“I’ll babysit while you two talk your shit out,” Grady says. The words slide from his tongue in a slither as the hand that’s wrapped around the back of my neck constricts, the tips of his fingers coiling around my throat. His dark brown hair is streaked with gray here and there, and he’s got lines around the edges of his eyes. Even though I’m sure he’s old as hell, his grip is still really fucking strong. Unfortunately, Grady is the least of my problems.
I scratched Duke’s bike—his fucking Harley—and with the way he’s looking now, I don’t know that he and I will ever be cool again. And I need us to be cool. His blue eyes are narrowed and one hundred percent focused on me. It’s almost more than I can bear. His shoulders heave dramatically as he struggles to suck in breath after breath. His pink, sun-kissed skin is now red from a lack of oxygen, and his jaw ticks with every sporadic breath he takes.
Standing beside Duke is my sister, Nic. We used to look alike once, but now her small frame and bleached blonde hair make it difficult to tell we’re related. Her lips are turned down in disapproval, but her green eyes show her worry. When I was a kid, I used to hate her eyes. I got my dark blue color from my dad and my shape from my mom. Nic has neither. Her eye color and shape were inherited from a man who never bothered to meet her. They’re just another fucking reminder of what my dad doesn’t acknowledge—that she’s not really his kid. Mom was a whore long before the club came along.
Like mother, like daughter, I guess.
The hand at my neck pulls me back from Duke and Nic. I stumble awkwardly, unable to keep my feet from following Grady ask he strides determinedly toward the clubhouse. My back twists with the effort to turn around so I can walk forward instead of being dragged backward, but Grady isn’t having any of it.
My steps falter as I make it into the room, trying to avoid looking like a fucking chump as much as I can. We’re halfway through the main room of the clubhouse, with Grady dragging me into one piece of furniture after another. My legs smack into wooden tables of all sizes and shapes, and I knock down chairs and am then forced to find a way over them despite the protruding legs that shoot into the air.
Sunlight streams into the room from the high windows that line the edge of the ceiling. They provide just enough natural light for me to avoid getting hit in the nuts by the leg of a haphazardly fallen chair. I’m too young for my junk to get damaged.
The door opens, welcoming the sounds of heavy boots on the concrete below. From the angle at which Grady is pulling me, I see their boots and worn jeans before I see their faces. First Wyatt enters, followed by Diesel. Neither man is smiling. Almost instantly their eyes find me. Diesel bares his teeth in a disturbing smile, but Wyatt’s expression remains flat. From the intensity of their gaze, I have no doubt that they’re coming for me. I’m smart enough to know how the club deals with crap like this but apparently stupid enough to have—accidentally or not—fucked with one of their bikes.
Grady rounds the corner into the game room at the back of the clubhouse. He cuts the corner close to the wall, but I don’t realize how close until it’s too late and a sharp pain radiates from the side of my head and my shoulder blade. I grimace in discomfort. My left foot catches on the wall as I’m dragged into the game room. I lose my balance and fall backward onto the hard concrete floor. Grady finally lets go of my neck on my way down but doesn’t bother to move back. My head knocks into his knees, but it’s my tailbone that throbs. I clamp my eyes shut, trying to block out the world around me. The impact fucking hurt, and it’s not really getting any better.
A familiar laugh sounds from a distance. I can’t quite place who it is, and curiosity gets the best of me, so I open my eyes little by little. I’d rather not come face-to-face with any Forsaken. Pushing away the embarrassment at my reaction to the throbbing pain in my tailbone is a challenge. I want these guys to give me a chance to prospect one day, and that won’t happen if they think I’m a little bitch. I open my eyes a little more and hope to find that Wyatt and Diesel have something better to do than to fuck with me. I expect to be disappointed and find them feet away, with their arms folded over their chests, staring down at me in disapproval.