I’m awake before dawn, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t really need to worry about my waking nightmare, mistaking Sloane for someone else—not when I didn’t really sleep at all. I’ve been thinking about things. How to handle this whole fucked up situation. First things first, I get up as quietly as I can and head outside. It’s fucking hot here during the day, but at night the desert is frigid. Clouds of smoke fog my breath as I take a quick walk. The line of bikes propped up alongside the villa is worrying. I count them, one through eleven. Eleven fucking Widower Makers. I hadn’t banked on this. I’d banked on a lot of things, but Rebel showing up with his boys hadn’t even made a guest appearance on my list of shit that will probably go down. His MC is based out of New Mexico. He must have pretty much set off as soon as he’d gotten off the phone with Julio yesterday and ridden all day and night until he got here. Not a good sign. Thirteen hours with your balls crushed up against a gas tank is gonna make anyone cranky. And from what I’ve heard about Rebel, he gets cranky easy.
But then again, so do I.
Back in the room, Sloane’s still asleep. Her hair looks like a bird’s been nesting in it, and there are weird crease marks on her cheek from the pillow; she’s fucking beautiful. I feel like a spare part standing there staring at her, so I stomp around the room, making enough noise to wake the dead.
“Zeth?”
I pause in gathering up the bedding I slept in and turn to find her half sitting up, blinking at me through huge, sleepy owl eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Yeah, I totally meant to fucking wake you. “We should probably have a conversation about tonight.” Tonight. Julio and Rebel, two big dogs, trapped in a small building with god knows how many people, all of whom are up to no good. And then me and her in the middle of it all. Yeah, I’m a sick motherfucker. Why? Because there’s a good chance Julio’s gonna murder my ass. And an equally good chance that Rebel with recognize Sloane. And yet my dick is still getting hard when I think about taking Sloane to his event.
“Yeah? What’s the plan?”
“The plan is that you get your ass dressed and come for some breakfast. No one’s gonna be up yet. We can talk and eat.” My stomach’s complaining like it thinks my throat’s been cut and I’ve been starving it for days. I need sustenance. And I need to leave this room before I forget all sense of reason and climb up in that bed with Sloane.
She pats her hand to her head and must get a sense of what’s going on with her hair; her eyes grow round, but she just shrugs. I love that about her. She doesn’t give a fuck about how she looks.
“Okay,” she says, climbing out of bed. She’s just been wearing a long T-shirt and panties, and the sight of bare skin makes my dick stir in my jeans. Girl’s got legs for days. “Will there be coffee?”
“Hell yes. I’ll make sure of it.”
******
I was right. The occupants of the villa are still slumbering as I make my way to the dining area just off the kitchen. Julio’s maids are the only ones up and about, setting up food for the houseguests and undoubtedly preparing finger food for tonight’s little show. I grab two cups of coffee, a plate of sliced fruit and some toasted bagels and set up at a small table in the corner of the room, waiting for Sloane. She doesn’t take long to get ready—another thing I like about her. The last chick I waited on took over an hour to fuck around with her hair and makeup. I can tell Sloane’s wearing some makeup but it’s not much, just mascara and some lip-gloss, and her hair is ringing wet. She looks like she’s towel dried it a little, but the jagged wet ends are creating little dark, see-through patches over her tits where the water is seeping through her shirt. She looks fucking hot.
“Ohhh, coffee.” She groans as she takes a sip, closing her eyes. I wonder if she realizes that’s a total porn move. I doubt she’s been watching that much porn, though. Either way, the situation in my pants, recovered from before, suddenly returns triple fold. I’m raging this morning, and I have no idea why.
“So what?” she asks. “How is tonight gonna go down?”
“Well.” I shift in my seat. Pick up the saltshaker. Put it down again. “There are going to be a lot of people here. We’re gonna find Alexis and then we’re gonna get the hell out of here while we can. We’re gonna leave your car here and go in mine.”
She shakes her head. “That’s my dad’s car. He’ll kill me if I don’t take it back.”
Sloane’s worried about her dad’s old’s mobile, and we’re sitting in a compound filled with people who potentially wanna kill us`. Nice. “Can you even get that thing over sixty?”
She looks dubious.
“Exactly. Plus it also has wood panelling.”
“What does that mean?”