Page 21 of Gunner

In my bedroom, I stripped off my clothes and got into the shower. I had little time to spare before Witter would show up, so I quickly washed up. I had no time to shave or dry my hair properly. I rubbed the long tresses with a towel, swearing under my breath again that one of these days, I would shave it all off.

I rummaged through the clothes in my closet. When was the last time I’d gone shopping? Everything I owned seemed faded or had a tear or seam pulling loose.

Why the fuck does it matter? You’re not dressing for a date, are you?

I yanked a lime-green shirt from the rack and shrugged it on. Water dripped down my nape.

“Fuck.” The towel was soaked. I searched for a clean one, but the hamper was overflowing with laundry. I glanced around the bedroom and grimaced. The bedsheets were twisted on the mattress. Since changing them, I couldn’t recall making the bed once. Clothes were strewn all over the bed, except the left side where I slept.

Instead of neatly lined up on the shoe rack, unmatched pairs lay under the bed and around the room. Towels hung over door jambs and chairs. On one side of the bed, the floor was littered with empty condom wrappers. I hadn’t fucked anyone in a few weeks, so they must have been there for quite a while.

What a pigsty.

I checked my watch. With only a few minutes to spare before Witter showed up, I picked up the wrappers and disposed ofthem. The bin was overflowing, but I didn’t have time to empty it. I arranged the shoes and boots up on the rack and stepped back. The room looked better—barely.

Fuck, what was I doing? What was the likelihood of Witter taking one step into my bedroom? And so what if he did? Witter’s opinions were worth squat. Still, I grabbed my phone and sent a text message to Candace to have her sister Eden stop by to clean my room. She sent a message back that both she and Eden would come. The last time they’d both dropped by to straighten up my bedroom, they’d both cleaned my cock instead, but that was almost six months ago.

Has it been that long since I tidied up my room?

The black fitted jeans I put on were tight, but they were my most decent pair—mostly because I’d forgotten about them and tended to grab familiar ones. I shrugged my cut over my shoulders and ran the bristles of the brush through my hair, then tied it into a low-hanging ponytail.

When I walked out of my bedroom, I was at least ten minutes late, but Witter hadn’t called or texted, so he must also be running late. Lively chatter and laughter drifted out of the mess hall. As someone who had grown up in the club, I loved that sound, even more so than the low rock music playing in the background.

Witter was here after all.

He stood in the center of the room, his posture rigid as Tango confronted him. The latter seemed to be doing all the talking while Witter watched him as if anticipating his movements. Around them, some club members were egging Tango on to throw the first punch.

“Enough, Tango.”

Both men turned their heads toward me. I kept my gaze focused on my brother, warning him down with a menacing look so he knew how serious I was.

“I wasn’t going to hurt him,” Tango said. “Not too bad at least. Why can’t I leave a permanent mark on his face?”

“Because his face is too pretty to mess up.” I grabbed Tango’s shirt, ignoring his open mouth, and thrust him away from Witter. “You don’t touch him unless I say so. Understood?”

Tango picked his jaw up from the floor and nodded, but the confusion in his eyes lingered.

“Follow me,” I said over my shoulder to Witter pretty much the same way I did the last time he was here. He fell into step behind me.

“At least let him be the bitch,” Tango said loudly. The bikers whooped and catcalled after Witter.

Fucking kids, the whole lot of them.

Witter clenched his fists, a muscle in his cheek twisting as if he struggled to walk away from those comments and not say anything.

“You want to fight or get answers?” I asked.

We stepped into the hall, away from all the watchful eyes.

“Why the hell didn’t you correct them?” he snapped. “They all think that you…”

I raised an eyebrow. “That what? I’m tapping that ass?”

“Yes, that.”

“Because I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. You want to find answers or obsess over whether we’re fucking? Because we already know the answer to the latter.”

I led us to the back exit I’d taken earlier. Once we were outside, I locked the door.

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