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Chapter Ten
Stevie
I blew through stop signs and red lights, heedless of the world around me as I sped back to Aerondale. I needed to be home. I needed to be with my club, with my men, and drown myself in alcohol until I forgot everything about Diablo. The taste of his kiss on my tongue. The feel of his strong hands caressing my skin. That dark-eyed gaze he fixed me with when he had his cock so deep inside me that I could feel every damn inch.
“Fuck,” I croaked, shaking my head as if I could dislodge the memory by sheer voice.
Slow down, I thought.
I was being reckless. Just because I’d been played for a fool didn’t mean I should get myself killed over that son of a bitch.
A car horn blared beside me. I flinched and swung my head toward the sound.
Too late.
I sailed through an intersection, paying no attention to the stop sign. A car swerved at the last minute, narrowly missing me by a few precious inches, saving me from a world of hurt.
I jerked to the side of the road, skidding on loose gravel and into the scrubby desert dirt. My bike went down hard, sending a hot lance of pain through my shoulder.
The car kept driving without glancing back. My hand shot out, middle finger raised, even though I was the one who had been too pissed off to pay attention to the rules of the road.
With a groan, I did a quick check for injuries—bruised shoulder, sore neck, and a rip in my jeans from hip to ankle, but otherwise, I was fine.
My bike looked like it had been through worse though. My paint job had lost the war with the pavement. Long, jagged scratch marks gouged the side of my motorcycle, marking up the beautiful wine-red paint that I was so proud of. The left-hand mirror had broken off, laying in the road a few feet back.
When I tried to stand, my knees were shaky and I dropped back into the dirt on my ass. I probably just needed a few more minutes before I could get back on my feet again.
The conversation with Diablo wouldn’t stop replaying in my head on an endless loop of torture.
I was the one who hacked Tarzan’s bank account.
I figured the bastard owed me after wrapping his paw around my throat when we first met.
Go ahead, princess. I’m sure you’re dying to give me hell.
That smug look on his face…as if he didn’t regret any of it. As if he had chewed up my heart and spat the bloody pieces on the floor at my feet, his teeth stained red with a smile.
Tarzan was right. He’d been right all along. Diablo was no good and I’d given him the benefit of the doubt. Again and again.
My helmet felt hot and stuffy under the sun’s onslaught. Even though it was nearing the early evening, it was still unbearably warm. The shelter of clouds from this morning had burned away, revealing a clear blue sky that felt like an insult to my dark mood.
I brushed my damp, sweaty hair away from my forehead and retrieved my phone from my pocket. I owed Tarzan the biggest apology on planet earth and as I sat here in the dirt—sore, tired, and sticky with sweat—all I could do was hope that he was willing to hear me out.
His phone rang and rang. I closed my eyes, silently pleading with him to please pick up.
At last, Tarzan’s voice came over the line. The hum and buzz of conversation in the background indicated he was still at the rally.
“Hey.”
I was so relieved that he would speak to me that a sob tore from my throat instead of coherent words.
“Stevie?” Tarzan said, his voice edged with concern. “What’s going on?”
“I’m so sorry. You were right. About Diablo.”
Tarzan paused for a horribly long time.
Go ahead, I thought. Say it. I deserve it. Say I told you so.
