Page 4 of Maddox
I open my mouth to argue but pause when she produces a joint and proceeds to light up.
I’m pretty sure this is not going to help her concentration.
Whatever.
Closing the book, I shove my shit back in my bag and say, “Maybe I should go.”
She shrugs, inhaling deeply and I eye her for a moment before saying, “If you don’t want to do this, just say so.”
Her eyes meet mine, the dark irises spacy. “Whatever. I don’t need your fucking pity.”
“Who said that?” I mutter because the last thing I feel is sorry for her.
“You think–”
She’s cut off by the sound of a roaring motor and we both look at the window as it approaches.
“Fuck,” she mutters, extinguishing the joint on the sole of her shoe before grabbing the notebook out of my hand and shoving it under the bed.
Bemused, I cock my head as the sound of heavy boots rings on the floor. Draven’s eyes droop and she rubs her face before pulling up a bitchy smile just as the door swings open.
I’m not sure what I was expecting but it’s not six-foot-something of sheer muscle.
He’s so ridiculouslymalethat I think my brain fries and I drop my gaze, practically salivating for another look while he barks, “What the fuck, Dray?”
His arms gleam in the light, covered from wrist to shoulder in swirling ink and I can’t help but wonder what he’s hiding beneath his tight white shirt.
When his black as sin eyes meet her stare, I shrink from his nasty frown, but she’s immune as she says, “Fuck off.”
He’s MC, easy to see from the vest he’s wearing with the distinctive patches proclaiming him one of the Shadow Saints—a dark angel holding two swords against his chest.
It’s no secret that our small town is overrun with bikers. I suppose even if it were, I’d know about it from Peter anyway.
As a cop, he’s constantly dealing with them and the Smokin’ Aces, neither of which he has anything good to say about.
Pushing away images of Peter and his possible displeasure, I glance between them cautiously as the sexy biker’s wide, sensual lips thin.
“You know what time it is?” he says. “You’re fucking late. Put on the fucking dress and meet me outside.”
“Can’t.” She waves her hand in the air.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Company.” She points at me, and he glances over, his dark eyes glittering with frustration as his brows furrow.
“Who the fuck is she?”
“Friend.”
He snorts and eyes me like I’m a phantom or some shit. “You don’t have friends.”
“Sure, I do,” she says with a bitchy smile.
“Yeah? Who?” he snarls.
My neck is starting to hurt from the back and forth, but I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t fascinating.
So, this is Draven’s home life.
