Page 20 of Bounty
“Thank you,” I muttered, swigging the brew and almost gagging.
While the restaurant’s beer had been so/so, whatever poison lurking in this bottle tasted like cold piss.
Slice chuckled at my reaction, plucking the bottle from me. “Don’t drink it if you don’t like it, sweetheart.”
A loud moan stopped my reply. Striker motorboating the redhead, who now sat on his lap, grinding against him, horrified me. When he came up for air, he looked at Slice and began a conversation as if a woman wasn’t dry humping him. In contrast to my discomfort, Slice looked unfazed by the lewdness. Then again, why would this scene bother him? This was his world, and I’m sure he’d seen worse. Maybe, even participated. The ideatwisted my stomach into knots and forced me to confront the reality of his lifestyle.
Needing a distraction, I peered around the men guarding us to locate my mother. I couldn’t find her, and I damned myself for losing track of her. That didn’t bode well.
The music shifted from country to a 2000s Britney Spears song.Toxic, which my mother adored. Even with the noise, her squeal was easy to pick out. Striker was less excited, scowling the moment the iconic song blared through the speakers.
He took a big gulp of his drink and then slid the empty bottle away. “Oh, fuck! Not this shit.”
“I love this song,” the redhead breathed, no longer grinding against him like a bitch in heat.
“Well, I don’t,” he growled, setting her aside and getting to his feet. “Okay, turn this shit off, and all visitors get the fuck out! I have a meeting, and I don’t want any bullshit distracting me. If you’re not affiliated with the club, leave.”
I looked at Slice, concerned we were being kicked out. “Should we sneak out the back?”
He shook his head, still lacking the urgency riding me hard. He was so laid back, a quality I found insanely attractive. Growing up around high-strung, dramatic people, gave me the insight to know I didn’t want that in a partner. I decided to take a cue from Slice. If he wasn’t panicking, why should I? He knew biker protocol better than me and they’d kept my mother away from me thus far.
“Nah, babe, he’s not serious. He’s just getting her away from us,” Slice reassured me. “He doesn’t take meetings past sundown. That’s ‘party time,’ as he puts it.”
Oh.
It was a ploy.
“Got it,” I said, then I processed the second part of his sentence and giggled. “He seriously says that?”
“The man doesn’t play about his downtime,” he confirmed, grinning at me.
Neither did I. I was a party girl myself, though what I considered mischief and unruly behavior couldn’t compare to my current situation.
“Just one more song.” My mother’s voice floated to me. “I’m having so much fun with Desi and I don’t want it to end.”
What? For a moment, my world spun out of control. I considered my mother many things—tunnel-visioned, flighty, determined, helicopter parent—but never a cheater.
She burst intoA –You’re Adorable, a song performed by some old dude who had been dead for decades. She loved to sing it to my dad.
One hand flew to my mouth and the other to my chest in a classically overwhelmed and dramatic signal.
Mom giggled again.
I couldn’t listen anymore and started to stand. Slice put an arm around my shoulder and held me in place. He pulled me closer. I tipped my head back, on the verge of losing it. His head descended toward mine. My lips parted and—
“Are you insane?” Mom screeched. “I’m married. I wasn’t propositioning you!”
“The fuck you weren’t,” Desmond barked. “Ask anybody here and they’d say you wanted in my bed.”
Mom gasped.
Okay, Mom wasn’t a cheater. That relieved me to no end. Her ditziness did not. She’d gotten herself into a dangerous situation.
Slice swore under his breath and slid his chair back.
Once Mom saw him, my date was down the drain. I’m sure he’d keep her from seeing me, but she’d demand his time.
“Desmond, sit the fuck down,” Striker ordered before Slice stood. “Author woman, get the fuck out of my club and don’t come back if you know what’s good for you.”
