“I didn’t fuck her properly, baby,” Carnie says. “I swear I didn’t. I put my cock in her ass last night, but it didn’t feel right. I stopped. Tell her, Denise. Tell her I didn’t—” But Denise is walking out of the clubhouse, swaying a little on top of her six inch hooker heels, and she doesn’t look like she’s going to be stopping and turning around any time soon. God knows how she thinks she’s going to get back into town from here. Late last year, not too long after I arrived here with Jamie, we found one of the club member’s girlfriends strung up from a tree on the road leading from town to the compound. Her hands and one of her feet had been cut off. Along with her head. Ever since then, we don’t allow people to walk alone out there, especially women. Carnie was the one who found Bron, so it’s surprising he’s letting her wander off now.
His eyebrows are drawn together, pulled upward in a look of puppy dog hurt. The lenses of his thick-rimmed black glasses are huffed a little at the bottom, suggesting his temperature is up. It’s hotter than hell in the New Mexico desert in summer as it is; arguments and bickering only makes the weather more unbearable.
“You should have explained,” he says to Shay.
“And you should have dropped the machismo bullshit for just a goddamn second and let me actually finish my sentence.” She has a good point. She doesn’t seem too fazed by the fact that Carnie’s been out fooling around with another woman. In fact, she seems frighteningly calm. If Rebel had done that to me, there would be hell to pay. I’d have his testicles in a heartbeat. The relationship I share with the head of the Widowers is different to most relationships inside the club, though. Monogamy isn’t high on most people’s list of desirable moral traits in a partner. That goes for the male members and the female members alike. No one seems to want to be pinned down—not when you could be having fun with a whole bunch of different people at the same time. Sloane would have something choice to say about the arrangements that take place here under this roof once night falls. Probably something about the risk factors of highly communicable venereal diseases, and how syphilis is a really bad look on people these days.
Carnie grabs his cut from the counter and shrugs it on. “We’re not done talking about this,” he says.
“Whatever you say, baby. You’re the boss.” Shay smiles at Carnie, but it’s not a real smile. It’s a grimace, teeth bared, and the message is clear for Carnie to read. He’s not the boss, and if he even tries bringing this shit up again, Shay’s going to castrate him with a rusty butter knife.
Carnie shakes his head. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. Leaving his breakfast behind, he exits the clubhouse, presumably to go and grab the blonde he allowed to leave a moment ago and take her home, wherever that might be.
Shay sits herself back down, not saying a word. Everyone feels the burn of Cade’s gaze directed at her head, though. He looks pissed. Eventually Shay acknowledges him, rolling her eyes. “What?”
“Don’t ever drag me into your shit again, woman. It won’t end well. You feel me?” His dark eyes look almost black as he stares at her. Shay grumbles something under her breath. Cade rarely gets mad, but right now he doesn’t appear to be all that happy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite hear that,” he growls.
“I only told him the truth,” she snaps. “I didn’t lie. We did sleep together Cade, no matter how badly you might want to forget about it.”
“You’re right. It would be lovely if I could forget about it, but you seem to keep bringing it up for some fucking reason, and I can’t seem to put my finger on the why of that. If we have problems, Shay, just let me know and I’ll happily resolve them with you.”
I’m waiting for Shay’s caustic response to that, but the door to the clubhouse swings open and Rebel walks in, scanning the room from side to side as he makes his way toward the bar. From the tense look on his face, he’s heard raised voices and he’s seriously not in the mood to be dealing with them. “What’s the problem?” He slams his gun down on the woodwork, blowing a long breath out down his nose.
“Nothing. Shay was just about to head into town to check on the shop. Right, Shay?” Cade doesn’t really seem to be giving her a choice. Shay is suddenly expressionless, her face utterly blank. She gets up and gathers her things, slinging her patch covered cut over her shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” she says, her voice clipped, devoid of any inflection or emotion. The change in her is miraculous, and yet I’ve seen it a thousand times before. She blows hot and cold, fire and ice, her tongue sharp enough to flay the skin from a man’s back most of the time, but the moment she’s faced with the man I love, she’s suddenly docile and compliant.
“Come back here after lunch. I’ll send someone else out to relieve you,” Rebel says.