Page 42 of Loving Smoke

“Who taught you to cook like this, your mother?”

The mention of my mother snapped me back, like a hard slap in the face. Every part of me tightened. My heart raced, my stomach churned and for a terrifying moment the urge to vomit washed over me. I blinked a few times to keep the tears at bay, and focused on the man who certainly knew the demons who took my mother from me.

A dizzying vortex surrounded me as I pushed away from the table physically sick and mentally anguished. Putting on a show and staying in character was one thing, but genuinely enjoying his company—Cooking for him, laughing with him?

How could I forget so easily that the man who sat across from me based his whole life on the outlaws who robbed me of the sweetest woman ever put on this earth.

“I have to go.” The tightness in my throat made it hard to rasp out the words.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. I just . . .” I swiped at my phone. “I should’ve been home hours ago . . . I need to leave.”

“You don’t look too good.” Smoke stood and reached out to me. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

I reared away from him as if he were a rattlesnake about to strike. “I’m fine.” I gathered up my bag and clutched it in front of me.

“Let me to give you a ride home.”

“No,” I practically shouted, then regrouped. “I’m good.”

I quickly turned and in ten large steps I was across the club, out the door and onto the sidewalk. I gulped in a few choppy breaths then took off down the street. My feet carried me in record time to Rita’s house and I was relieved to see a light on in her kitchen. The older woman would soothe my nerves, but I feared nothing would ease the guilt festering inside my gut. I’d let myself fall for the very man I wanted to take down.

I was literally sleeping with the enemy. And worse—I enjoyed it.

Holy fuck, what the hell was that? Marisol ran out of here like the place was on fire. She seemed more rattled than when those guys held her at gunpoint.

Everything was going good, I complimented her on her food and then bam, she freaked the fuck out and I had no idea why.

I looked down at my plate and suddenly I had no appetite. I pushed it to the side, dug my hand into my jeans and pulled out my smokes. I lit up, dragged deep, and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.

“Hey.” Blood’s voice jarred me when he entered the club a few minutes later. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I was just . . .”

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Blood stopped at the side of the table.

“The fuck does it look like—I’m eating.”

Blood eyed Marisol’s half eaten dinner.

“With who?”

“Nobody.” I spread my arms wide. “You see somebody else here?” I challenged.

“What I see is another place setting and a half empty wine glass for what looks like a romantic dinner.”

“What are you a fuckin’ detective, now?” Sarcasm dripped off my every word.

“Unless you and Ricky are getting it on, I suspect this setup is for a certain bartender with a cute, tight little ass.”

“And what if it was?” I narrowed my eyes daring him to take this further.

“Ahhhh, fuck. I knew it was just a matter of time before you stuck your dick in her.”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth,” I warned.

“Why should I? You never learn. You’re gonna end up going down the same road that brought us here in the first place.”

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