Chapter 6
Chapter six
Lila
The world was spinning, my head was throbbing, and my vodka bottle was almost empty. I held it up with a frown, examining the last swallow of liquid swirling at the bottom.
“I think I need another one,” I said, slurring.
Pretty Boy snorted.
“What you need is solid food. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”
I grumbled under my breath.
“You’re not my nanny.”
“Thank God,” he muttered into his glass. He had barely touched his bottle of whiskey, which meant he wasn’t even close to being drunk yet.
Pretty Boy and I ended up at the clubhouse. All I had at my apartment was a few beers in the refrigerator and some peppermint schnapps, which wasn’t going to cut it. The clubhouse was always fully stocked with alcohol though.
But a handful of bikers were in the clubhouse too, seated at the tables or playing pool.
Brass and Trooper were arm wrestling, and their trash talking was getting louder by the minute.
They wanted to know how Dad was doing, and I updated them on his health, reassuring them that he was home and resting.
I was tired of talking about it though. I was tired of staring the ugly truth in the face over and over that I was still standing on the brink of potentially losing my dad if he didn't fully recover from this.
So, I grabbed my bottle of vodka and I went in search of some peace and quiet. Wandering down the hallway, I chose one of the spare bedrooms in the back and slipped inside. A moment later, Pretty Boy tiptoed in after me.
We kept the lights off, and we sat on the floor, leaning back against the foot of the bed. Side by side.
“I thought I would feel better when I got Dad home,” I whispered. “But I don’t. I feel…”
I swallowed hard, suddenly fighting a swell of nausea in my throat.
Helpless. I felt helpless. And it made my skin crawl. I gripped the neck of the vodka bottle tighter, blinking rapidly as tears burned behind my eyes.
“Hey,” Pretty Boy said softly. “Hillbilly is going to be okay. The doctor said he’s doing well, right?”
“Yeah, it’s just…” I trailed off with a vague gesture. “He looked old, Pretty Boy. For the first time in my life, my father looked like an old, frail man. I’m not used to that. Of course he won’t live forever. I know. But I just…never really thought…what am I going to do without him?”
The alcohol was making me ramble. I pressed my palm to my throbbing temple and sighed, tipping my head back against the mattress.
“Fuck, I drank too much.”
Pretty Boy pried the bottle away from me, not that it would do any good at this stage when it was practically drained dry. Then he took my hand, threading our fingers together.
If I had been sober, I would have chewed his ear off for holding my hand like we were in middle school.
But sitting here in the dark, with a pickled brain and feeling uncharacteristically weepy, I didn’t breathe a word of protest.
Dad taught me to be strong, unshakeable. A moment of weakness could be exploited and used against me. I had to remain vigilant, baring my teeth at the world so no one could get to the soft, exposed parts that would make me bleed.
It was nice to let my guard down for a change. To let someone hold me. As long as Pretty Boy and I were in the dark, I could pretend it wasn’t actually happening. In the daylight, it would be easier to deny that it ever occurred and I could go back to hating him.
That’s why I turned my head and pressed my lips to his.
Pretty Boy didn’t miss a beat. Without breaking the kiss, he shoved his glass of whiskey aside and buried his fingers in my hair.
His teeth grazed my lower lip with a delicious sting.
When I gasped, he swept his tongue into my mouth, making the kiss so deep and all-consuming that I forgot how to breathe.
I climbed into his lap, straddling him. A low, deep rumble echoed in Pretty Boy’s chest—part groan, part growl. He grabbed my hips, coaxing me to grind against him.
The buzz of alcohol mixed with the electric pulse of arousal lit up every nerve in my body. My pussy ached with emptiness, desperate to be filled. The seam of my jeans rubbed along my clit with just enough friction to get me wet and frustrated, but not nearly enough to make me come.
Pretty Boy pushed my tank top up, exposing my breasts. He hummed with appreciation, tracing the black lace cups of my bra. I closed my eyes, arching into his touch. I felt his smug little smile as he kissed the swell of my cleavage, punctuated by teasing flicks of his tongue.
I threaded my fingers into his hair with a firm tug. Ducking my head, I brought my mouth to his ear.
“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.”
He exhaled a soft laugh, peeling my bra down. He sucked one of my nipples into his mouth, bucking up against me. I swore softly and my eyes rolled my back in my head. He was so fucking hard beneath me and it felt so good.
A burst of laughter from the main room of the clubhouse didn’t even make us pause. Our heavy breathing filled the air between us, grasping and grinding desperately.
This is exactly what I needed—losing myself in the heat of the moment so I didn’t have to think about anything for a few blissful minutes. All I had to do was feel Pretty Boy’s hands and mouth on my body.
Then he had to break the damn spell.
“Wait—Lila, wait,” Pretty Boy murmured.
He placed his hands on my waist and tilted his head up to look at me.
“What?” I huffed, irritated. “Why are you stopping?”
“Because you’re drunk.”
I snorted and nipped at his neck, pinching his skin between my teeth until he hissed a breath of pain. Good. It was supposed to hurt.
“We’re not doing anything until you’re sober,” Pretty Boy objected.
I frowned, bristling at his rejection.
“Well, we’re not fooling around unless I’m drunk enough to forget what we’re doing in the first place.”
He shook his head. Even in the dark room, barely illuminated by the strip of light from under the door, I could see the disapproving tilt of Pretty Boy’s head and the stern look in his eyes.
“Not the right answer, Lila.”
I pushed away from him with a noise of disgust, swaying to my feet with a wobble.
“Just admit that you can’t get it up. I should have guessed you’d be all talk and no action.”
“Lila,” Pretty Boy gritted out with a sigh of frustration. “You know that’s not true. You were dry humping me a second ago.”
I adjusted my bra with a huff and yanked my tank top down.
“Oh, was I supposed to be impressed by that little toothpick in your pants? Huh, I barely felt a thing. Since you aren’t willing to finish what you started, I guess I’ll find someone who will.”
Pretty Boy grumbled. Before he could stand up, I pulled the door open and marched out.
“Lila—for fuck’s sake, wait a minute—”
I kept moving without looking back. Pretty Boy swore under his breath, adjusting his cock in his pants in an attempt to hide his hard-on. Which was a fruitless endeavor.
“Bruiser,” I called, beckoning to get his attention when I entered the main room. I steadied myself by gripping the back of a chair. “Drive me home, would you? I’m a little tipsy.”
Bruiser glanced in my direction, his gaze sweeping over me with a quick assessing look. There was a good reason the Reckless Order had voted him to be their Enforcer. He was built like a tank, with a barrel chest, thick arms, and heavy with muscle.
But he was always a gentle giant with me. Grumpy, but gentle.
And the best part: he wasn’t Pretty Boy.
Bruiser rose from his chair, thumping Trooper on the shoulder.
“We’ll finish up another time, yeah?”
“I look forward to kicking your ass, brother.”
Bruiser scoffed and gave Trooper a friendly shove. Then he crossed the clubhouse to my side, hooking an arm around my waist.
“You’re more than a little tipsy, princess,” he said. “From what I can see, it’s a miracle you haven’t blacked out yet.”
I lifted my chin with defiance.
“I can drink you boys under the table any day, easy peasy.”
I wanted to sound confident and strong. Instead, my words slurred together, barely coherent. Proving his point.
Behind me, Pretty Boy emerged from the hallway. I waved him off.
“Changing of the guard,” I declared. “Bruiser will keep an eye on me, so you have been relieved of your duties.”
A muscle clenched in Pretty Boy’s jaw. But he didn’t say anything as Bruiser escorted me out to his bike, lifting me onto the back seat as if I weighed nothing at all.
Ever since puberty, I’d been a pear-shaped, plus-sized gal, with thick thighs, rounded hips, and tits that were too small to balance it out. But a big guy like Bruiser didn’t have any trouble tossing me around like a rag doll.
“You two better not be bitching at each other again,” he said. “Because I’m not getting into the middle of that bullshit.”
I shook my head so vehemently that I nearly lost my balance. I grabbed Bruiser’s forearm to prevent myself from toppling over. He grunted as he buckled a helmet on my head.
“Not fighting,” I said.
Not fucking either, I mentally added.
Deep down, I wasn’t pissed at Pretty Boy for putting the brakes on our makeout session. That’s why my father took him under his wing in the first place. There was something good in Pretty Boy, under the layers of fuckboy attitude, and that sarcastic mouth.
We got carried away in the heat of the moment. And I was clear-headed enough to fully realize what we were getting into.
But Pretty Boy knew me better than I knew myself.
I didn’t need a drunken fling on top of everything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Pretty Boy wanted protection for me. And that’s exactly what he was doing—protecting my physical safety as well as my heart.
Despite my threat to find someone else to sleep with, I didn’t follow through.
Instead, I just directed Bruiser back to my apartment.
Stumbling inside, I headed for my bedroom, thinking of nothing but crawling under the covers with my vibrator to get rid of this damn ache of need that was torturing me.
I flicked on the light and froze.
“Hello, Lila.”
Seated in a chair by the window was Edgar Sweeney. He wore one of his expensive tailored three-piece suits in jet black, but those fancy threads did nothing to hide the fact that he was still a bloodthirsty shark.
I fumbled with my purse—too late, too slow, too goddamn drunk—and grabbed my pistol, aiming it at him.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” I demanded.
He fixed his cool gray eyes on me without flinching, measuring out a spoonful of sugar into a steaming cup of coffee like this was a social visit.
“I thought I’d pop in for an update on my money,” he replied.
“Get out,” I said. “It hasn’t been forty-eight hours. I still have time.”
Sweeney clucked his tongue.
“That doesn’t sound very promising, pet. I heard your Da is out of the hospital. I could talk to him—”
“No,” I cut in. “I’ll handle it.”
A deadly silence settled over the room. Sweeney’s eyes turned hard and cold. He sighed and set his coffee aside, rising to his feet. He stepped closer, gazing down at me imperiously.
“You better not be thinking about screwin’ me over, Lila. That pretty face won’t stop me from putting a knife between your ribs. Or a bullet in her dear old Da’s chest.”
I shifted my aim a few inches south, trained on his crotch.
“And I won’t hesitate to shoot.”
He chuckled.
“You’ve got one hell of a spine, love. You should leave these biker heathens behind and join the mob.”
“Over my dead body,” I replied.
He arched an eyebrow.
“That can be arranged.”
Then he was gone. I waited until I heard the door close behind me before I finally sank onto the foot of my bed with a shaky breath of relief.