was falling for him, like an idiot, while he played me.
And the worst part was, I only had myself to blame.
I wanted it to be real, but who was I kidding?
He was letting me play house while he bided his time.
Eventually, the drama with the Kings would resolve itself, one way or another.
Rumor on the street was, the cops were no longer putting in all that much effort into finding Fang.
To them, he was a thug with a criminal record who belonged to a biker gang.
No one was worried about Riley getting caught.
What bothered the Stallions were the Kings’ threats.
How long would it be before Riley didn’t just get his fix with the easiest club slut but fell for someone else entirely?
I couldn’t do it again.
I wasn’t going to watch the man I wanted choose someone else.
Fuck karma. I didn’t care if I deserved it. I’d rather admit I was wrong and they were right.
And Carmy was right.
I outdid myself this time.
The consequences of my actions cost more than I originally thought they would.
I wasn’t in a position to just leave. I threatened Pistol with divorce in the beginning, but even now I knew it to be a hollow threat.
I couldn’t shove all my belongings in a duffle, toss it in the backseat of my Mustang, and bail. Not this time.
God, what a mess.
After the sun came up, I laid in bed quietly until I was sure Pistol and Reaper were gone.
I didn’t want him to know I was awake. I didn’t want him trying to talk to me again.
The first time I caught Pistol and Cherry together, he told me to get over it.
I wasn’t sure what I might get told this time, but I knew I didn’t want to hear it.
Fortunately, I was scheduled for the lunch shift at the diner.
With any luck, I could avoid my husband for most of the day.
Cherry—of all people.
Why did it have to be the redhead?
I shoved the thought of both of them out of my mind as I got up and went to the bathroom. I needed to clear my head. I needed to regroup.
I had no intention of pitching a fit. Yelling and screaming hadn’t gotten me more than a couple of weeks of his loyalty and attention. Sure, I could drive to the clubhouse to have words with Cherry, but what was the point?
I bolted out of there the previous night and Pistol didn’t run after me.
As I replayed the whole thing in my mind, I stared at myself in the mirror, vexed as my eyes welled with tears. I remembered how I sat in my car for a full minute waiting for him to burst through the doors.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I sealed my eyes closed tight, willing myself to get it together. With a shake of my head, I forced him out of my thoughts. Again. Then I started the shower.
Try as I might to keep my hands busy and my mind off of Pistol, the morning dragged.
I arrived at the diner thirty minutes before my shift, desperate for an excuse to get lost in work.
I was ready to go above and beyond my duties at the diner.
I’d scrub toilets if it meant distracting me from the memory of his hand wrapped around her wrist, keeping her pinned; their faces so close, I’m sure he could smell what she had for breakfast.
I stopped at the threshold of the diner and dragged in a deep breath.
I was on the verge of getting swallowed up by my bitterness—a feeling spurred on by my jealousy.
It didn’t make sense for me to be jealous of her.
I knew what it was like to be her. In the end, she would lose.
Deep down, I knew the chances of him picking her weren’t any greater than the chances of Twister picking me. But I couldn’t help it.
I would have been lying if I said I didn’t want him to choose me.
Turned out, I was still just as stupid as I’d always been with a tender heart I was too quick to give away.
“Pull, don’t push.”
I jumped at the sound of Rusty’s voice then twisted to see him standing behind me.
His eyes scanned my face before he amended, “That is, unless you need another second before you head inside.”
“Nope. I’m good,” I lied, yanking open the door.
Reaching over my head, he forced it closed again. I stiffened at his close proximity—not because he made me uncomfortable, but because I knew he saw right through me, and there was nothing I could do about it.
“I was there, darlin’. Saw the whole thing from the other poker table,” he began, his voice low enough I could barely hear him over the sound of traffic on the street behind us.
Much as I didn’t want him to finish his thought—incriminating the man I married or vindicating him—I found myself holding my breath in anticipation.
“She’s a trap. Nothin’ more. He wasn’t takin’ the bait, but I can see you did.”
I didn’t want his words to penetrate. I didn’t want his opinion to land like fodder on the dying embers of my hope.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I bit.
Feigning ignorance was only going to get me so far, especially with Rusty, but it was the best I could do.
He leaned in closer, so close I could smell the gentle notes of mint, lemon, and bergamot mingling with his natural musk. I never noticed his scent before. Now, I wanted only to think on his fragrance and not on his reassurances.
“Lie to me all you want, Lyla. Just don’t do it to yourself.”
As if he were a prize-winning straight shooter, his words hit their mark.
Damn my stupid heart.
Neither of us spoke for a few seconds. When I thought I couldn’t stand our shared silence an instant longer, he took a step back and drawled, “You need a reason to clock in early, could use an extra hand preppin’ behind the bar. Let’s go.”
This time, when I moved to open the door, he didn’t stop me.
To my great relief, there was no shortage of work to be done, and the next few hours came and went with the breeze.
It was the Saturday of a holiday weekend, and Viv served the best burgers in town, which meant we were busy from the jump.
It was around two o’clock when the lunch rush started to ease up and I saw him roll into the parking lot.
The sight of him made my stomach tingle, but I tried to ignore it as I turned my back to the windows and hurried for one of my recently vacated tables.
“It’s cool. I got it,” said the busboy as he approached with a half empty tub.
“I can help,” I insisted, stacking plates.
“Lyla—you keep doin’ my job. Viv’s gonna think I can’t keep up. If I get fired, my mom’ll kill me.”
I paused long enough to look into his pleading eyes.
I couldn’t remember his name. He was still in his first week, and he only worked a couple of nights a week and on the weekends.
The expression on his face was my clue he was still terrified of Viv.
It happened with the young ones in their early days, before they realized Viv was only tough because she cared so much.
“Right. You got this. Sorry,” I apologized, forcing a smile as I moved out of his way.
The front door opened, and I shifted my attention in its direction, watching as Pistol entered the diner.
He took two steps before he paused and began to scan the room.
I thought for sure he was looking for me, but he didn’t so much as glance my way before he locked in on his target and started in the opposite direction.
My curiosity getting the better of me, I looked on as he went straight for Vivienne.
With his back to me, I couldn’t even begin to know what he was saying—but my stomach tingled again when Viv glanced over his shoulder and caught my eye.
Her lips didn’t move to speak, but I saw it as a mischievous smile pulled at the corner of her mouth before she refocused her attention on Pistol.
She raised an eyebrow and said something along the lines of ‘You owe me,’ before patting him on the shoulder and leaving him where he stood.
That’s when he turned and looked at me.
This time, my stomach didn’t tingle—it might as well have burst into flames.
Before he took a step toward me, I looked away for him, desperate for something to do. There were only three occupied tables left in my section, all of which were on the tail end of their meals. Rather than interrupt them, I went to the nearest empty, unclean booth and started clearing.
The new guy would have to get over it.
I’d put in a good word for him with Viv.
But no matter how busy my hands were, it didn’t make me invisible.
I heard the sound of his boots before I sensed him at my back. Still, I didn’t stop what I was doing. It wasn’t until I felt the strings of my apron coming undone that I straightened with a gasp.
“What are you doing?” I asked, reaching back to retie my bow.