Page 19 of Blood

“Lose something?” She narrows her eyes on me, giving me a once-over.

“You want to give me that back?” I yawn, too tired to play bitch-fight.

“It’s not nice when people touch what’s yours, is it?” Her gaze is steely and meant to scare.Bless her heart.She’s far too beautiful to be vying for any man’s attention. “I hate when people do that.” She chucks my purse at my chest, and I narrowly catch it before it tumbles to the floor.

Folding her arms, she leans against the wall. A short, black dress hugs her long, svelte figure. She has legs for days ending in a pair of stilettos that would cripple me.

“Don’t be a cliché,” I groan. “If Callan’s your boyfriend, then maybe you need to remind him of that, not me.”

Kitty made it clear that Callan had admirers but not a girlfriend, so whatever Georgina thinks she is to him, it’s one-sided. I’ve seen this time and time again with women around Tyler sniffing out power and wanting to feed on it.

Straightening from the wall, she prowls toward me like a cat wanting to back me into a corner so she can swat me with her talons. “Don’t be a child,” she chastises. “He’s not my boyfriend, but make no mistake, he won’t be yours either.”

I get it. The appeal to be his…fuck. I just met him and I’m already enthralled, but it’s tacky to go around warning other women away.

“Well, I’m glad we got that settled.” Turning to signal that I’m done with the conversation, I push the button to release the exit door. The drunken haze is almost gone. Callan burned it off. All that’s left is exhaustion and frustration.

“Hey, Princess,” she calls out to me. I don’t turn around. “Watch your fucking back.”

An unamused laugh trickles up my throat. “Now, who needs to grow up?”

Pushing out the door, a shiver racks over me. I pull my phone from my purse and see five missed calls from Tyler and one from Bear, plus a barrage of angry texts. Reading the last one Tyler sent, I roll my eyes.

Tyler: Don’t you think you’ve been a brat long enough?

Me: NOPE.

“What are you smiling about?” Tim asks, leaning against the Jeep smoking what looks to be a vape.

A cloud carries the scent on the wind, assaulting my nostrils. “You look like a badass but smell like a Sugar’ Donut,” I inform him. I hadn’t realized I was smiling. I put my phone away and gesture to the gate. “Are they going to let me leave?”

Following my gaze, he kicks off the car and opens the door, “I’ll take you where you need to go.”

Frowning, I look back to the club where the rowdy noise of the party still going strong hums around us. “Are you sure?”

“It’s why I’m here. Come on. Get in.”

Climbing inside, I buckle myself in and blow out a breath. Tonight was intense.

Once outside the compound, I ask, “How long have you been a prospect?”

“Nine months.” He shifts in his seat, hands grasping and ungrasping the steering wheel. I make him nervous.

“I’m sorry about getting you in trouble earlier with Kitty,” I say, rubbing my arms, the heat now cooling and leaving me chilly.

Tim fiddles with the thermostat until warm air begins billowing into the car.

“Kit was right. It’s not something I should have spoken on.”

“Is it a secret?”

Snapping his head in my direction, he says, “No, but it’s just personal. The pres is Kitty’s dad, so it hit her twice as hard.”

“Right. Well, I’m sorry for your loss.” It’s hard to feel sympathy for them. I’ve been taught to hate the Kings my whole life. After Harley, all I wanted for them before tonight was death and carnage. But Kitty is such a force of nature, boundless and bright. And Callan? I can’t even admit to how he makes me feel.

“He was old school, reminded me of my dad.” He seems to drift away into memories, and the ache of my own dad resurfaces, throbbing under my ribcage.

“I lost my dad too.”

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