Page 32 of Ridin' Free
“Son of a bitch!” she cried, folding over his back.
“Hey,” he grumbled, smacking her ass as he carried her through the bar. “Show some respect for the dead.”
“Twister, if you don’t put me down?—”
“Careful, baby. You’re makin’ a scene.”
He heard her huff as he passed through the door leading to the back hallway. As soon as they were out of sight, she pounded her little fists against his back.
“I’m not kidding!”
“You see me laughin’?” he replied, headed for the rear exit.
He stepped outside, his long strides carrying them both to the clubhouse, and she continued to make a fuss, kicking her legs as she wiggled about.
“Phoenix,” he warned, locking down her ankles with his other arm. “Stop.”
“Put me down. Now.”
“Fat chance.”
In spite of her struggle, he made it to the clubhouse doors in no time. She was still making a racket when he carried her inside, but he paid her no mind. He wanted answers, and he wasn’t backing down until he got them.
The clubhouse wasn’t empty—rarely was—but he didn’t look to see who was around. He cut through the main lounge, headed for the hallway, lined with the doors which led to the Stallions’ private rooms. His was at the end, through the second to last door on the right.
As soon as he they crossed the threshold, he slammed the door closed with his foot, flicked on the overhead light, then grabbed hold of the back of one of her thighs and pulled. She snaked over his shoulder, putting them chest to chest, and he locked her in his arms before he took her to the bed and fell back on it.
Thinking she had the upper hand being on top, she began to squirm.
He readjusted and tightened his arms around her then gave her a shake.
“Hey—would you calm the fuck down?”
She stilled, but the inferno that burned in those green irises still blazed.
“Let me go,” she demanded through clenched teeth.
“Was it him?” Twister asked instead.
He felt her muscles tense as she frowned at him. “What?”
“Was ithim?”
She jerked in his hold, but she didn’t get far, her arms trapped beneath his.
“Let me go.”
“Answer me. Was it him?”
“No,” she spat.
His eyes danced around her face, trying to spot the lie.
“Don’t bullshit me, baby—I saw the look on your face when you locked in on him.”
Her frown deepened, and he heard the hitch of her breath as she tried to suck air through her nose.
“Let me go,” she repeated, her voice strained as she tried to talk around whatever emotion she was trying to mask.
