Chapter 31
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
WRATH
“Need to talk to you. Now,” he growls.
I can feel Elodie and Alex’s questioning gazes on me, but I don’t even spare them a glance. Sliding off the chair, I stand up tall. I don’t square up to him, mainly because he would knock my ass to the floor in a split fucking second if I tried that shit.
No, Cake is the big dog. The alpha of all alphas when it comes to the club. He is the president of the original chapter. His father started the Iron Flame MC and the business we’re in. When Cake says jump, you don’t ask how high; you just fucking jump.
“Where do you want to talk?” I ask.
He flicks his gaze down at Alex and Elodie, then shifts it back to meet mine. He jerks his chin. “We got somewhere we can do that, where there won’t be a chance at all for anyone to overhear us?”
Fuck.
That means it’s something bigger than I could even expect it to be. Which means that having him here like this—it’s pretty damn big. But also, I know for a fact Dare is down at the clubhouse right now, and since he’s our chapter’s president, wouldn’t Cake want to talk to him?
“You can use my place,” Elodie offers.
I’m so fucking hungry. And just as I start to say that, the waitress appears carrying a tray with four plates, well, four platters of appetizers. I flick my gaze back to meet his, and he is looking at the plate with a frown.
“You hungry?” I ask. “Want to eat first?”
He lets out a huff. “Starving. Rode for four and a half hours. Missed dinner.”
I almost laugh because that’s such an old man thing to say, and even at over sixty years old, I never think of Cake as an old man. But here he is, in the fucking flesh, bitching about missing dinner.
“Sit down, meet a couple people, eat some food.”
I’m not sure how to introduce Elodie to him. If I announce that she’s my woman, that makes her something bigger than I’m ready for, especially saying it to Cake. Granted, she’s mine. I know she is, but stating it, saying she’s my woman to him, it’s a big fucking deal.
Cake takes my chair and sits down in it, like I wasn’t just fucking there. As much as I want to tell him to get his fucking ass off my chair, I know it would not end well if I did, so I walk over to the chair across from Alex and tug it out from beneath the table, then sink down in the seat.
“This is Cake,” I introduce him to Alex and Elodie. “Cake, this is Alex and Elodie.”
Cake reaches for a mozzarella stick and shoves the entire thing in his mouth and chews, then lifts his hand and extends his finger toward Elodie, then flicks it over to Alex. I know questions are coming, so I brace myself and try to figure out how to label whatever the fuck this is.
If I call them my employees, that’s going to start some major fucking shit. And it’ll likely mean I won’t get laid tonight, and I don’t want to do a fucking thing to jeopardize getting laid tonight.
“How are you guys involved with this asshole?” Cake asks.
Alex chuckles, and Elodie’s eyes widen before her gaze finds mine.
Then her lips twitch into a smirk. I am an asshole.
I mean, that’s not a fucking lie at all.
I shrug a shoulder, trying to think of a response, although I don’t know if he wants to hear from me, especially judging by the way he’s staring at Elodie, waiting for her response.
“I own a cleaning business, and we work for the club,” Elodie says.
“Cleaning?” Cake asks.
Alex doesn’t say anything. His eyes are focused on the table, and I watch as he eats quietly. He doesn’t stop eating, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to be part of the conversation. If it were up to him, he’d probably rather be anywhere else right about now.
“Cleaning,” Elodie says, dipping her chin in a single nod. “Wrath hired my company to come in and clean the clubhouse once a week. And then things just happened.”
“Things?” Cake asks.
I’m about to shut this shit down. But I wait it out. I want to hear what she says. Cake is probably going to bust my balls over this shit. He’s seriously loving this shit. I lean back in my chair, the food having lost its appeal.
I wish I had just marched his ass out of here and to Elodie’s apartment to have that whatever-the-fuck conversation he wanted to have.
“Things,” she confirms, her gaze flicking from Cake to me.
I grunt, reaching forward and tapping on the table a couple of times. “You want to have that conversation?” I ask, tearing my gaze from Elodie to Cake.
He’s not looking at me, though. He’s focused straight ahead and on her, waiting for her to say something else, to expand on what things mean. What the fuck is he expecting her to say right now? Does he want to know just how I dick her down?
“I’m enjoying this conversation,” Cake states, not looking anywhere else but at Elodie.
I’m about to drag his old ass out of this bar, because whatever the fuck this is, it’s not cool.
I tap my fingers again on the tabletop. I am so over this shit, and it’s only been a few minutes.
The waitress comes over and interrupts the conversation.
The table goes completely silent as Cake orders a beer.
When the waitress walks away, it’s Cake who speaks again. Though I really wish he fucking wouldn't. “Guess me coming here was fucking pointless then,” he says, leaning back in his seat.
“What?” I ask.
“Let’s go have that conversation.” Cake stands, but he doesn’t walk away.
He waits for me. Whatever this is, he can’t even wait for his fucking beer to get it out. Elodie slides her keys over to me. Wrapping my fingers around the keys, I dip my chin slightly, my eyes finding hers before I speak.
“We’ll be back, babe. I ordered a beer, and I’m going to drink that beer sitting across from a smokin’-hot babe,” Cake states.
I could punch him in the face right now and not give a fuck, but I don’t. Not out of respect, but because I have a sense of self-preservation. I touch Cake, and I do it unjustifiably; he kills me, and that shit would be justified.