Chapter 16
Sixteen
Melissa
My body buzzes with each shot of vodka as Bullet tugs me under his arm.
I tilt my face up to his, taking in the dense forest of hair blanketing his chin and jaw.
The beard had initially thrown me off, making his age a mystery, but his eyes tell the truth.
Clear and bright, lacking the weathered creases of a man beyond his mid-thirties.
I'm also too drunk to think and too horny to care.
All this push-and-pull between Hella and me has left me pissed off and unsatisfied.
I need to get back to my bakery and go on a major alcohol cleanse.
But for now, my survival instinct has kicked in, and it's reaching for more alcohol.
Yana's fingers dig into my arm. Where the hell did she and Jada come from? “Hey, we need to head off. I'm taking a couple of girls back.”
I look to Bullet before glancing back at Yana, my alcohol-fogged mind struggling to decide between the promise of pleasure and the safety of leaving with my friends.
“You Beast's old lady?” he asks, tilting his head while his fingers comb through the thick hair covering his jaw.
Yana clears her throat. “Yes.” She smiles at him before looking back at me. “You coming?”
Bullet's lips part, revealing a flash of dazzling white teeth that contrast against his dark beard.
My mind wanders to what lies beneath that dense facial forest. Not that it matters.
Unlike most men who try, the beard actually enhances his features rather than hiding them.
Besides Hannibal, he's the only one I've seen it work for.
Jada rolls her eyes dramatically, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Come on, Bullet.
You coming or what? Don't beat around the bush here.
I've got a babysitter on the clock and a kid to get home to.” She glances at her phone, the screen's glow illuminating her face.
I arch one eyebrow, letting my gaze linger on his face.
“Melissa…” Yana warns.
I ignore her. “He's coming.” Fuck this shit. I did not just go through almost three weeks of Hella's bullshit to not get laid. I have some serious sexual tension to let out, and it's all thanks to him.
We step outside, and the frigid air hits my skin, briefly clearing my head, and if that wasn't enough, Hella's murderous stare from across the lot, while he's got some other chick's body pressed against his, certainly finishes the job.
His jaw twitches, muscles coiling tight beneath skin.
He shoves away from the car and the girl plastered against it, boots eating up the distance between us with strides aimed directly at me. “Hella...”
He grips Bullet's collar, shoving him back.
“Bro, what are you doing?” Bullet protests, pushing his hands off him.
“The only Woodsman that has and is entering that, is me!” His tongue drags across his bottom lip as he crowds into Bullet's space, chest to chest.
Holy fucking pissing contest.
“Whoa, hang the fuck on here a minute.” I step between them, my voice slicing through Hella's territorial display.
“You've dipped your dick around the whole fucking time I've been here, Hella. Fuck you. Come on, Bullet.” My fingers wrap around Bullet's arm, but his muscles stay rigid beneath my grip.
Bullet stands still, feet lodged into the ground as if they've taken root in the dirt.
His shoulders tense as he glances over at Beast, who's observing the entire scene with that calculated expression he always wears when drama unfolds in his club.
After a moment, Bullet slowly shakes his head, exhaling a deep breath that sends a small cloud of vapor into the chilly air.
“Nah, babe, maybe some other time.” His back disappears into the barn's shadows. My jaw hangs slack, words dying on my tongue. Heat crawls up my neck as dozens of eyes drill into me from every direction.
“Hella!” My palms slam against his chest, my throat working to push down the burning ache threatening to spill over.
“Well, at least they're actually talking now,” Jada mutters from behind me.
“You are such a fucking piece of shit! I came all the way here because you wanted me safe, and then when I get here, you sleep with every bitch walking!” I turn toward the two girls standing against the red Camaro. “No offense.”
Offense intended. I may be a bitch, but I'm a polite bitch.
For the most part.
Okay, I try.
I continue. “I even saw you getting your motherfucking dick sucked, Hella. So screw you!” His eyes narrow to slits, the corner of his mouth twisting.
Saliva pools on my tongue. Running on pure adrenaline and weeks of sexual frustration, I close the gap between us, my finger drilling into his chest. “And I will fuck who I want.”
His hand shoots up to catch my finger, tugging my body against his. I grit my teeth as his thick shaft presses insistently against my stomach.
His jaw locks, the growl rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest. “No, you fucking won't.”
Yanking my hand out of his iron grip with more force than necessary, I whirl around and begin stalking toward my car, my boots crunching against the gravel with each determined step.
The humid night air clings to my skin as I throw my words over my shoulder.
“We'll see about that, Hella. You may think you control who I sleep with around here, strutting around like some king with your little harem of club girls. Still, out there,” I gesture wildly toward the dark stretch of asphalt beyond the compound gates, where the streetlights create pools of yellow light in the distance, “out there in the real world, you have absolutely nothing on me.”
I put distance between us, his stare branding into my back. Metallic fury coats my tongue, mixing with bitter realization—while hurling insults at him, my body still responds to his proximity with an ache I seriously need to ignore.
“Keep thinking that, baby,” he laughs behind me.
I flip him off, start toward my car, then pivot back to the bar. Too sober for this shit.