Page 47 of Killer's Obsession
Old lady. The words sink in my gut like a stone. Technically, that’s what Memphis is now. I claimed her to the club, and made it official in our world. But she doesn’t know that yet.
I need to tell her the truth before someone beats me to it.
Taking the drinks, I make my way through the crowd. Memphis is sitting at a table with Pinky and Cora, her hands moving animatedly as she talks. She looks happier than I’ve ever seen her.
“Here you go, babe,” I say, setting the colorful drink in front of her.
Her eyes light up as she inspects the pink cocktail. “Thanks.”
I settle into the chair beside her, draping my arm across the back of her seat. She leans into me slightly, continuing her conversation with the girls.
“...and then this guy comes in wanting a tattoo of his girlfriend’s name, right?” Memphis is saying, clearly, in the middle of a story. “But he can’t decide how to spell it. Like, he literally doesn’t know if it’s ‘Ashley’ with an ‘e-y’ or ‘Ashleigh’ with an ‘e-i-g-h’.”
Pinky snorts. “No way.”
“Swear to God,” Memphis nods, taking a sip of her drink. “Jade had to call the poor girl to confirm the spelling.”
“That is some next-level stupidity. How do you not know how to spell your girlfriend’s name? More importantly, why the heck are you permanently putting her name on your body? What if you break up?” Cora laughs, shaking her head. “Seriously, though, how’s the job going? You like it?”
Memphis’s face lights up. “I love it. Everyone’s been amazing—Jade, Marco, Rage. Even the clients are mostly cool.”
“Mostly?” Pinky raises an eyebrow. “Who do I need to shank?”
Memphis shoots me a sly glance. “Well, there are the occasional women who come in specifically asking for Killer.”
I smirk, remembering how possessive she got with that blonde chick last week. Fucking hot, watching my kitten show her claws.
“Can’t blame them,” Pinky teases, eyeing me up and down. “The man’s a beast. What woman wouldn’t want to climb him like a tree?”
Memphis chokes on her drink, and I pat her back, chuckling. “Easy, Pet.”
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, and I look up to find Reign standing over us. “Up for a game?” he asks, nodding toward the pool tables.
I glance at Memphis, who waves me off. “Go on. I’m good here.”
I press a kiss to her temple before standing. “Yeah, you are.”
Reign leads the way to the pool tables, grabbing cues and racking the balls. “You break,” he says, chalking the tip of his cue.
I line up my shot, slamming the cue ball into the rack with a satisfying crack. Two striped balls drop into pockets.
“So, how’s life in the new house?” he asks as I line up my next shot.
“Quiet,” I answer, sinking another ball.
And it is.
After years of living at the clubhouse with the constant noise, having my own space is fucking amazing. I love waking up with Memphis every morning, making coffee in our kitchen, coming home with her at night. It’s domestic as fuck, something I never thought I’d be into, but here I am. Eating it the fuck up.
Reign chuckles when I glance over at my girl and then miss my next shot. “Your head’s not in the game, brother. Too busy eye-fucking your girl.”
I grunt, watching as Memphis throws her head back, laughing at something Pinky said.
So goddamn pretty.
Still smiling, she glances in my direction and gives a little wave when she sees that I’m staring.
Reign sinks a solid in the corner pocket. “Never thought I’d see the day Killer was pussy-whipped.”
