Page 2 of Outcast

"Where are we going from here? Because you're not dropping me off or sending me on my merry fucking way." She snorted and started swerving her hips in a dancing motion. "The night's young and I'm tougher than you are. I'd win in a fight."

I didn't even answer that as I quirked a brow toward her.

"Let's go to the club." That was the safest option. Javier's men were ruthless when it came to protecting their territory. And they'd go apeshit to protect their princess.

I could also actually relax and enjoy myself there. Any other men from the Institution would be shot on sight.

She tossed an unimpressed look over her shoulder. "You're starting to make me feel like a dirty secret."

Shaking my head, I tugged her back against my side. "You're not a dirty secret. You're a precious one. Of our two fathers, yours is sane and mine is not. I like your pretty head right where it is. I'd rather not see it on a stake because he's throwing a tantrum."

A shiver worked its way up my spine as she stopped walking.

Glancing up, she narrowed her eyes. "You think Vicente would do that? Murder the daughter of a dangerous organization that wouldn't hesitate to rain fire on his ass?"

I rolled my lips. "I think my father is insane and his ego is the most important thing to him. He's unpredictable and that's why we have to be careful."

Rita sighed, absolutely put out, but in the next breath, she was already moving on from the serious moment. "Fine. My car is two blocks over."

I twirled her around before bringing her back into me, lightening the mood. The last thing I wanted to do was let my father be a dark cloud over the few stolen hours with Rita.

Call me a fool, but it was these moments that made all the others bearable.

Being the only legitimate son of a psychopath was a lonely place to be. I'd learned that time and time again, any time I'd attempted to make any sort of connection with anyone.

Even my own brothers.

I parkedRita's car on the sidewalk in front of the club entrance. A few bystanders jumped out of the way and flipped us off.

"You crazy-ass motherfucker," one man called as I stepped out of the car. He didn't recognize me.

Why would he? I was in Dirty Dog territory, and for the most part, gangs were beneath Vicente unless he could use them for his gain or entertainment. Javier, Rita, and maybe a few of his trusted men, were the only ones ever invited to Institution events.

Ignoring them, I walked around the car to open Rita's door. But the men had already shut up. Rita had her hand in mine, stepping one stiletto out at a time. When I glanced over my shoulder, a handful of lower-level Dirty Dogs had surrounded the men.

They got the idea and stumbled down the street.

"You're always causing issues," Esteban grinned, dimples popping out. Crossing his arms, his eyes were glued to Rita as we joined the small group at the door entrance.

"They caused their own issues by not recognizing my car. It's not like it's a sedan." She wrinkled her nose as she glanced back. Her black and red homemade Lamborghini Veneno sparkled under the streetlights.

It was a beautiful car that the Dirty Dogs had sourced, chopped, and rebuilt just for her. And it was so recognizable, no one dared to touch it.

Her car might not have been the only one like it on the continent, but it was damn sure the only one with metallic stilettos hanging from the mirror with a stuffed animal, snarling, dog head.

She pulled me inside and the crowd shifted out of her way like water.

Unlike Vicente's clubs with popular American club tracks, this one, like most of the Dirty Dogs’ places, played the local music. The rolling beats and drums made specificallyfor latin dances. And the Dirty Dog establishments catered to them all.

You wanted to dance bachata? No problem. Salsa or samba? They played music for it. The Dirty Dogs’ clubs were about having a good time and they looked good doing it.

Rita raised one hand in the air, swaying to the music as she led us toward the stage. That's where she loved to be. In the spotlight.

Where I should want to be too. But we were so different, separated by miles of life experiences, it was a wonder she even wanted me.

A drunk kid, probably around twenty, tried to slide up against her, reaching for her ass, but she caught his throat, digging her sharp, blood-red nails into his skin right before she tossed him away. All without missing a beat.

It was ruthless. She was a different creature than anything I'd ever grown up with and I wanted to fuck her so hard anytime she exercised a tiny bit of personality.

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