Page 19 of Vicious Kingdom

“I’ll buy,” I offered, inserting myself into the group.

Silence fell over the lot.

I realized my misstep. These were all wealthy kids with family credit cards. Money wasn’t an issue.

“Drinks are on me,” I added.

That piqued their interest.

“Sure man, but, uh, who are you?” Kevin’s friend asked.

I looked at the scraggly man. “Leonard.”

“Cool, thanks, Leonard,” he quipped.

Shaking my head at the idiocy, I filed behind the group of four as they wandered to their vehicles. I grabbed the helmet off my bike, pulled it over my head, and straddled the sleek black motorcycle. The Italian engine purred to life.

“Hey, Leonard.” Kristy appeared before me. “Can I hitch a ride with you?”

I shot a glance past her to see Annaliese watching the exchange. I didn’t need another woman to cause drama and mess with my temptress.

“I’ve never ridden a bike before,” the socialite cajoled.

“Sorry, only brought one helmet.” With that, I dropped the visor.

Pouting, Kristy trudged back to Kevin, who held open the door of his Maserati.

After a minute, the Maserati pulled away from the curb, Kevin revving the engine more than necessary to prove a point. I smirked behind my visor. Amateurs with Daddy’s money. I revved my Ducati in response, letting the Italian beast between my legs growl with authentic power before peeling out behind them.

Traffic crawled through the downtown streets, red lights stretching our caravan into a disjointed procession. I weaved between lanes, keeping Annaliese’s blonde head visible through Kevin’s rear window. Her laugh carried even through the glass when I pulled alongside them at a stoplight. Our eyes met briefly before the light changed.

The pizza place was in the warehouse district, where old industrial buildings had been converted to trendy restaurants and nightclubs. Brick façades and exposed steel beams trying desperately to be hip. I followed Kevin’s unnecessarily complicated route, watching him take wrong turns twice.

What a fucking idiot.

This was why I never hung out with people.

Once inside, my stomach growled. Ignoring it, I went straight to the bar for a much-needed scotch.

“Neat,” I instructed the bartender.

My hand throbbed like a bitch. It would take too many of these to take the edge off, and I needed to drive. But I nursed the drink back at the table where the group animatedly argued over which pie to order.

Kristy wasn’t deterred. She changed seats after going to the bathroom to freshen up. Leaning over, tee pulled lower, her generous cleavage flashed.

The scraggly man—Dominic, I overheard—was salivating.

I kept my gaze pinned on the menu.

“Is pepperoni okay with everyone?” Annaliese asked, her voice cutting through the cacophony of indecision.

I glanced up from the menu to find her blue eyes already fixed on me. Not on Kevin. Not on Dominic. On me.

This game was only getting started.

Time to raise the stakes.

“I don’t care,” I replied, taking another sip of scotch. “As long as it's not pineapple.”