Page 51 of Ridin' Free
No sheep could.
“I don’t answer to you. If you’re lookin’ for a lay, I’m sure you can find one.”
“So, it wasn’t my imagination, was it? You’re screwing the redhead.”
Twister put his beer down and straightened to full height so fast, one would think a fire had been lit inside of him—but it wasn’t heat he felt coursing through his veins.
It was ice.
He towered over Lyla as he spat, “Where I put my dick is none of your damn business, unless I’m puttin’ it in you. Seein’ as we’ve already established that ain’t happenin’ anymore, I suggest you find another kutte to chase.”
Seemingly unafraid, she didn’t cower but argued, “You’remine.Everyone knows that!”
A snide smile curled his lips as he replied, “Honey, there’s only one thing people know about you and me, and it’s that I’ve been fuckin’ you whenever I damn well please for three years andnot oncehave I considered makin’ you my ol’lady.”
“You’re a real son-of-a-bitch, you know that?” she cried, shoving at his chest.
Twister didn’t budge. His voice dropping into a low, quiet, menacing grumble, he warned, “Know your place, Lyla.”
He watched the muscles in her jaw tense as her nostrils flared, and he knew she was fighting tears. Nevertheless, he didn’t back down. He was done with her shit, and he didn’t feel sorry for her. The writing had been on the wall since the verybeginning. He wouldn’t take the blame for her disappointment. He’d made no promises. Not once. Not ever.
“You’re gonna be sorry,” she managed through clenched teeth.
“Doubtful.”
Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the clubhouse.
“Damn, Twist. You might have just woken a demon,” joked Slick from where he sat on a nearby couch.
Twister glanced his way and noticed his audience for the first time. He merely shrugged, reached for his beer and replied, “Any of you want an angry fuck, I wound her up for ya.”
His brothers laughed while one of the hang-arounds frowned and hurried after her friend. Twister watched her go, still with not an ounce of remorse.
“Hey—about to deal a hand of poker,” called Dog as he passed. “You in?”
Before Twister could respond, his phone vibrated with an alert.
He reached for it right away, smirking at the sight of her name lightening up his screen.
“I’m out,” he said, abandoning his beer. “Got someplace to be.”
“Hey. Sparky.”His voicewas soft. Gentle. Coupled with the feel of his fingers in my hair, I was coaxed from slumber. I pried my eyes open and realized I was on my belly, stretched out across Twister’s couch, in hardly more than the shirt he wore when I showed up at his house the night before.
It was the third time I woke under his roof, which made it the third time I’d gone to sleep lying next to him. I still wasn’t sure what that said about me. About him. About us. I still wasn’t sure it was a good idea—but when I focused my gaze on him, squatting beside the couch and looking at me with a satisfiedsmirk pulling at his mustache—I couldn’t deny how much I liked waking up to his face.
This truth didn’t stop me from muttering, “Stop callin’ me that.”
He chuckled, and it irritated me how much I liked the sound first thing in the morning.
“I’ve gotta go, baby. Store opens soon.”
“Okay. I’m up,” I replied pathetically.
Truth be told, I had no idea what time the store opened or how early it was. Neither could I recall when it was we found sleep. In my drowsy state, all I could remember was the simple chicken dinner he made me before he fucked me in his kitchen again. I came twice. Then, after a couple episodes of “Yellowstone,” it was my turn to take him for a ride. I came twice more on the couch before we crashed.
“Don’t get up. You can go back to sleep. Stay as long as you want. Leave through the garage. Just didn’t want to go without sayin’ bye.”
Relieved for permission to sleep some more, I closed my eyes and murmured, “My late nights and your early mornin’s are gonna suck for you.”
