Page 20 of Unmasked Rivalry
Getting into my car, I drive to the clubhouse, a rage fueling in my belly. Has he been lying to me this entire time? Has he been just the same as the men coming to my door, demanding things, only he has hidden behind a mask? I don’t know what to think,but to assume he didn’t know what Harper was doing would be stupid on so many levels.
I’m halfway to the clubhouse before the speedometer even hits sixty, and the second I pull up, I don’t bother locking the car or checking my own appearance. I stomp toward the double row of Harleys out front, and then weave through them, storming inside like a woman on a mission.
I go barreling into the main room, which is packed as always. I spot Sable behind the bar polishing glasses, Nia at one of the high tables reading a book, and three, maybe four unfamiliar faces scattered around. I don’t look at any of them—I’m on a mission. Knox. Only him.
Nia looks up, raises her hand to speak, but doesn’t get a word in.
I barrel past two guys in matching black vests, one of them making a lewd noise as I go.
I ignore him.
“Where is Knox?” I demand to one of the unfamiliar faces.
He has the audacity to grin. I shoot a glare so deathly it only makes him laugh. “Down the hall, second door. Wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
“Well, lucky you ain’t me,” I mutter.
I walk straight past him and down the hallway. The corridor is narrow, more shadow than light, the breathless hush only making me angrier. My boots are loud as hell on the old linoleum, and I make sure to stomp extra hard to warn him I’m coming. I stop at his door, not even taking a second to pause before I swing it open.
He’s in bed.
He’s not alone.
I can feel all the blood rushing to my face.
There’s a woman half-curled around his back, platinum hair on the pillow and bare arm thrown over his chest. Neither ofthem is wearing much. Knox’s torso is all muscle, shoulders impossibly wide, and as he pushes himself up—slowly, like he’s waking from a hangover—I catch a flash of the entirety of him. Including the part that I have thought about, but tried to deny.
His cock.
Hard in all its morning glory.
So fucking big and thick I can’t seem to drag my eyes away.
He is fully naked.
I mean, in all my life, I have never, ever seen anything like it in person.
I’m blushing before my brain catches up.
“Fuck’s sake, you ever knock?” he rumbles, voice sleep-rough and unapologetic.
He rolls to the edge of the bed and stands up, stretching. Even from across the room, I can see every muscle fiber in his stomach. It’s unfair. It’s inhuman. And his cock—Jesus Christ—if there had ever been a time I needed to not see something, it was now. I manage to pull my gaze away, and when I finally meet his, he is watching me. He laughs, a mean little spark in his eye.
The woman on the bed makes a groggy sound and pulls the sheet over herself, shooting me a glare that says I’d be a dead woman if she could muster the energy.
“Put some fucking clothes on,” I manage, voice shaking with anger and something else I refuse to name.
He grins, not even trying to cover up, and takes his sweet damn time pulling on a pair of black jeans from the floor. He doesn’t bother with underwear. He zips up, then scratches his jaw, green eyes never leaving mine. The woman pouts but doesn’t move, just watches the show with tired, bored eyes.
“You could’ve called,” he says.
“You’ve been lying to me, Knox. I know it. I want the fucking truth.”
He cocks his head at me, the same way a wolf does just before it decides whether or not to bite. He looks somewhat confused.
“Out,” I bark at the woman. “Get out.”
She glares, but Knox jerks his chin, and she sighs and stands, pulling the sheet around her as she slips out, mumbling under her breath. He sits on the edge of the bed, shooting me an intense glare. “So? You goin’ to tell me why you came stormin’ in here carryin’ on, or do I have to guess?”
