Page 28 of Klutch's Kryptonite

Klutch: Need everything you can find on Demi Cross. Lives at 4327 Dover Street, Apartment 4C. Someone trashed her place tonight. I want to know who and why.

His response comes almost immediately.

Titan: On it.

I slide my phone back in my pocket and watch as Demi emerges with a small duffel bag. Her face is a mask of forced composure, but I can see the fear in her eyes.

“Ready?” I ask, softer than before.

She nods, casting one more glance around the destroyed apartment.

“I guess so.”

Chapter Eight

Demi

The ride to wherever Klutch is taking me passes in a blur. I cling to his back with my bag wedged awkwardly between us, and my mind racing with images of my destroyed apartment. Who would do that? I mean, I know who; Frankie’s men—but why trash the place? What were they looking for?

My stomach twists as the obvious answer hits me. They were looking for my dad. Or maybe for me. The thought sends a chill down my spine.

When Klutch finally slows the bike, I lift my head to see a large brick building surrounded by a tall fence topped with what looks like razor wire. Several motorcycles are parked in a row near the entrance.

“Where are we?” I ask as he cuts the engine.

“Clubhouse,” he says simply, waiting for me to climb off before dismounting himself.

My heart rate picks up. “Your clubhouse? I can’t stay here.”

Klutch’s eyebrows shoot up. “And why’s that?”

“Because...” I wave my hand vaguely at the building. “It’s a biker clubhouse. I don’t belong here.”

He snorts. “Baby, you’re place was fucking trashed. The goddamn door hanging off the hinges. You think you were safer there?”

Put like that, I don’t have much of an argument. Still, the thought of walking into a building full of bikers makes my palms sweat.

“It’ll be fine,” Klutch says, his voice gentle. “Nobody’s gonna mess with you.”

“How can you be sure?”

His lips quirk into that almost-smile that does funny things to my insides. “Because you’re mine.”

Before I can process what that means, he takes my bag from my shoulder and motions for me to follow him. The weight of his words settles over me as I trail behind him toward the entrance. Because you’re mine. Like I belong to him or something. Warmth spreads through my belly. It’s scary how not-scary that thought is.

As soon as Klutch pushes open the heavy steel door, my senses are assaulted by pounding music, raucous laughter, and the smell of cigarettes. The place is packed with men in leather vests like Klutch’s, women in various states of undress, and others who look like regular Joe’s who are just here for the party.

I freeze in the doorway, overwhelmed by the chaos. Klutch seems to sense my hesitation because his hand falls to the small of my back, and smoothes around the side of my waist.

“Stay close,” he says into my ear, his breath sending shivers down my neck.

I nod, allowing him to usher me through the crowd. As we make our way deeper into the room, I catch sight of a woman walking around completely topless, her breasts on full display as she serves drinks to a group of bikers. Another woman innothing but a thong and pasties is dancing on a pool table while men throw bills at her.

My cheeks burn hot, and I drop my gaze to the floor.

Sweet baby Jesus. What the heck have I gotten myself into?

Klutch’s grip on my waist tightens as he steers me toward the bar where a man with dark hair is nursing a beer. The man looks up as we approach, his intense blue eyes sliding over me with mild curiosity before returning to Klutch.

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