People are walking away from Diesel and Duke. Both men are heaving in anger just feet away from one another. Everybody seems to be disinterested in what’s happening now that Grady’s broken up the fun. Everybody but the skinny blonde with a bad attitude who vaguely resembles my sister who’s staring at Duke like he’s dying or some shit. Crap. I knew Nic had a thing for him, but she’s looking at him in a way I’ve never seen her look at anyone.
Content that her focus is elsewhere, I lower myself back against the bike and indulge in this feeling. Just leaning up against it, I feel powerful. It’s not very large, but this close I can see the small Forsaken symbol shining back at me from the top of the gas tank. The Nordic warrior isn’t a logo. It’s more than that. The warrior is powerful and fierce. He’s indestructible, and nobody fucks with him. At least that’s how I’ve always seen him. Placing my hand over the warrior, I let out a heavy sigh. If my dad was here, he’d tell me the warrior’s history. He’d make sure I understand what it means to be Forsaken and to be allowed to have this symbol on your bike. It means brotherhood. It means family. It means never having to be alone.
When I lift my head and meet eyes with Duke, I square my shoulders and try my best to not look like a fucking baby. We’ve always been cool, and I’m just admiring the detail work. He’ll understand that.
“Are you on my fucking bike?” he yells. His voice is deep and scratchy and so much fucking scarier than it’s ever been before. I keep my jaw set and try to keep my breathing steady as he unhooks his arm from around my sister’s waist and walks toward me.
Forsaken doesn’t like weakness, they don’t like mistakes, and they fucking hate apologies. So I don’t apologize, and I don’t move. I go for the truth, pat the gas tank, and say, “I like the paint job.”
“Off,” he says, gesturing for me to get off. “Before I break your fucking kneecaps.”
“Chill.” I don’t finish that comment with what I really want to say, which is a string of nonsensical curses mixed in with some good old-fashioned begging. Because, I remind myself, Duke won’t respect begging. As I push off the bike, the chain of my wallet clanks against the perfect black paint job. It startles me, and I move quickly—too quickly—causing a horrible fucking scratch on the gas tank. It all happens so fast, even though he’s moving really slowly, but the next thing I know he’s shoving me away from the bike and holding my shirt by its collar.
“You scratched,” he says, careful to enunciate every syllable, “my bike.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The time for respect is over, and now I’m well into pansy-ass begging mode.
“Sorry?” I say and hope I don’t sound like a total pussy, so I follow it up with a small smirk.
“You’re going to pay for this, shithead,” Duke says, roughly letting me go. I stumble backward, and when I look up, I find myself guarded by Nic. She’s standing in between me and Duke. His chest heaves a little lighter, but he doesn’t look at her. He grits out, “Move,” as he stares me down.
Gently, she moves toward him and places a hand on his chest as she says softly, “Please. We need to check your head.”
He shakes his head like he’s trying to fight against, her but he can’t. Those two are so fucking stupid for each other it makes me sick. She moves to his side and places her hand on his back. It’s a long moment that he stands there glaring at me. He’s practically breathing fire, and when I look at my sister, she’s not looking any more pleased with me. As fucked as it sounds, I feel like I have Mom and Dad staring me down and about to ground me. Which is weird because although Nic totally goes “mom” on me, it’s not like she and Duke are anything official.
He screams, “Fuck!” Then, in the meanest fucking voice I’ve ever heard, he says, “He’s lucky he’s your brother, or he’d be in the emergency room right now.” His eyes are on me, but the message is meant for Nic. She’s the only reason he’s not beating the shit out of me. And well, if that’s the case, I hope she does something nice for him later, like sucking his dick or letting him fuck her. Because under no circumstances do I ever, and I mean ever, want to piss him off that bad again. In one stupid, selfish moment, I lost all those months of trust and respect I’d built up with him. There’s no fucking way he’s ever going to trust me enough to approach the club about letting me prospect now.
Fuck.
From out of nowhere, Grady walks up and roughly grabs me by the back of my neck. I don’t breathe or move. I just stand here and pray he’s not as angry as his grip makes him seem.