Page 17 of Treachery

Her mouth hanging open, Nadia couldn’t stop the rise of her rage even if she wanted to. She knew exactly who was texting her, and from a different number since his previous number had been blocked.

“What the hell, Locust?” she growled, turning to the door. In three strides, she opened the door in a flurry, hoping a certain asshole biker was standing there so she could kick himin the nuts, but the porch was empty save for a paper bag with scintillating, familiar scents wafting from it.

Holy shit…he’d ordered and brought her Sunny Lee’s Chinese. During their time together—which was a period she’d rather forget—they’d ordered from Sunny Lee’s at least twice a week, especially on nights when one or both of them worked late. She always ordered fried rice, wontons, and teriyaki chicken…and Locust had always ordered General Tso’s and fried prawns. Sometimes…he’d even convinced her to share a little of her fried rice with him…and when she did, he’d kiss the fuck out of her, leaving them both a heaving, panting mess. Often, they’d forget about the food for long hours, feasting on one another instead. From ravening kisses over fried rice to fucking like animals until they couldn’t walk straight.

God…how had he fakedthat? His kisses were always so masterful, passionate, deep, and dominating. How had every kiss that seemed to speak unspoken emotions been nothing more than a fabrication? How had the hours of lovemaking and animalistic sex been faked? How had he been able to fake the way his eyes would darken, and how his gaze would fill with emotion as she stared down at her in her bed?

Pressing a trembling hand to her chest, she shuddered a breath, the agony swirling through her.

Thankfully, it hadn’t ruined her appetite, this time—she’d had a long, stressful day, she deserved fried rice deliciousness! Her stomach growled, loudly, and she groaned, thankful that it had pulled her from her damning memories. Her brain told her to toss the food, it might be poisoned, and why should she accept food from a man who hurt her so badly? But her body was screaming,“It’s chicken fried rice and pork fried wontons, you dumbass!”

Lifting her head, she scanned the area around her porch, then the street, looking for the asshole biker delivery boy.Shadows reached out from the bushes along her walkway and from the cars parked across the street, but other than the distant sounds of nighttime traffic, there wasn’t any indication that he was there, watching her.

Other than the feeling the skittered along her spine, telling her to grab the food, get back inside, and lock the door behind her.

So that’s what she did.

Once the locked door was between her and the night outside, she carried the food into the kitchen, grabbed a plate, filled it with steaming, aromatic Chinese food crack, and plopped back down on the couch to start herA Discovery of Witchesmarathon early.

It wasn’t until she’d demolished the wontons and most of the rice that something finally struck her.

She grabbed her phone and reread the texts.

Unknown: You missed dinner, so I brought you some.

Her heart pounding, the food in her mouth tasting of ashes, she shot to her feet.

How the hell did he know she hadn’t eaten dinner? Had he been watching her at work? Was hestillfollowing her? She shook her head, not quite believing that her suspicions were now confirmed.

And suddenly, those prickling, tingling sensations of being watched…were no longer passing phantoms in her mind.

What the hell was going on?

EIGHT

His gaze pinnedto the screen on his phone, Locust watched as Nadia dropped the knife she’d been holding, opened the front door, grabbed the food, locked the door, then hurried to the kitchen. The cameras he installed were so good, he could see every micro expression on her face as she smelled the food, opened the bag, and then plated the food. She looked annoyed, angry, then ravenous—his woman loved her Sunny Lee’s. He followed her through her house on the camera, then watched as she sat on the couch and began eating.

He smirked, rolling his eyes at what she’d chosen to watch. She thought she’d hidden her Matthew Goode addiction, but he’d caught her watchingLeap Yeartoo many times for there tonotbe a reason. He didn’t mind her little crush, because when she was in bed withhim, it washis nameshe was screaming into the ceiling, it washis cockinside her body, owning her every pleasure, it washis mouthsucking her plump tits, her pink lips, and her wet pussy.

Fuck, why’d he have to think about that? It had been too fucking long since he’d even fucking touched her, so thinking about actually plunging into her tight, hot, rippling pussy made every molecule of his body zing. She was fire in his blood, airin his lungs, warmth in his heart—and he’d fucking hurt her. Betrayed her. But he was going to make it right, because being without her was fucking torture!

Reaching down to grip and squeeze his cock through his jeans, he hated that he was so fucking close but so fucking far away. She was right there, just one block up and across the street, but he couldn’t get to her, not without getting his asshole plugged with the barrel of a gun by his prez. So far, despite desperately banging on her door that evening, he’d skirted the letter of Frost’s orders; he hadn’t spoken to Nadia, approached her, or touched her in fourteen days, fifteen hours, and thirty-six minutes. Yes, fuck, he was counting, because once she was in his arms again, the countdown clock to his own personal fucking Armageddon would stop.

The phone in his hand buzzed, and the caller’s name popped up on the screen over the camera surveillance of Nadia, who was currently staring out the front window with a weird look on her face.

Seeing the name of the caller, he cursed. As much as he wanted to ignore the call, he knew he was already treading a thin line, and that his absence had been noted within the club. Usually, when he wasn’t working on a bike, doing a club run, or running some errand for Patriot or Horde, he was at the clubhouse, tossing back cheap whiskey, or—before Nadia—fucking one of the hangarounds over the pool table.

Since Frost had set him on the path to Nadia, he hadn’t touched another woman, hadn’t spent more time than necessary in the club house, and now that Nadia had cut him off, he was following her around like a desperate puppy, begging for scraps of attention from his master. And, make no mistake, Nadia fuckingownedhim.

Answering the phone, Locust drawled, “Prez.”

“Where the fuck are you?” Frost barked, not even bothering with a“well, how the fuck are you?”

Knowing that telling the club prez that he was sitting in his truck across the street from the house where the woman he was ordered to leave alone was currently closing the curtains wouldn’t go over well with the man. Frost was the fucking president of the Unchained MC, and his word was law…so why was Locust having such a difficult time following those orders?

Oh, that’s right, the last time he did that he fucked up his only chance at having the woman he loved.

With a boiling sort of twisting in his guts, the question on his mind was, who would be the recipient of his treachery now, Nadia or Frost? Because he couldn’t ignore the fact that being true to one would betray the other…and he didn’t know who the fuck he was anymore; the loyal brother who did as he was told, or the man in love who couldn’t breathe without the woman he wanted, heart and soul.

---