Holding his gaze, I pried his fingers from my arm and shoved him away. Not an easy thing to do because he packed some muscle on his body and I wasn’t at my strongest while being sick. But I’d be damned if I didn’t at least try. “Scott asked you to watch me, not talk to me, so I suggest you back off and leave me alone.”
He stumbled backwards as I struggled to catch my breath. Anger sat heavy in my chest as my mind worked fast to figure out his next move. I was quickly learning that Rogue was the kind of man you had to be two steps ahead of at all times.
Darkness glinted in his eyes and his shoulders tensed as he steadied himself. “You fuckin’ bitch,” he spat and began moving closer again, however at that moment, Scarlett joined us and halted his progress.
“I don’t know much about bikers, dude, but I’m guessing it’s not a smart move to call another biker’s woman a fucking bitch.” She stared at Rogue, challenging him to argue with her. I had to give her credit – the woman had balls.
He turned his scowl her way. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up and stay out of business that doesn’t concern you?”
Before I could intercept – because, I really did think it was time to end this conversation with Rogue – she advanced on him. “Aren’t you the big man, asshole? I bet if Harlow’s man were here, you wouldn’t even dream of saying this shit to her. Does it make your dick feel bigger by picking on a woman?”
Rogue’s eyes bulged and the vein in his neck strained against his skin while his fists clenched.
Oh, shit.
I actually feared for Scarlett’s life in that moment.
And then my phone rang, and I was almost certain it saved us both.
“Hi, baby,” I answered the phone after checking caller ID and seeing it was Scott.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, and I could hear the alarm in his voice. “You sound off.”
I swallowed back my fear as my heart pounded in my chest. Meeting Rogue’s enraged glare, I replied, “I’m with Rogue and we’re okay.” I tried to put his mind at ease while also reminding Rogue that Scott knew who I was with today, and that if anything happened to me, Scott would be chasing him down first.
Rogue threw me one last filthy glare before turning and stalking back to his bike.
Thank you, God.
“Why do you sound so strange?” Scott asked. Although he was still questioning me, I could hear less concern in his voice than before.
“I’m with that woman who came to the clubhouse the other day. It’s probably just that.” This didn’t even sound plausible to me; I doubted Scott would buy it, but my mind couldn’t come up with anything else fast enough.
He was silent for a beat and then asked, “Is she giving you grief?”
“No, I’m actually driving her somewhere.”
“Jesus, Harlow, why?”
“It’s a long story and I’ll tell you when you get home if you still want to know, but for now, she needs that cash back she gave you the other day.”
“Griff will give it to you, but can you put her on the phone, I’ve got something to say to her,” he said. Frustration laced his words and my worry for him grew.
He’s got too much to deal with at the moment.
I did as he asked and passed the phone to Scarlett. “Scott wants to talk to you,” I said as I handed it over.
She took it with a raise of her brows.
I tuned their conversation out and turned my attention to Rogue who sat on his bike watching us. My gut told me to be very wary of this man and I decided to ask Blade to check him out.
Scarlett ended the call with Scott and handed me back my phone. “He said he’s going to get that Griff dude to get the money to me today. Thanks for organising that.”
“No worries.” I eyed the bags she held, which I presumed had her t-shirts in them. “Where do you need me to take you now? Just to your house?”
“Yeah, your guy said he’d get Griff to bring the money there, so that would be good.” She eyed Rogue. “I see why you don’t like that asshole. I’d be doing everything in my power to get rid of him if I were you.”
I nodded. “I’m working on it.”
Scott will be home soon and then everything will be all right.
* * *
“What are the t-shirts for?” I asked Scarlett as I watched her unpack them in her kitchen half an hour later.
“I sell them at the Southbank market on the weekends.” She began stacking them in styles on her kitchen counter.
“Oh, okay.” I had a friend who used to try to sell her art at those markets and never had any success, so I wondered if she was able to make much money doing that.
Her head snapped up and she shot me a dirty look. “Don’t stand there and judge me for my job choice.”
Whoa.
“I’m not judging you. The only thought running through my mind at the moment is whether you can pay your bills by doing that because I had a friend who was never able to when she sold her art there.”
“I do well out of it, and the best thing is, I work for myself. I report to no one and I’m off the grid.” I got the distinct impression she’d had this conversation many times. Her tone was almost defensive.