Page 37 of Entangled By You
“Do I need to carry you inside?” he asks as I make it to his side.
“Don’t be stupid. You walk in there carrying me, and they’re going to think I’ve gone into labor or something stupid.”
His heavy arm slides around my shoulder, pulling me close and tucking me safely into his side before we walk through the open garage doors.
It’s loud in here as always, the music bounces off the wooden beams, and raucous laughter peels from a shadowed corner. Members are spread out around the open room, enjoying the night. I clock the table I need to be at the second someone comes up to us, man handshaking with Pierce.
“I see Harlow.” I nod in her direction and make to break free, but Pierce solidifies his hold on my side.
“Come find me whenever you’re ready to leave.” He leans down closer, his lips tracing the shell of my ear, before he says, “And remember what I said. In this room, in my shirt, with my kid on the way, you’re mine, Princess. Don’t forget it.”
I shouldn’t like the way his words claim me. I’ve been down that road before, and it didn’t end well. But that’s not Pierce. He’d chop off his own hand before harming me in any way. Under all that rough exterior, I know his hurt. I know his heart, and it’s as pure as they come.
His rough smack to my ass clears my brain, and my feet move toward the table of women staring at me with knowing smiles on each and every one of their faces.
“Don’t.” I hold up my finger as my ass slides into the booth next to Harlow.
“Don’t… bring up the fact that you just let that man lay claim to you in the middle of the clubhouse. Not to mention… Is that a new shirt?” Harlow teases, and Josephine chuckles from across the table.
“No comment.”
The girls burst into a laughing fit, but the noise fades into the surrounding madness. It’s only eight—when I’d typically be curling up with Steve, my body pillow, with my favoritemom and daughter duo on the TV—but this place is already packed full. Usually, their get-togethers and parties last into the early mornings. I know the last one I came to did, and look where that got me.
We chat, and the girls drink while I sip on my mocktail that one of the prospects brought over at Pierce’s request. Josephine lets me ask a million and one questions about motherhood since she and Vik have a daughter about to turn one, and I’m clueless about all this.
The hours tick on, and my eyes start to feel heavy when a foot hits my shin under the table. I startle, probably because I was actually micro-napping, and look at her wide eyes.
“Girl, I think you need to go check on your man.” Josephine nods to the bar where Pierce is cutting up with Silas and her husband.
“I’m not worried about it. He’s not interested in her.”
“Oh, honey.” She laughs, and Harlow shakes her head. “That’s not how things work around here. I trust Vik to the ends of the earth. That man is never going to stray from me, but you best believe I let these little girls know he’s mine when they step over the line.”
“I mean, he’s free to do what he wants. It’s not like we’re really together.”
“Lexi.” Harlow’s disapproving tone rings clear to the whole table. “That man has been yours since we were kids. Now, go claim him before she sinks her claws in too deep.”
“But…”
“Baby girl, are you carrying his child?” Josephine asks.
“Obviously.” I roll my eyes at the question she already knows the answer to.
“Then he’s yours, girl. And I don’t believe for a second you’re the type of woman who’s okay with others playingwith her things. Now scoot.” She shoos me away with her hands and picks up her beer.
This is a terrible idea. I’m going to make a fool of myself, trying to play the possessive, pseudo girlfriend. Then I remember the way he held me last night and the look he gave me when I walked out ready for tonight.
His whispered words from earlier bleed into my memory, and I throw my shoulders back, stalking up to them the best I can with my pregnancy waddle.
“Hey, I’m getting tired. Are you ready to head out soon?” I ask Pierce, ignoring the girl who doesn’t lean away when I sidle up to his side.
Her boobs are out on full display, covered by the tiniest scrap of see-through fabric. No judgment, she’s got a nice pair of tits, but the girls’ words are in my head, and seeing it up close when his arm snakes around my back builds up the possessive monster inside me.
“Excuse you, we were talking.”
Her bitchy irritation works to pull an amused laugh from my throat.
“Congrats, now you’re not.” That catty girl, every woman has deep down inside her, when the right situation shows itself, emerges.
