She looked like she wanted to sink to the floor. “I got bored. I used to sketch sometimes. It was a good way to pass the time at Ricky's place, and during long, boring lectures when I was in college. There isn't much to draw around here...so I did you.”
I snorted. She looked on in horror as I grabbed the page carefully and tore it out of her notebook, then a few more pages I threw at her as I folded up the drawing and stuffed it into my pocket.
“This is all you get. No more distractions. I need ideas, babe, and you're the one who knows your family better than we do. Let's get this thing done so you can go home.” I watched her nod weakly. “Relax. I ain't gonna throw you over my knee and spank your ass red or anything. Let's keep this professional.”
“Professional?” she repeated, a sharp edge entering her voice. “If that's what you want to call keeping me here against my will and asking for these stupid ideas on the fly – okay. Sure, I can do professional.”
Her sass pissed me the fuck off. Why couldn't she see I was actually trying to help her, trying to save both our asses from this quagmire I'd chosen to get us into by saving her from the Deads?
“Look, you're gonna do this for me, Megan. This isn't a negotiation.” I gave her my coldest look, forgetting about her wounded state. “I've got shit to do for the club. I'll bring you a burrito, and leave you alone to think so you can get some ink on paper.”
Her blue eyes flashed fire. Hate. I watched her bottom lip sink into her mouth, like drawing blood was the only thing keeping her from going at my face with her sharp little nails.
I turned around and walked the fuck out. Got a couple steps down the hallway before I heard her slam into the door.
Beating, punching, kicking, screaming.
She was so loud, so shrill, so desperate, my brothers heard it all the way in the bar. They looked at me like I'd just dropped some poor bastard in front of 'em. Sixty flashed an uneasy smile, before hiding it a second later behind a fresh shot of whiskey. Crawl pretended I didn't exist.
Firefly cocked his head as I sat down next to him. Our huge Enforcer looked at me, the dark, sandpaper stubble on his chin twitching.
Fuck his amusement. Fuck his laughter. This shit wasn't funny. Not for me, not for Meg, and not for the club.
“Brother, you've got one fuck of a problem on your hands,” he growled, slapping me on the shoulder. “Let her beat herself stupid. She'll give up after a few more minutes. These chicks only make it worse if they get their claws in you. Trust me.”
He talked knowingly. Just then, I didn't really give a shit. I grabbed the nearest bottle of cheap, off brand whiskey and popped the cap. There wasn't time for a shot glass. I filled my mouth with fire and pushed it down my throat.
Only a snort. I'd learned my lesson that first night with her in my room. Shit, she could've killed me while I was passed out cold on the floor from this cheap swill. She hadn't, though, and that said something too.
“Whatever. Getting my dick wet is gonna be the first thing on the agenda once she's handed me our cash. The Prez'll throw us a bone before we get down to business. We'll celebrate. We'll drink and have a hog roast, bring the old girls to the clubhouse.”
I wasn't kidding. I fully meant to fuck every drop of frustration out of my balls once my bird was mended and out of her cage.
No, fuck mended. That wasn't my problem. Her folks were rich – they'd buy her the best shrinks money could buy to get her head working again.
The second she walked outta this clubhouse, she wasn't my problem anymore.
Too bad you can't stop thinking about it, a dark voice said in the back of my mind, telling me how fucked I was. You care too damned much. That's dangerous.
“Sure, brother, just as long as the Deads don't crash our party first,” the Enforcer said, knocking back another drink.
I watched Firefly grab the bottle and polish off the kerosene before I could get a second shot. Fuck.
The guys laughed while I walked behind the bar and dug around, finding nothing but beers and half-depleted drink mix. Shit had officially gone from bad to worse.
I couldn't drink her away, couldn't fuck her out of my mind, not 'til she gave me what I needed. Worst of all, I couldn't stop thinking about her.
I swung my fist across our shell of a once proud bar. Several bottles crashed onto the floor and shattered. Firefly beamed death at me, shaking his head, his fist visibly flexing, a reminder that he wouldn't hesitate to keep shit in line, including me.
“Somebody tell Tinman or Lion to clean this mess up the next time you see 'em. I need to make a run.”
I made a hasty exit before they could give me anymore shit. Maybe I deserved it, yeah.
Maybe I deserved all this horseshit for letting her get to me, trying to play hero, landing the MC in deep.
I headed into town to pick up food, wondering if I'd have to fight her to eat later if I stopped at one of the little watering holes there to finish getting drunk.