“Oh yeah—who the hell is Princess, huh?” The words fly out of my mouth before I have a chance to think it over and stop them. But it’s too late. Now that I’ve said it, I realize how big of a mistake it was. The entire room goes silent, and Duke’s jaw ticks as his eyes turn very hard, narrowing in the corners.
“My room. Now!” he snaps, taking me by surprise. Despite the sinking feeling in my stomach, I refuse to move. I’m so sick of this shit and playing by his rules—rules he can’t even be bothered to remember exist. I know the rules—I grew up knowing the rules—once you’re claimed you’re not supposed to be partying at the clubhouse unless you came with your man. That way the club avoids any unnecessary drama for the brothers—like Chief—who hook up with Lost Girls on the regular.
“No,” I say. Obviously, this ‘Princess’ chick means something to him if it touches a nerve like this. Why else would the entire room get so quiet? It’s not like it matters. He’ll get bored of her eventually. “Go bother that bitch and leave me the hell alone!”
I turn to leave, but I’m not fast or strong enough to get very far. There’s a scuffle behind me, and some cursing, but I can’t see what’s going on. Duke wraps his muscular arm around my waist and pulls me up against him roughly. Leaning in, he whispers in my ear, “We’re going to get over this privately, or we’re going to do it out here while I make you come. Your choice.”
There’s nothing I can say or do to change his mind or stop this from happening, so instead of fighting it, I just give in. And I feel like the biggest loser for being so angry one minute only to give in like a coward the next. Turning us around, Duke leads us through the crowd of men and the occasional woman and down the hall. On our way out, I see that everybody’s gone back to their previous conversations with the exception of two people: Ryan and Jim. So much alike, courtesy of their genes, the father and son look equally pissed off, and neither moves a muscle. Much too late, I’m starting to get the hint that something I’m unaware of is going on with the club.
It’s a familiar walk down the hall and into Duke’s room. The gray paint on the walls doesn’t look any different now than it did that night, a few months ago, that he led me here for a very different purpose. The lock sounds the same as the door closes behind me. The same stale smell of beer and leather fills my nose, only this time it doesn’t excite me. This time it makes me feel strangely nauseated. The fact that I’m even in this situation is just stupid as fuck—no other way to describe it. I face the outside wall of the room with Duke at my back, refusing to turn around.
I close my eyes for just a moment and picture my dad in his leather cut, his long, dark reddish brown hair hanging over his shoulders. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head just slightly to the side. He says, “Buckle up, Girl.” He was always my rock—the one person who made everything else better and a little less fucked up. He was strong willed and damn mean to those who crossed him. Saying I miss him wouldn’t do it justice.
The memory makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs and start hitting things at random. He’s been gone a long time, and there’s little chance he’ll be back anytime soon with the way he’s going. All I have now are my memories.
“Turn around,” Duke says, his deep voice steady and calm now. I open my eyes and blink away all thoughts of my dad. It’s just wrong to stand here and think about him while I’m in this room. As far as I know, he doesn’t know what I’ve become, and I don’t want him to know, either.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around and narrow my eyes at Duke. I may be complying, but I’m not about to be pleasant while doing it.
“What?” I say, drawing the word out. Letting out a huff, he raises his hand.
Remembering the way he looked when I brought up his precious little Princess, I flinch back at the movement. Steeling my jaw, I squint my eyes in anticipation of an impact that never comes. Strong hands cup my jaw and pull me forward. Holding my head to his chest, Duke strokes my hair and whispers, “You think I’d hit you?”
I say nothing. I have nothing good to say. It doesn’t matter how violent these men can be. They don’t like to be reminded of their cruelty. Instead, I opt for placing a light kiss on his cut, just above his SECRETARY patch. It’s the closest I can come to an apology. He pulls my head back slowly, his eyes searching mine for an answer. Keeping my face as carefully blank as possible, I don’t break eye contact no matter how much his attention makes me squirm.
“Who hit you?” he asks, surprising me. My lips part, and my brows draw together.
“Nobody,” I say. My lie comes far too quickly to be believable, but it doesn’t matter. This isn’t something I’m willing to talk about with anyone, much less Duke.