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He turned to her, glowering. “Explain,” he demanded, his patience about as thin as a strand of hair. He did not want to deal with this shit today. He was supposed to be on Cilla’s doorstep, waiting for her to head out for her errands. He was going to invite himself along—and she’d have no fucking say in it. But, instead of having a day full of his Cilla, he was dealing with Jaime and her creeper.
Jaime’s face turned red, her smudged makeup all patchy and shit.
“I mean that when you agreed to help me, I thought you’d put a little more effort into the act. The only way this asshole is going to leave me alone is if he thinks I’ve moved on to someone who’s bigger and tougher than he is. And you read the note—he doesn’t believe we’re actually together.”
Shit.
“You have to actually put some effort into playing my boyfriend, Patriot. That means answering my calls, being seen in public with me, and doing boyfriend stuff.”
Boyfriend stuff? He narrowed his eyes at her.
She must’ve seen the annoyance in his expression because she quickly explained, “You know, showing affection in public. Since we started this, we haven’t done anything together outside of hanging out at the clubhouse. He can’t see us there, so we need to take this act into the public. Take me to dinner, go shopping with me—hold my hand, pull me into your arms—you know…affectionate.”
Patriot bit back a curse.
She wanted him to fake like she was his ol’ lady?
Hell no. All that shit she wanted him to do with her, was stuff he only wanted to do with Cilla. It was Cilla’s hand he wanted to hold, her he wanted in his arms, her he wanted to be affectionate with. He wanted to be so affectionate with her, people would call the cops for indecent exposure. Cilla and only Cilla would get the “ol’ lady treatment.”
He leaned back, rubbing a hand down his face.
“Jaime, you know what you’re asking, right? You’re asking me to fake you being my ol’ lady.” Which won’t fucking happen!
A knowing smile creased her lips, and he already hated what she was about to say.
“Do this for me…for Stallion. He’d want you to do whatever you had to to keep me safe.”
Yeah, he knew that, but he also knew that if his brothers and their women saw him and Jaime together like that, rumors would fly, and he’d have no way of stopping that shit from getting to Cilla—the woman he actually wanted to do “boyfriend stuff” with.
Glancing down at the note he still held in his hand, he knew he had little choice but to give Jaime something. He’d take her to dinner, shopping—wherever, but he drew the line at too “affectionate”. He’d put his arm over her shoulder and put his hand on her back—close enough to boyfriend actions to seem like he cared about her. The fucker, whoever he was, was escalating, and if showing him that he and Jaime were “real” would get him to back the fuck off, then Patriot would do his part.
He just hoped that Cilla didn’t find out before the shit with Jaime was over. He just needed another week or three, until Stallion returned, and he could come clean with his brother, handle Jaime’s creeper shit, and finally claim his woman.
Dragging his gaze back to the woman sitting much too close to him on the much too small loveseat, he ground out, “Tonight. We’ll do the fake date shit.”
As Jaime grinned, her eyes sparkling, Patriot couldn’t quite shake the feeling of…wrongness that crawled through his soul.
EIGHT
Patriot slammed his fist into Red’s computer desk, sending pens and old banana Laffy Taffy wrappers into the air. The man really needed to clean up his space. It was a fucking trash heap. How did a mind as brilliant as Red’s not get bogged down surrounded by so much clutter? Old food wrappers, empty bottles of Fresca, old, crusty looking socks—Patriot did not want to know why they looked crusty, and crumpled up pieces of note paper were everywhere around his desk chair. His queen-sized bed was unmade, his bedside table was cluttered with receipts, change, several Chapstick tubes, and two red devil facemasks that were meant to obscure everything but his weird as hell dark blue eyes. And Patriot didn’t want to know why there was a tripod and a video camera set up in the corner beside his closet. It was no secret Red had an Instagram and Tiktok following, but Patriot didn’t want to know for what. He could take a guess, though, because while the man was a desk jockey, computer nerd, he was fucking built. He was broad shoulders and tapered waist, like an WWE wrestler. Having spent six years in the Marines, the man was all rock-hard muscles and colorful tats, so it wasn’t a surprise that he made money on the side flashing all those muscles for thirsty bitches. And his face wasn’t too bad, either. He knew from experience that Red got plenty of tail; he’d leave his room during parties just long enough to snag a woman, take her back to his room, do whatever nasty shit he wanted to her, then he’d let her loose and disappear into his room again. Patriot could guess, also, just how dirty the man could get for that camera…for his “fans”.
Patriot shuddered. Red needed to take a hose to the whole room! Scratch that—if he could get away with it without endangering the whole clubhouse, he should set the room on fire. Give it over to the demon gods of garbage and shame.
“Whoa there, asshole, this is my shit—my expensive shit,” Red grumbled, reaching out to gently pat the 27-inch, curved computer monitor—one of four—on his massive L-shaped desk. They were stacked, two by two, so it looked like a box of screens. Perfect for digging up shit, programming, and whatever the hell Red did in his “personal time”.
Red made kissy faces at his screens, then turned to Patriot. “Try not to Hulk out around my babies.” It was weird as shit to hear the man say “babies” with a voice that was all gravel and vodka.
“This is bullshit!” Patriot growled. “That motherfucker walked right up to her door, put that note right on it, then walked away—right in front of a camera, and we still have no idea who the fuck he is.”
Red’s lips thinned. “I don’t know why you don’t just make Jaime tell you who he is. It isn’t like he’s doing her any favors being a creepy ass motherfucker. What does she have to gain keeping him a secret?”
It wasn’t the first time Patriot asked that question, just never out loud.
Jaime had been adamant that none of the Unchained brothers could know about her “predicament”, but Patriot wasn’t playing around—he had too much going on to let Jaime run things the way she wanted. He’d already agreed to fake a relationship with her, for fuck’s sake. He drew the line at being led around by a woman…unless she was Cilla. He’d let Cilla lead him straight to hell, as long as he could kiss her goodbye before she shoved him into the flames. With Jaime, however….
He knew Red could keep his mouth shut about what was going on with Jaime’s “situation”, and the man had the equipment, software, and access to help Jaime. The more help Red could offer, the quicker Patriot could get the asshole stalking Jaime sorted out so she could go back to being on the periphery of his life until her brother came back. And then he’d square off with Stallion and handle that shit, too.
Fuck. His life was a cluster.
