Page 83 of Wine & Dine

32

Baggage

[Dolores]

I’ve got a suitcase full of clothes and a pile of things to donate. My favorite blankets are folded and stacked over a box of books and necessities. I’ll also take the television and an antique rocking chair from my bedroom. I mentally mark the bed, the couch, and kitchen table for storage, which I’ll need to figure out.

All these things run through my head as I wait for Denton and Garrett. When there’s a knock on the door, I don’t give it a second thought and open it. In an instant, Rusty enters and has me backed against the wall. His mouth on my neck physically repulses me. With strength I didn’t know I had, I shove him off me.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” I shout, staring at him with his wild eyes, disheveled hair, and a heaving chest.

“You’re my woman.”

I bitterly chuckle. “Don’t be a Neanderthal. I’m not your woman.”

Rusty steps up to me, forcing me flat against the wall with his proximity.

“You’re mine if I say you’re mine, and everyone in this town knows you belong to me.” While this might have once been true—the town thought of me as his girl by his association with Devil’s Edge—there is no basis to a relationship.

“We had sex, Rusty. Like you did with half a dozen other women in the county. That doesn’t make me yours.”

“You belong to me. Club rules.”

“I’m not a member of your club, and I’m sure James would stand by that ruling.” When I first started spending time at The Ridged Edge, a biker bar about fifteen minutes outside of town, James stated in no uncertain terms that I was not to become a member. He signed his fate to them, but he wasn’t allowing me.

For old times’ sake, I remember snapping at him.

Because you’re like family to me. The comment made me shudder. As if all those years of fucking him meant he was sleeping with a sister.

As a superior to Rusty in the club, James would fight an affiliation between me and the bikers. I might be considered Rusty’s girl by half the town out of fear, but I wasn’t an official member of the MC.

“Don’t throw James at me,” Rusty snarls, his love-hate relationship with the second in command not a secret. Brotherhood forces them to have each other’s back. Jealousy causes Rusty to despise James.

“Don’t threaten me,” I retort. Rusty’s hand comes to my throat, and while I’ve never been afraid of him, fear ripples through my belly.

“What’s he got? Money? Shiny toys? He’ll throw you to the side once he uses you up, Lores.” Rusty hated my old lady name and wanted me to change it. Lores sounded badass, but I’ve never felt like a Lores, even after all the times he’s called me it. It’s as if he wanted me to be someone other than who I am.

“It’s Dolores,” I hiss. “And he isn’t going to throw me away.”

Rusty chuckles, still holding my throat, stroking my skin and making it crawl under his thick thumb. “What’d he do, say he loves you? Played right into those fucking words you want to hear?” Rusty steps closer, his breath assaulting me like a slap. My nostrils flare, filling with the scent of alcohol. He’s drunk. “But does he make you feel as good as I do?”

“He’s better,” I snap, tempting my fate. Rusty pulls back, the palm of his hand coming for my face. I turn my head, preparing for the contact when another knock hammers on my door. Rusty pauses mid-swing, halting his hand prepped to slap me. The door is beside us, and keeping his eyes on me, he yanks it open, changing course as if he expects someone else on the other side. Please don’t let it be Garrett.

“Ranger,” Rusty croaks, calling James by his MC name. He holds the door open, trapping me behind it.

“Heard Dolores was back. Wanted to check in on her.” Here’s the thing, James Harrington never speaks to me. He might have said I was family, but he’s acted like I’m a pariah ever since Evie. He would never randomly check on me. Tall and lean but with solid muscle, he’s not as broad as his older brother, Giant, but his strength is unmeasured. The typical Harrington eyes are soft brown, but James is the only one with blue. They aren’t teasing like most of his siblings, but hard, cursed by life, and mean. James could look at you and melt you with a glare.

“I’m here,” I mutter, the door muffling my plea. I need James, and I’ve never been so thankful for this surprise visit. He steps forward, the hard thunk of his motorcycle boots hitting the squares of tile marking my entryway. His entrance forces Rusty deeper into my living room. As the door tugs forward, James’s eyes narrow, looking behind it and catching my eyes.

“You doing okay, Dolores?” I don’t shift my eyes to Rusty but keep them focused on James. I slowly shake my head once. No. With that simple look, James rounds on Rusty and sends him to the floor with a blow to the face.

“You fucker,” Rusty nasally garbles. His hand covers from nose to chin, and when he pulls it back, it’s coated in red.

“I warned you,” James states, glaring down at Rusty who doesn’t look up at his biker brother. I don’t understand his meaning, but James turns to me. “You okay?”

“Better now,” I whisper. James looks around the room, noting my bags and the box.

“Moving?”