Page 34 of Duke

“MORNING POPS.”

He doesn’t look at me but grunts while raising his coffee to his lips.

“Pops? Are you feeling okay?”

He sighs and sets down his mug.

“I spoke to Duke last night.”

“Oh?”

I turn to pour myself coffee pretending to be aloof. But I blush looking out the window, recalling how intimately he touched me. How his smooth hard cock felt rubbing against my soft folds. How I came panting his name and how I wish he had taken me. I bite my lip in anticipation of seeing him again.

I can’t wait.

“He’s leaving town.”

“WHAT?” I bark spinning to face him.

“I thought you’d be happy he’s going. The two of you spit at each other like cats.”

“What about the money we owe the club and his part of Stan’s?” I blurt out trying to conceal what’s pissing me off—him leaving me; leaving us unfinished and undone.

“He said he’s walking away. He doesn’t want our money. He just wants to get back to his life in California.”

“Well, I don’t want his fucking charity. I’m buying him out. Hell, I’ll go to the bank and get a damn loan.”

Pops grunts but doesn’t say a thing. He won’t meet my eyes and I know there’s more he’s not saying. I know better than to even bother. Pops always did shield me from the bad shit but I’m not his little girl anymore and I need to go to the source. Duke himself.

“I need to take your Harley. My car is still not fixed, and I need to go study at the library then head over to the bar and do inventory.”

“No. Call a cab. If I can’t ride my precious love, no one will.”

I roll my eyes, “Come on Pops. It’s me.”

“Fine.”

But as I open the door to get the newspaper my eyes widen in shock; my old Honda is parked out front with a fuckin’ red bow tied around the hood.

“Dammit, Duke!” My nails dig into my palm. I don’t want another man to take care of me. I just want to be my own woman already, if only the men in my life would let me.

I race upstairs to brush my teeth and pull on the shortest pair of ripped denim shorts I can find. I don’t even bother with a bra but pull a tank over my head and grab a zippered sweatshirt.

I fluff my hair and slip on a pair of old boots.

Duke thinks I’m his.

It’s time to show him—he’s mine. He’s my prisoner just as much as I am his.

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