Page 31 of Treachery

Ugh. She hated that the wing-bearing biddy on her shoulder was right—shewasmore upset that he thought he could kiss her into compliance. If he’d simply asked her to pack a bag, told her that he was concerned for her safety, and held her hand as she went through the process, she could have climbed on the back of his bike without hesitation.

Yeah, she was that gone for him, and boy did that make her the biggest fool on the planet.

Blinking away her thoughts, she rubbed her eyes, and startled when she noticed someone was sliding into the booth seat across from her.

Shit. She’d been so caught up in her own mind that she hadn’t been paying attention. She lifted her gaze and gasped.

“Thought you were clever, didn’t you?” Locust drawled tightly, his pretty lips curling into a diabolical smirk, his eyes flashing with menace and…respect? “I’m gonna make you pay for those tires, baby, and I am gonnalovetaking payment…over and over again.”

Immediately, her body turned molten, moisture gathering in her panties at the dark, decadent promise in his tone. Well, he could just forget about that! First off, she was never letting him touch her again. Second, she wasn’t a whore—it didn’t matter if she was fucking him for tires instead of money, he was still expecting her to suck his dick as compensation.

“Fuck you,” she snarled, her own lips curling. She nearly laughed at the shocked look on his face. Oh yeah, he wasn’t dealing with theold Nadia, the one who spoke softly and carefully, and would never think of dropping the F-bomb in public. He’d takenthatNadia, pissed on her, and then threw her into a pile of broken glass.ThatNadia didn’t exist anymore. He’d see she wasn’t going to just fall on his cock and be that weak, stars-in-her-eyes loser again. And then he’d finally leave her the hell alone. “If you hadn’t locked me in my own bedroom like a fucking lunatic, I wouldn’t have had to climb out my own fucking window and stick a screwdriver in your fucking tires.” She shrugged nonchalantly, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a careless flip. “You earned that for being an asshole.” She almost cringed at the number of times she’d said the F-word, but she fought it. She wasn’t going to apologize for speaking her mind, even if her mind was suddenly an eighty-year-old sailor with Tourette’s.

“And how did you find me so fast?” she asked, smarting that her grand plan had been foiled so easily.

Locust snorted, leaning back in the booth seat, and crossing his arms. Without a word, he gave a chin lift to someone across the room, and when she turned to see who it was, she groaned.

She recognized the man in the kutte standing at the end of the bar. And she recognized the two women in the corner booth from the party at Horde’s house, where she first met them.

God, now she remembered where she’d heard of Cool Hands; Cilla and Stephie had been chatting about it at the club party the night before her love life blew up. It made sense that they were there, having lunch, and staring at her with obvious curiosity in their eyes. They looked like they wanted to get up and come over, and that would be awkward as hell. Ducking her head, she cursed, turning back to glare at the too sexy man sitting across from her.

Moaning, she muttered, “I knew this was too easy.”

Locust chuckled. “All that work to escape me, and you waltz right into a club-owned bar.” Shaking his head, a lopsided smile on his face, his blue eyes glinting with purpose and heat, he remarked, “It’s a good thing you came here; it saves me from hunting your pretty ass down.” Dropping his arms to the table, he leaned in, and she held her breath, too keyed up to look away. “Time to go, baby. We have some things to talk about.”

Without waiting for her response, he slid out of the booth, stepped over to stand beside her, then held out his hand, fully expecting—once again—for her to fall in line.

He must have seen something in her expression, because he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Now, don’t go making a scene, baby. We both know you hate being the center of attention,” he said, a little too much mocking edge in his tone. “Nice and quiet, baby.”

Nice and quiet? Like the old,weakNadia. Disbelief morphed into dissonant anger in a flash.

The asshole expected her to get up, take his hand, and just leave with him—nice and quiet. Biting her lip, she considered her options; go with him, listening to whatever bullshit he had to say about his being a club slut puppet—fucking for duty, sir!—or…she couldmake a goddamn scene.

He was right; the old Nadia would hate making a scene in public, because she had manners and class, and a heaping helping of self-image issues. But the new Nadia, the one burned by the man she loved, was all about making him regret ever hurting her.

Again, he must have seen something in her expression, because he reached out for her hand, ready to take control of the situation, but she wasn’t having that.

The man wanted to talk…she’d talk.

As loud as she could get with a ball of anxiety in her throat, she blurted, “Wow, Locust, your hand looks red and raw.” God, he was going to hate this. She giggled on the inside. “I told you that would happen if you beat your meat five times a day—give your five inches a rest!”

Locust glared down at her, and hissed, “What the fuck are you doing?”

She bit back a laugh at the look of rising horror on his face.

It seemed like every pair of eyes in the place were zeroed in on her, including the man in kutte. Cilla and Stephie were snickering behind their hands, and Nadia suddenly wanted to die of embarrassment.

But the petty needed an outlet….

Undaunted, though, she exclaimed loudly, “What? Youdon’tbeat your meat? Well, do you shake hands with the milkman? Polish the banister? Cuff the carrot? Don’t lie, I know you love choking the chicken and marching the penguin; you told me allabout it that night you bought that special cream, you know, that medicine for the?—”

In a flash, Locust had hauled her to standing, and was marching her toward the door—and she wasn't even a penguin.

Shrugging, she couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that spilled from her hips. Not bothering to dig in her heels—Locust was just too determined to drag her out of there—she let him lead her right out the door to the parking lot. Just as her eyes adjusted to the afternoon sun, she spotted Vicki getting out of her car.

“Vicki!” Nadia called out, making the woman look up. At the sight of a massive, angry, determined biker pulling her friend toward his truck, Vicki’s jaw dropped.

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