CHAPTER THIRTY HOT NEW DRAMA HAS ENTERED THE VILLA LUNA
CHAPTER THIRTY
HOT NEW DRAMA HAS ENTERED THE VILLA
LUNA
For the second time in exactly as many weeks, I would be leaving dinner and moving into a new place.
Only that time, I would be moving in with Rhys, not a couple doors down from him.
Unless, of course, he was driving me out to the middle of nowhere to strand me. That would suck.
I told him as much while I looked out at the vast nothingness around us. “If this is some elaborate plot to ditch me so you can get my plate of food, just know I’m armed, and I have no issue turning the tables. Actually, the more that I think about it, the better that sounds.”
He tried to appear insulted, but the deep dimples beneath his short beard gave away his smothered amusement. “You’d abandon me in the woods for a drumstick?”
“I’d do it for a single corn chip.”
“That’s cold, hellcat. Fuckin’ cold.”
I shrugged. “I grew up with four older brothers who were bottomless pits. I learned quickly to be territorial of my food, or I would never eat.”
And there I go again.
Running my stupid mouth.
I blamed residual exhaustion and my inner clock being messed up since I hadn’t collapsed into bed until nearly five in the morning and then I’d slept until two in the afternoon.
My brain was only operating at half capacity, but I still should’ve known better.
Sharing personal details of my life was stupid and risky.
It blended lines that should be solid and stringent.
It could make it hard to keep stories straight.
And, most importantly, it could put my family in danger if I was ever a target.
I trusted Rhys—probably more than I should’ve, but I was going on gut instinct and experience with that. That wouldn’t always be the case with future undercover assignments. Actually, that would rarely be the case. I needed to be careful about forming habits that could be hard to break.
Flirting and payback for his heavy-handedness was on the table.
Anything regarding the people I loved was not.
“Four brothers must’ve been interesting.”
“Interesting. Loud. Stinky.” I looked at him. “What about you?”
“Only child.”
“That must’ve been blissfully quiet.”
“Something like that.” He glanced at me. “My folks didn’t get along, but they couldn’t afford to split. Meant there was a lot of yelling.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It got me out of the house and into the garage to restore an old rust bucket motorcycle I’d gotten cheap.”
“Did it turn out nice?”
“Not even a little. I got it running long enough to take one ride, but that was enough. I was hooked.”
“Are your parents still around?”
“Nah, they both passed a long time ago. No other family.” His tone was nonchalant. His expression was not. Despite the sunlight shining brightly into the car, shadows darkened his handsome face.
I wanted to ask what was going on inside his head.
I wanted to know what memory had made his brows pinch together, his jaw clench, and his hold on the steering wheel tighten until his knuckles turned white.
But unless it was something with the case—and I doubted it was—it was none of my business, so I kept silent.
His reaction was gone just as fast. “What about yours?”
Shit. I’d tried to switch topics off me, forgetting that Rhys was… well, Rhys. Of course there would be reciprocal questions.
I suddenly miss the chatty perv from yesterday who just wanted to talk about himself.
And grope me.
Okay, I don’t miss him. Just the narcissism.
Since he’d shared, I couldn’t exactly dodge his question. “My mom passed. My dad is still alive and hoarding lemon cookies.”
“Piper does a lemon bar cookie that’s unreal. Bet she’d make you some.”
“If I bring him something from her, it’ll be game over. He’ll never accept the store-bought stuff again.” It was all vague, but I was toeing that line again. I pivoted the conversation to move on. “Hollywood hyped up this dinner, but taste is subjective. Should I temper my expectations?”
“I’m not saying.”
My food hopes are dashed.
At least, they were until I saw his smirk.
I eyed him. “Why?”
“’Cause if I tell you the truth, you’ll kick my ass out of the car while it’s still moving to get my portion, too.”
“I’m failing to see the problem.”
He gave me a lazy smile and then jerked his chin toward the windshield. “Too late.”
Whoa.
I’d been to calls at a few biker clubhouses before, mostly because of an injury or drunken escapade.
Contrary to what movies and TV showed, they weren’t all elaborate million-dollar compounds or rundown shacks filled with nonstop sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.
I’d seen bars that doubled as clubhouses.
A cabin in the woods. Even a small chain of motorcycle dealerships owned and operated by a club that met at the main location.
I’d never seen a secluded old church as a clubhouse, though.
“I’m pretty sure half of all horror movies start like this,” I said. “I was joking about leaving you in the woods, but if a creepy nun ghost pops out of a pew, I will trip you and keep running.”
“Noted,” he said. “Fucked up, but noted.”
I shrugged. “My oath to serve and protect doesn’t include a clause about ghosts.”
When I made no move to unbuckle, he reached over and did it for me.
Hot.
Why is that hot?
When I continued not making moves of any kind, he prompted, “Ready?”
No.
“Yup,” I lied.
I wasn’t actually nervous about religious specters coming to drag me to Hell. I wasn’t even anxious about meeting more of his friends.
Okay, not super anxious. I’d already met some of the brothers. We’d been together twelve hours before, looking at the glowing penises at Rye. It wouldn’t be just that small circle there, though.
And the unknown always set me on edge.
Like he knew, Rhys squeezed my thigh—something I no longer misinterpreted and loathed. “It’ll be fun.”
“That’s probably what they say at the beginning of the horror movie.”
Rhys was correct.
After an overwhelming blur of introductions, it was fun.
My view might’ve been clouded by the fact it was, indeed, the best meal I’d ever had. Ever. And since Piper and Jake were in attendance—with some of the other Hyde men and their women—the delicious dinner included a wild spread of desserts. But it was more than that.
There’d been a lot of storytelling. Motorcycle talk. Drunken tales that, oddly, involved Mrs. Butterworth. Family talk—mostly from the men. Sex jokes—mostly from the women. It was people from all walks of life, with a variety of ages, looks, and personalities.
And it was easy. Just good friends hanging out without it needing to be a special occasion.
That said, they celebrated like it was a birthday, anniversary, and reunion party all rolled into one.
And probably a bachelorette party, too, since I’d seen Texas’s bare ass.
The best part of the already fun night had been Rhys.
I saw him overworked at Rye. Stressed about all the things that could—and often did—go wrong. Annoyed at me. Pissed at the penises.
But for the first time, I’d seen him relaxed.
Relaxed and happy.
We had to keep up our roles since not everyone knew who I actually was, but I’d planned to ease back on my torment. I wasn’t ready to give up completely. He deserved me pushing his buttons as payback. But I would’ve given him the night to just be.
I should’ve known I was courting my own bout of karma with my antics.
Because the worst part of the night?
Also Rhys.
He hadn’t eased back.
Nope.
The tables had turned.
All night, he’d touched me. Kissed me. Pulled me into his arms or onto his lap.
He would wrap his large hand around my thigh each time he leaned over to whisper some back story or information I needed to follow a story, and then he would leave it there for a while.
His fingers tracing random designs that shot tremors down my spine to jolt directly to my clit until I was shifting in my chair to ease the pressure.
If his focus was on someone else, he would absentmindedly play with my hair.
I didn’t know that could be an erotic thing.
It very much so was.
If that all wasn’t enough, I’d quickly realized that even with all he’d said and done at Rye, he’d been holding back for some semblance of professionalism.
That was not the case at the clubhouse.
He didn’t have to be professional.
I, on the other hand, did. I had to keep our cover.
Even when he gave an order, and his intense eyes lit with a challenge while his mouth curved into an arrogant smirk that dared me to admit defeat.
I would rather quit my job, change my name, and move somewhere with one hundred percent humidity.
That competitive nature was exactly why I followed the orders.
Okay, maybe not exactly why, but I wasn’t thinking about that in public.
It helped that nothing he demanded was anything crazy. I would’ve drawn the line at indecent or illegal. But it was small things that caused a big reaction in my body.
He didn’t ask if I was hungry. He fixed my plate and told me to eat.
He didn’t ask if I was thirsty. He kept my water cup full and told me to drink.
He didn’t ask if I wanted to sit, sit near him, or sit on his lap. He moved me where he wanted me, when he wanted me there.
We’d been there for five hours, and that moment was the first time he wasn’t touching me or at least within touching distance.
Other than bathroom trips, of course.
I actually wasn’t sure where he’d gone.
Last I’d seen, he was behind the bar because you could take the man out of the bar, but you couldn’t take the bar out of the man.
I scanned around from my spot on a chair in the living room area, but he was still MIA.
What the…?
Standing, I was about to go in search when something was thrust into my arms.
A baby.
It was a living, breathing baby.
“What? Why?” I cried before softening my voice so I didn’t anger it.
Her.
Whatever.
My frantic gaze rose to Hollywood. “What’s happening?”
“Hold her for a second. I have to drain the neon lizard, and it’s too cold to bring her with.”
And then he was sprinting away from me and his daughter.
I was pretty sure I was holding Maeve correctly, but I looked for reassurance I wasn’t sure Jury was qualified to offer.
Misreading my lost expression, he flopped down on the couch as he explained, “He’s got to take a piss, and I’m guessing the bathroom is occupied so he’s going outside.”
“I gathered that much. But am I doing this right?” In case he didn’t know what I was referring to, I shifted my arms a little for emphasis.
He tilted his head to inspect it before giving his analysis like one of the announcers from the baseball game he was watching on mute. “Neck support. Good angle. Great form.” He winked. “You’re a natural.”
The pangs that I’d been able to suppress with Rhys’s helpful distractions surged up at his words. It kept growing the more I looked down at sleeping Maeve and her little pouty lips.
I was tempted to hand her off to Jury, but it wouldn’t help.
And it was unnecessary.
Because as soon as Mac came from the kitchen with a plastic container in her hands, her focus zeroed in on her baby. Her baby, who was not being held by her husband.
I was a stranger.
She knew I was a detective, but that didn’t automatically instill trust. It also didn’t automatically mean someone deserved said trust.
I got that, but I still didn’t expect the way she rushed across the crowded room like I was the kind of monster who would kidnap someone.
The quick movement caught Ophelia’s attention, and she perked up from her place on her husband’s lap to see what was happening. When she saw me, she stood a lot faster than I thought she was capable of.
Uh-oh.
What’d I do?
By the time Mac got to me, her expression was nowhere near as alarmed as it’d been initially, but it wasn’t as soft as it was when she was at ease. It was a forced neutral.
A convincing one, too.
I wouldn’t play Go Fish against her, much less poker.
If I ever need two recruits to join me for a Charlie’s Angels trio, O and Mac would be top of the list.
Except Mac would likely stab me in the back since I’m beginning to suspect she hates me.
Her voice held the faintest terse thread, but I might’ve missed it if I wasn’t listening for it. “Sorry about that, Lo.” She put the container under her arm before plucking Maeve from my hold. “Hollywood shouldn’t have included you in baby hot potato. You’re a guest.”
“It’s no problem,” I said, even if it had created an emotional one. I broke the rule I’d just internally reestablished on the car ride there and shared to reassure her. “I have two nieces and a nephew. I miss when they were little like this, and not too cool to call me Auntie.”
She smiled, and like at the bakery, it was friendly enough.
But also… not.
Ophelia tugged her phone from her pocket, and her thumbs moved quickly around the screen as she asked, “Did you get your waffles?”
“Like I would forget,” Mac scoffed, and the difference in her tone was glaringly obvious.
Yup.
Hates me.
Ophelia pocketed her phone, and I expected to see Judge check his.
A beep came from right next to me.
I looked over to see Hollywood move all up into Mac’s space—a common habit of the men, it seemed. Payback must’ve been the theme of the day because he swiped Maeve from her just like she’d done with me.
Without the alarm, of course.
It was just shining love on his face. “Ready, neighbor?”
I wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but I didn’t expect it to be his wife who answered. “I told you, we can stay longer.”
Her focus was on him, so she missed the wide eyes Ophelia was giving Hollywood.
“Thank you for convincing Swedes to make chicken outside of his regularly scheduled rotation,” O said, regaining Mac’s attention.
And giving Hollywood the opportunity to snuggle Maeve in one tattooed arm while he checked his phone with the other. At whatever he saw there, his expression softened.
What messy drama did I stumble into?
I feel like a fly on the wall at the Love Island house.
They should really do a scary biker edition.
I watched for a heated or flirty look to be shared between the man and woman who were not man and wife.
Instead, Hollywood’s gaze was on me as he offered a small smile and a quick shoulder squeeze.
What was that?
How did I get dragged into this?
And where the hell is my fake boyfriend?