Page 23 of Stag

Me: Maybe one day I’ll get to see those scars, and you can tell me the whole story…

What am I doing?! That was like throwing myself at him, and we’d met twice, once while he yelled at me, and the second when I stuck my tongue down his throat like a slut. Still, I’d do it again given half the chance. There was something so sexy about him, but also so vulnerable. He looked like he’d been hurt in the past, and was learning to trust again. I could be that person for him. I could give him a reason to trust again.

Stag: I’d like that. I’m learning to sign, but it’s not easy. Any tips on getting better at it?

And that was a perfectly sensible response, perfectly logical too, because he probably felt like signing would give us a better chance to talk, but I wanted his hands so busy he’d have to make the words on my skin, instead of in the air.

Me: I’ll send you a link to some classes. I teach there too. Maybe we’ll bump into each other.

Oh how I hoped we would. The lights came on out in the hallway, made so obvious by the fact that my light was off, and just my nightlight was delicately illuminating my room. Was she listening? Did she somehow know I was chatting with him? She’d accused me of that very thing before, and yet it hadn’t been true. Now it was.

I slid the phone under my pillow in a rush, and hid the vibrator, just in case she decided to ‘check in on me’, and that’s how I fell asleep.

Chapter Ten

She stopped messaging, didn’t even send me that link, and I had no idea what I’d done to fuck this up. I reread our messages about fifty times. Nothing seemed bad or wrong. Did I cross some line only women knew about? How the hell would I even figure that out, short of showing the messages to a woman, and I damn sure wasn’t about to trust any old lady of a brother of mine. They talk. They don’t think we know, but we know. God only knows what kind of shit they say about me.

In case she’d fallen asleep, I waited until morning to message her again, having slept late thanks to being awake into the early hours, and whoops, having missed community service last night. It was probably fine though. We’re all allowed an off night, right?

I wasn’t completely irresponsible. I did send a text to the supervisor explaining that I had a bad dose of the shits. I was even unnecessarily graphic with it. No way they’d think that was just a line.

Anyway, I dropped her a quick message.

Me: Good morning, sorry if I talked too long into the night. If you have that link, I’d love to check out the classes.

That was good, right? It read well. It sounded good. I wasn’t due to work today, so at least I could lounge here and wait for her response.

When my phone pinged again while I was brushing my teeth, I dashed back to check it. Oh fuck.

Bennetts: Got a job for you, bruv. Meet us at the following address in one hour. Do I need to say ‘come alone’?

Fuck fuck fuck! I tapped in a response, while simultaneously attempting to drag my clothes on, and hoped I nailed that message too.

Me: What if I have other plans?

Yeah. Definitely nailed that one.

The next message was the address to that creepy place they’d killed Glory’s husband in, and then they replied again.

Bennetts: Ha ha, you’re a fucking comedian. One hour.

Wow. What a jackass, whichever one of them it was.

Me: Pres, The Bennetts have a job for me, I have to leave now, and it’s at that creepy death place, so if I don’t come back, they killed me.

I grabbed my cut, and then paused. Should I be wearing that to do crime for mobsters? Fuck. I set it back down, smoothing my hands over the phoenix patch on the back.

“I’m doing this for you,” I said quietly, knowing I’d have told them to shove it if it wasn’t a threat to the club to reject them.

There was no chance to meet up with anyone first, so I slipped into my leathers, minus the most important piece of my wardrobe, and I headed outside, helmet on already so I wouldn’t be expected to talk to anyone.

“Oi, where’s your cut, dickhead?”

I flipped Rocket off, and straddled my ride, taking a deep breath to steel myself for this shitshow. Why the fuck did I follow that prick down an alley, and why was I now heading into the lion’s den alone? This was a brotherhood, and yet, I was being thrown into this shit like cannon fodder. Or whatever a lion eats since it’s a fucking lion’s den.

The whole journey there, which I struggled to enjoy and was pissed about them ruining, I wondered what the fuck I was gonna find when I arrived.

What I found was two smirking bearded assholes, waiting outside that place, and two vehicles, the black Range Rover from before, and a black Jeep Grand Cherokee. I’m not a car person, because who wants to travel in a fucking cage, but they’re both pretty nice.